helpmonkey

despite the lies your mother has poured into your head over the years, planning a wedding is a straight-up bitch. for every five things i think of that need doing, i can think of six that i don't feel like doing. my predilection for speed (!!!) helps out where she can, but she's ambivalent about having the party in the first place so i don't want to overburden her. i was thinking about all this today while i was taking a cigarette break, from my job curing cancer. i decided to buy a helper monkey from the helper monkey surplus store. she's a cute little bonobo, but i named her "Major Blood" because i remember that guy from the GI Joe cartoons and i always thought nobody would fuck with anybody named with a name like Major Blood, not if they knew what was good for them.

whenever the subject came up, my neighbor--i'll call her shortbus, because she's really smart--always used to tell me that the mere notion of taking in a helper monkey was immoral on such a profound level that my even considering it confirmed her worst suspicions about me. and shortbus has many suspicions about me. i went to the college of chemistry graduation this year, and the guest speaker exhorted the new graduates to delve into the development of genetically modified foodstuffs. "Some people have reservations," he reported. "Some people think there might be horrific consequences down the road. Some people are little crybabies. They don't understand what progress is all about. Or something. In the words of somebody really important talking about something else entirely, 'Don't let your sense of morality get in the way of doing what's Right.'" switch around some of the words, and that's pretty much how i feel about my helper monkey. shortbus has never had to plan a wedding and i don't see her volunteering to run off and buy cases of two-dollar wine or entertain all the people i know are going to show up and slur things at me in embarrassing drunken stupors. i know they're out there, waiting. Major Blood entertains children of all ages, i'm sure she can amuse a handful of degenerate alcoholics for a few hours. i'd like to see shortbus even try that, just for my sake.

i took Major Blood home and rousted my "friend"--i'll call him chowder, because he used to review pornography for me when i edited a slick newsweekly in new york that i'm not allowed to mention per our lawsuit agreement--from his slumber. i had to roust him because he's been unemployed since he graduated with honors in english three years ago and lives in my closet. "Chowder, wake up," i barked. "This is Major Blood. She's going to be helping me out around here from now on." chowder wiped the sleep from his eyes and mumbled something about Major Blood being a stupid name for a girl monkey. i grabbed him around where i imagine his lapels would be if he ever wore anything besides a ratty oakland athletics t-shirt that he superstitiously won't change until they stop choking in the first round of the playoffs. "Blood is gender neutral, but she earned the rank of Major by serving her country WITH HONOR you degenerate sack of shit," i shouted into his characteristically vacant face, flecking it with my angry saliva. i threw in a bunch of racial slurs for good measure, hoping i'd hit upon whatever the hell race chowder is. "Do you even know what honor is? She sent boys better than you to horrific and pointless deaths, over and over again, until the public turned against the stupid war and the politicians sued for peace. Peace without honor. That's sacrifice, Chowder. You can sit around in your underwear scratching yourself and pretend you're an esteeemed and respected sportswriter like the late Ralph Wiley while you shamelessly name-drop all you want, God knows I'm used to it and I don't expect any better from you, but you show Major Blood some goddamned respect because she's earned it." chowder, being a total fucking whore, mumbled something about checking to see if one of two-hundred fifty friendsters had left him a message. he had terrible morning breath despite it being six in the afternoon.

meanwhile, Major Blood and i had work to do. have work to do, rather. i'm not entirely sure what it is i'm supposed to do since i've never planned a wedding before. mostly i figure it should take care of itself. for now Major Blood just keeps pacing the room and chainsmoking impatiently. she picks things up seemingly at random and gesticulates wildly with them but i tell her to chill the fuck out and work on her novel or something. i'm not sure she can even write but she insists on telling everyone about her novel whenever there's a lull in the conversation. it's a little embarrassing when your insubordinate helper monkey buttonholes your guests but i need her to maintain the illusion of aspiring to some lofty and worthwhile goal in the midst of her existential despair, otherwise she loses her mind and starts flinging poo at me. the novel calms her nerves a little. just a little, because she's a monkey and naturally high-strung. that's why they're such efficient killers i think. Major Blood still craves action; i can tell she misses being in the shit with the other grunts. maybe i'll get her checked for PTSD tomorrow when we go to get her treatment for advanced monkey meningitis. for now i have to keep pilling her up with tranquilizers. they keep her frosty. i'm scared she'll start dipping into my stash if i'm not hyper-vigilent about it. it's like having a four year-old around, only worse because chowder still lives in my closet, so it's like living with a four year-old and a retard. i didn't start hiding my drugs until last year, because at a party at my house this guy--i'll call him renton, because that was ewan mcgregor's character in trainspotting--took a handful of pills he found laying around my room. the rest of the night didn't go particularly well. when he finally came to, renton couldn't remember anything but swore up and down that he thought he'd found some tic-tacs. i haven't really trusted myself since then, which is why i'm trying not to get too involved with this whole wedding planning thing. i figure between Major Blood and my predilection for speed (!!!), everything should work out just fine without me messing with it too much.

correction

God, what a fucking mess. once she found this, the thing where you go after you click on the thing, Major Blood insisted i call her by her full name. let's face it, Major Sebastian Bludd isn't a badass name at all. maybe it had some cachet back when johann sebastian bach cut up all those hookers in london in the 1800s, but now you hear sebastian and think about some whiny bitch hanging out with belle. this isn't the adorable disney cartoon beauty and the fucking beast, i've got a wedding to plan, and i need an intimidating helper monkey to make things happen. i tried to explain all this to Major Sebastian Bludd, she doesn't care. Major Sebastian Bludd is out of her mind and i guess that makes her a little dangerous, but when people find out that my helper monkey is a fancypants poet they're not going to bend to my will. not even a little bit.