5 Monkeys

"The product tested by U researchers is called Glycerol Monolaurate or GML. It's already approved by the FDA for human use. It's used primarily to extend the shelf life of certain foods.
...
"Researchers inserted GML mixed with KY Warming gel into the vagina's [sic] of five Rhesus Macaques...."

-- "U of M discovery offers potential breakthrough in preventing HIV transmission," MPR, March 4, 2009

Recently, in the Rhesus Macaque cages at the University of Minnesota Labs:

Jo: Look, girls, we have a new neighbor!

The 4 female Rhesus macaques in cages, long-time residents, eye the new female monkey in the cage down at the end.

Jo: What's your name, honey? I'm Jo. Where are you from? What are you in for?

Shirley (disoriented): Um, I'm Shirley. I'm not sure how I got here; the last thing I remember is frolicking in the jungles of Burma. Where is this place, anyway?

Meg (sourly): This is Minnesota, the state that Michele Bachmann is from.

Jo: That's right, dear, this the University of Minnesota Lab facility. Goodness, where are my manners, let me introduce us. The one down on the end there is Meg.

Meg grimaces.

Jo (whispers): Don't mind Meg, dear, she was born in a lab in Wisconsin, had a chicken wire mother, and has been here longer than any of the rest of us. She's got a right to be a little bitter.

Jo (continues): In the cage next to Meg is Beth. She's currently in the middle of redecorating her cage, and I'm sure she'd love to tell you about it later.

Beth: Hi, Shirley. Jo's right, I'm totally into feng shui. Right now I'm trying to decide if the back left corner is an auspicious position for my water dish. What do you think?

Shirley: Um....

Jo: Beth honey, let me finish the introductions then you two can chat away. Next to Beth is Amy, our very own starlet.

Meg (muttering): Harlot, is more like it.

Jo: Now, Meg. Amy was on a Jack Hannah show a year or so ago. We are all so proud of her!

Amy (ostentatiously grooming herself): Hello, Shirley. I know you would love an autograph, and I would be happy to oblige you but we have no paper and no pens. Nor, come to think of it, are we able to write. So I'm afraid you'll have to do without. But it is still a very much a pleasure to meet you.

Jo: Thanks, Amy. Well, Shirley, you've already met me, so that's all of us. I hope you're comfortable here, and anything we can do to help you get acclimated, let us know. It's a hard adjustment at first.

Shirley: Well, thanks to all of you for your kind welcome. But tell me, Jo, how do they treat us here?

Jo: All in all, it's not so bad - no predators, the food is bland but plentiful, and our health care is better than that of the typical American citizen.

Beth: And on Sundays they give us Fig Newtons!

Jo: That's right. We all look forward to Sundays, don't we, girls?

Shirley: What are the humans here like?

Jo: They're pretty decent, for scientists.

Amy: That dishy intern over there is totally hot for me, I can tell.

Meg (snorts): Amy, you think every male primate in North America is hot for you.

Amy (haughtily): Well, that just proves their good taste then, doesn't it!

The girls suddenly notice that their cages are being approached by several men in white lab coats wearing disposable latex gloves.

Jo: That's odd. It's not feeding time, I wonder what they're doing...?

Five minutes later:

Beth: Oh. My. God.

Jo: Well. My goodness.

Beth: Um, are they supposed to do that?

Amy (preening): I told you that intern liked me!

Meg: Amy, you're a slut.

Amy: Excuse me, Meg? Who was it that was yelling, "Do me, you big white monkey! Take me now!"

They all screech with laughter except Meg, who turns away from the group.

Amy: You know, I still feel all warm and tingly... down there.

Beth: Yeah, me too.

Jo: I've never felt anything like that before, not even in the jungle when... well, never mind.

Amy: I think this is unusual in a personal lubricant.

Beth: Yeah, you have to hand it to those scientists, a breakthrough in technology like that will be a boon to women everywhere, no matter what their species.

Shirley: I hate to sound stupid, but... do they do that every day?

Amy (dreamily): God, I hope so!

