Shock The Monkey

Yeah, I know, buying something from a shop that suddenly appeared in a back alley on Melrose and Fairfax at midnight under a full moon was probably not the best of ideas. Especially when the name of the shop was "Dread Goods--Like Pottery Barn But Evil." Especially when it literally appeared out of nowhere, twisting reality with the shrieks of the damned (I think it was the cast of the American version of Coupling) as it came into this world between Golden Apple Comics and the vintage t-shirt store. Especially when it befouled the air with a stench like rotten eggs and the dorm bathroom after Burritos Burritos & Beans night. But feh, I was bored so I went in.

The store was very Pier One Imports, so it least it had truth in advertising going for it. Furniture made out of wicker, but eeeeeevil wicker, was strewn tastefully throughout the floor room. Dark wooden masks and jars filled with organs and animal fetuses lined the walls along with glazed faux-hand crafted pottery. And, shudder, there was track lighting along the ceiling--very 80s.

At the counter was a bored hippy surfer.

"Hey, I thought you were supposed to be a mad Arab," I said.

"Dude, you mean Ali? Fucker retired from the Evil gig back in '65. He runs a Ford dealership in Dearborne, Michigan now. I knew I shouldn't have walked into this place after that commune in Goa closed down. Shit, never believe a mad Arab when he says, 'Oh hey, this magic lamp isn't evil. Go ahead, wish for a roof over your head for the rest of eternity. C'mon.' By the way, wanna rub this magic lamp?"

"Uh, no."

"Man, I suck at this gig. Hey, have they made it legal yet?"

"Nope."

"This just isn't my day. Well, can I help you with anything?"

"Nah, just looking around."

"OK dude. Wavy gravy. By the way, you might wanna check out the bargain bin. Headquarters is trying to make some room for new stuff, you know, cursed plasma-screen TVs that play only Golder Girls, the next Microsoft Windows."

The bin was nothing special. Bluebeard's socks, a vial of the blood of the cousin to the hairdresser of the beast, a kids book by the author of the Anti-Bible entitled "Baby's First Book of Evil." I was about to head out when I saw the Monkey's Paw. On the price tag, the word "Soul" was crossed out. Beneath that, "Very Disturbing Ending" was crossed out as well. Beneath that was "Sorta Karmic Ending--Kinda Creepy but Really Annoying" written in red pen.

"Whoa dude, good choice. Last dude who had it wished for his dead son back, but like, forgot to mention the words 'just as he was while he was alive and not like a rotting corpse,' and, ummmmm, hey, never mind dude. Crap I suck at this."

"No worries man, I'll take it," I said.

"Aw cool, hey, sure you don't wanna rub this lamp and wish for eternal shelter?"

"Don't push your luck, hippie."

"No need to harsh my mellow man. Go ahead and take the monkey's paw. Have a toke for me when you get out, and, ummmmm, have a really evil night."

The shop disappeared as soon as I left it, exiting this reality with the cackle of the damned and the rumbling of a stomach with munchies.

When I got home, I put in the DVD for the original BBC version of Coupling. I find that British humor tends to sharpen my mind. I wasn't going to make the same mistake as the other dude and his dead son. Unfortunately, I also had a couple of Guinnesses. By a couple, I mean eight pints. In one hour. Yeah, the law is stressful. Practicing the law while being single and pining after a blonde in the office with an opera singer boyfriend is really really stressful. It was time to move on and the monkey's paw was going to help me with that. Well, it would've had I been sober.

I held the monkey's paw in front of me and said, "I wish an artsy single slender intelligent blonde blue-eyed woman into music was into me." Then I promptly passed out.

When I woke up, the monkey's paw was gone. Now I realize I should've clarified my wish even further. I realize I should've added "and who doesn't talk to herself, giggle maniacally for no reason whatsoever, and doesn't so much look at you as look through you in an attempt to communicate with Planet Freakah."

So now you know how Ford Festiva chick came into my life.