I'm just a Stupid Artic Monkey

I’m just a stupid Artic Monkey ©

By Michael Casey

I’m sad, any comments from the back of the bus and I’ll throw you off the bus, without stopping. I’m broken hearted in fact. You know I wrote Sweden Calling a few hours ago, and I’ve been picking furniture since then, well I’ve had some really heart breaking news. NO, not a fart breaking noise, I think you need your ears cleaned not me. Well, no, it was like this I had a nice mug of coffee and Billy was singing loudly, no wonder my ears are the way they are, that Billy Joel is such a noise, and his Storm Front is self-explanatory.

So where was I? Yes, a nice mug of coffee is so good, you ask Julian or Sandy from Bona Coffee shop on the high street if you don’t believe me, though they can be high for other reasons and it’s not therapeutic either. Yes, I was sat here minding my own business gently shaking my hair dry, like an Old English Sheepdog, but with dandruff. When the trio sneaked up behind me and shook me violently, Lech, Boris and Gregorgi had just adopted a new blood hound from the pound, and yes they were shaking me dry, or trying to leave a trail of dandruff for the new hound to follow. Then they gave me the news, and I’ll admit it a tear did fall. Which reminds me, let’s put Tears for Fears on, and let Billy Joel have his Storm Front in the outside toilet.

Woman in Chains, fashion is really strange that’s all I’ll say. If anybody tried to put Lech’s wife in chains she’s cut him it two with her best butcher’s cleaver, Lech really does love her butchery skills. But where was I, yes I had tears in my eyes, the boys explained why Finland, Norway and Sweden had been reading my stuff. It was because they weren’t reading my stuff, it was an Elk. 

The boys’ friend Alexi Alexicoff worked for a satellite tracking company and sometimes the boys did a favour for him. If a satellite landed and nobody could find exactly where it was then Lech, Boris and Gregorgi would hunt it down. Space stuff is very expensive and you want to get your results back. It’s not like sending your photos off to be processed, if you lose 100 photos of Lech drinking while up a mountain or arm wrestling a wild bear, then that really does not matter as they post everything to the cloud as well. But Space stuff has to be found, and as it lands there is a smell as it burns through the atmosphere. So if you have a hound you can track it when it’s landed in the back of beyond. 

You all thought Lech, Boris and Gregorgi burying me in Warley Woods was just high jinx, when in actual fact it was part of their hounds recovery satellites training. Look deeper, sometimes  there is depth in shallowness, well that’s what I always told my Latin teacher.  Shall I get to the point, let me have a wee first, too much coffee does that to me, at least Julian and Sandy’s coffee shop on the high street does have an outside toilet, it’s very clean, well in 1984 it was.

Alexi Alexicoff read my story about The Spaceman and the Arch-Angel and he said I was cheeky. The boys defended me, and Alexi relented, but he had an idea. He was doing some tracking of Elk , a special project for Finland, Norway and Sweden, migration and population, Elk population that is. So Alexi decided to add a mobile phone to the tracking device strapped to the Elk. Then as well as tracking the Elk he could make it appear that my website was being read in Norway, Finland and Sweden.

I had been suckered by an Elk, no new readers in Finland nor Norway nor Sweden. It was just Alexi Aexicoff’s joke. Never joke about the Russian Cosmonauts, even if it is a great story honouring them, you can read The Spaceman and the Arch-Angel  for yourselves I’ll repost it again after this.

So I should be sad and disheartened, no real  Nordic readers, just a travelling Elk rutting his way across the Artic. Though Alexi did say for some reason my view figures at the North Pole had gone through the roof. Had Santa Claus discovered the phone strapped to the Elk. Were Elves having a break from making toys, and reading my stories. Or had nuclear powered submarines stopped at Ice Station Zebra, for tea and biscuits. Julian and Sandy were saying they were fed up of all the heat, and the smell from the outside toilet, so maybe just maybe it’s their new bona café. One Yank and you can Russin, a catchy name for the café at the top of the world.