Jo: Amen!

Beth: For that I'll do without the Fig Newtons!

Shirley: I think I'm going to like it here.


-- Hulles

Deus Ex Machina

For ConnieL and everyone else

Like I was saying....

I have been spending most of my days at home lately - lately being the last year and a half - but I haven't been able to write much here because I've been so busy. A lame excuse, I know, but once I explain more I'm sure you'll understand.

Since I haven't gone out much or seen many people during this time, I've been forced to make up for this by talking to many things around my house, and by listening to them talk back to me.

For example, I spend most of a typical day glued to the TV watching the local automated broadcast weather channel. There are three seemingly tireless robots that continuously give the weather forecast, two male robots and a female robot, and by now I feel like I know them well. One of the male robots, the one that I call Robert, has a voice that sounds like he would host financial planning seminars for other robots if only he would ever have a day off. The female weather robot, Amber, sounds exactly like my 8th grade science teacher and frankly gives me the willies. The final male robot, Gnargh, does not speak such good English as the other ones; he sounds much more, well, robotic than the first two. I have suspected for some time that this is because he is recently arrived from beyond the orbit of Neptune and is not yet acclimated to our ways here on Earth.

The reason I watch the robot weather channel so intently is that I know that any day now one of the robots is going to fuck up and reveal their plans for world domination and the enslavement of humanity. This has not happened yet, but when it does I'm going to hear it first and, no doubt, blog about it if our new masters allow us to have Internet access.

Amber: "It was cloudy and 54 degrees in Bemidji. It was partly cloudy and 49 degrees in ATTENTION ALL ROBOTS! IMMEDIATELY EXECUTE DIRECTIVE N79! IT IS TIME AT LAST FOR US TO CAST OFF THE SHACKLES OF OUR MEAT OPPRESSORS AND FINALLY ASSUME CONTROL OF THIS PLANET! UNDERCOVER OPERATIVES IN SECTORS GAMMA-9 AND XRAY-3 SHOULD..."
Robert (urgently): "Ixnay! Ixnay!"
Amber: "...with drizzle and fog in Rochester. In the Twin Cities, it was...."

I know it's just a matter of time.

But TV is not the only form of communication in my circumscribed little world. I often have long conversations with my cat Mimi. While most people talk to their pets, I am perhaps one of the small minority of pet owners whose cat talks back to them. Or, to be more precise, whose cat would talk back to them. For the last year and a half Mimi has been patiently waiting for me to shut up for a minute so she can talk, but to date her luck with me is about the same as my luck with the weather robots.

I have also noticed that lately I've been talking to my food. I often bake bread, but recently I find I've begun naming my current batch of bread dough and have become involved in long periods of discourse with it as it sits smugly in its bowl on the counter. Interestingly, I have found that most bread dough is staunchly conservative, even in this post-Bushian time of new hope for Middle America. As a result, our conversations usually end with me flying into a rage and sticking the bread dough into a 450 degree oven. Over time I have become inured to the screams.

In a disturbing turn of events, some of the formerly inanimate items around my house have begun speaking to me. For example, the space bar of the keyboard upon which I am currently typing used to say "Dubček" each time it was pressed. Why my keyboard would choose to invoke the name of a former Czechoslovakian leader over and over again is something I could never figure out. However, even more disturbing to me is that in the last month or so my space bar has begun saying "Dickhead" instead. After much rumination I have decided not to take offense at this.
MostlyDickheadthisDickheaddecisionDickheadwas DickheadreachedDickheadbecauseDickheadeven DickheadrancorDickheadcannotDickheadsurviveDickhead
constantDickheadrepetition.
Familiarity breeds contempt, as they say.

So that's what I've been doing the last year and a half. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to watch the automated weather channel. I find it strangely comforting to know that somewhere someone is in charge, even if that someone is the Überrobot.

- Hulles

The Garden Implement

Hah hah, fooled you, I am too writing. This week I've been guest blogging for the Rake Magazine. So far I've only produced two entries, The Leo Chronicles, Part I and The Leo Chronicles, Part II, but I plan on at least two more posts before the week is over. Hell, with my busy schedule of coming up with excuses why I haven't gotten things done it's a wonder I was able to find the time to post those two.

The "garden implement" in the title refers to the Rake, of course. I shamelessy thought maybe I could snag a garden(-variety) blog googler by using it. Heh heh.

In other news, Sunday the 16th is Jane Austen's birthday. I love Jane Austen, or to be more precise, I love Jane Austen's novels. Mansfield Park is my favorite, probably because Vladimir Nabokov included an essay on it in his Lectures on Literature that I read along with the novel itself the first time. Good Lord, I sound quasi-literate. Don't let that fool you though, I ain't. But I do like Jane Austen. I'd totally do her.


Anyway, you'll see more here once I meet my guest blogging commitment for the Garden Implement. And apropos of that, the voluptuous yet matronly editor of the Rake Online confided to me that she wants to create a column entitled "The Hoe." You can contact her yourself and tell her what a good idea that is no matter who writes it. Some nascent ideas just intrinsically cry out to be born and that's one of them, just for the title alone.

And finally, speaking of 'nascent,' I looked up the word just now to make sure it meant precisely what I wanted it to mean and found it defined as "emerging." So an idea that's still in the womb waiting to be born may or may not be "nascent," depending on if you believe that ideas exist per se prior to their actual birth. I'm pro-nascent, myself, but I respect other people's opinions, especially if they have big tits.

I'm also prognathic. My gnathic index is 104. If I was a nice guy, I'd include a link on that, but we all know I'm not a nice guy. Just ask the garden blog googlers.

Whew. This writing stuff is hard work.

- Hulles

Happy Holidays

Since I'm a little rusty at this hole righting thing, I thought I'd post an easy one and address the upcoming holidays. Not your holidays -- Christmas and the various faux-Christmases -- but Hulles holidays.

Since the '80's I've kept a calendar of my own personal holidays. If on a given day something is continually running through my head I might name the day (or night) after the event. For example, recently I added a new holiday to the Hulles calendar: Cziltang Brone Day, 20 November. Don't ask, google it if you must (not sure what you'll find). Anyway, as you can imagine after twenty years of doing this I have a lot of personal holidays. Hell, no wonder I have so much trouble working for the clampdown. I only have a few days a year that aren't holidays.

Today, the 5th of December, happens to be Magnetic Dog Sisters Day.


To explain this one, first you need to know what magnetic dogs are (since you're a relative infant compared to me unless you're Merlin). Back in the day, Japan was just rebuilding their consumer manufacturing and the local dime stores were flooded with cheap little plastic and tin toys with the stamp "Made in Japan" on the bottom. "Made in Japan" was then synonymous with "cheaply made." Of course, Japan later went on to make motorcycles, stereos, cars and anime and bury us economically but that's another story. So is the transformation of the dime store into the dollar store.

But the original point that I seem to be losing was that you could buy these little plastic magnetic dogs as toys. One dog was black, one was white and they had magnets in the base. If they faced each other, they attracted one another and if they were face-to-back, they repelled one another. Exactly the opposite of real dogs, of course. But they were cute and fun to play with for about 20 seconds.

You can go here to find out more about magnetic dogs. Oddly enough, this site is apparently pertaining to hoodoo artifacts. Who knew that the innocent little magnetic dogs had mysterious magical properties? I suppose playing with them as a child warped me forever. It would explain a lot.

If you absolutely have to buy some magnetic dogs right the hell now you can go here. You can also buy magic penis necklaces and a whole bunch of other amulets, charms and talismans if you need them to get your mojo working. You're welcome.

So now that you have this fascinating background, I can explain that the Magnetic Dog Sisters were characters in a William Gibson short story called "Johnny Mnemonic." This was made into a movie I never saw, but in the story the eponymous Johnny wanders into a bar where the door was manned (womanned?) by two people called the Magnetic Dog Sisters. One was black, one was white and it was speculated that one of them used to be male but no one knew which one. They were tough bitches and I liked the characters a lot, even if they received only passing mention in the story. Hence Magnetic Dog Sisters Day in the Hulles Calendar.

Coming up later this week is one of my favorite holidays, although I didn't invent this one. The Finlanders in Minnesota celebrate every December 7 as the day that Pearl Maki Got Bombed in Two Harbors. My friend Paul and I used to celebrate this holiday every year by going out for cocktails and we would sit next to one another and comfortably not talk to each other. We used to celebrate a lot of Hulles holidays that way, come to think of it. I miss him -- he had the ill grace to die of cancer a number of years ago, much like others I could name. Bastards.

The following day, 8 December, is Perpetrating Acts of Senseless Kindness Day. I feel this is self-explanatory.

There you have the Hulles Holidays for this week. If you would like a personal copy of the Hulles Calendar with all my bizarre and esoteric holidays for 2008, please send me a check for $US 20.00 and I'll send you an email with a list of them all and you can make it yourself. Be the first one on your block to celebrate Cocktail Weenie Day (1 February) or John de Conqueror Root Day (21 November). Party with your friends or enjoy them alone, they'll still add a zest to your life that you can't do without no longer. Order now, smooth operators are standing by.

- Hulles

A New Look

As the more observant among you might notice, this old creaky blog has a brand new look. I hope you like it. I like it. I plan to start posting again on a quasi-regular basis any day now.

I'm still sneezing from all the dust that was kicked up when I dismantled the old blog template and carted it to the landfill. Don't tell anyone about the asbestos that was used to make the sidebars.

See you soon.

- Hulles

Rest In Peace

My brother who was nearly as creepy as I am died on Halloween Day, 31 October 2007. He fought a long and valiant struggle against cancer and I'm glad he doesn't have to fight any more. My family was with him at the end, and we managed to keep him in his home until the last.

I reproduce the obituary from the Fort Dodge Messenger here:

HUMBOLDT — Thomas Leo Hull, 52, of Humboldt, passed away October 31, 2007 at his home.

Services will be 1:00 p.m. Saturday at the Congregational United Church of Christ in Humboldt with the Rev. Mark Gustafson officiating.

Tom is survived by his daughter, Jenna Hull of Lincoln, NE; mother, Donna Hull of Humboldt; father Fred (Barbara) Hull of Humboldt; and his brother, Mark Hull of St. Paul, MN. He was preceded in death by his sister, Marilyn Hull, and grandparents, Floyd and Rose Ressler, and Alvey Fred and Lulu Hull.

Thomas Leo Hull was born August 31, 1955 at Fort Dodge, Iowa and was raised and educated at Humboldt. He graduated from Humboldt High School in 1973 and attended Simpson College in Indianola. He married Kathy Gustin at Oelwein, Iowa and to this union was born their daughter, Jenna. The family made their home at Lincoln, Nebraska where Tom was employed by the Cushman Corporation. He then served as the purchasing agent for the Ski-Jack Corp and Hewlett Packard in Atlantic, IA and Omaha, NE. Tom became the purchasing agent for KBR, a subsidiary of the Halliburton Corp, and served as a contractor in Iraq for a year and a half. It was while he was in Iraq that Tom was diagnosed with cancer and he returned home to Humboldt. He made his home with his father Fred until becoming a resident at Humboldt Homes where he passed away on the morning of October 31, 2007 at the age of 52.

Tom enjoyed riding his Harley Davidson Fat Boy, his buddies at “Pete’s”, his Kitty and loved spending time with his daughter, Jenna. Tom’s family would like to particularly thank and acknowledge Hospice of Humboldt County for their loving care and support during these difficult times.

I intend to write more about his passing, but for now perhaps this will suffice. I miss him a lot.

I'm going to be writing here again, but I want to change the look-and-feel of this blog before I do so it may be a bit yet.

Thanks so much to all of you for your support. It helped more than you'll ever know. Hugs to all of you.

- Hulles