by Jack Handey
I pulled myself onto the riverbank and ran into the jungle. I collapsed on the ground. I looked up to see spiders! Hundreds of them! I ran back to the water and jumped in.
The boat pulled alongside. “Are you okay?” said Don. Oh, great. Now questions.
The crew all quit right there. We had only gone about a hundred yards, so they just walked back to town along the bank. Then they started running, because of the mosquitoes. I think Pip said something funny as he ran, but I couldn’t quite hear him.
We dropped anchor. Don and I just sat there for a while. “Maybe we should give up,” Don sighed.
I shook my head and laughed. He asked me what I was thinking. I told him I was thinking about the episode of the Two Stupid Idiots where they’re mistaken for astronauts. They fly their rocket through a barn, then into a tunnel so a train has to back up at superfast speed. Finally they crash into a mansion, where they blow up the evil villain, and then they get medals.
Don pursed his lips and nodded. “I see what you’re saying. They could have given up, but they didn’t.”
Where’d he get that?
Up the Paloonga
WE RESUMED our journey up the mighty Paloonga River. In the distance a delicate wisp of smoke rose from Mount Palinka. It was a picture worth a million paleekas.
There’s a strange allure to this land. You can see why Robinson Crusoe was so attracted to it and stayed here for so long. For one thing, food grows right on the trees. You have to pick it, that’s the only catch.
In the jungle you come to realize that death is a part of life. The bat eats the moth. Then the giant moth sucks the life out of the bat. Then the monkey eats the giant moth, pulling the wings off first, because he doesn’t like that part. Then the monkey gets a parasite from the moth that slowly eats his brain. It’s all part of the beautiful circle of life.
The jungle—and I’m not going to lie to you about this—is hot. Think of the hottest, most humid day you’ve ever had. Okay, not that hot, but almost that hot, that’s my point.
I noticed the trail of a jet airliner far overhead. It seemed so odd that we would be cramped up in this stifling heat, with little monkeys screaming all around, while up there people were stretched out in quiet, air-conditioned luxury.
As we motored upriver, we saw some native men on the shore. “Look, they’re waving to us,” I said.
“Those men aren’t waving,” said Don. “They’re pounding their roots. They’ve gathered roots, and now they’re pounding them.”
Man, doesn’t anybody wave around here?
We came to a bunch of buildings on an island. It was the Hawaii Home for Murderers. Hawaiians believe that murderers should be isolated from the rest of society. It sounds cruel and harsh to us, but that’s the way they think. The inmates were all dressed in identical uniforms of bright flowery design.
From the brochure I learned that most murderers are not the crazy mass murderers you hear about. In fact, most murderers have only murdered one or two people. And most of those were either relatives or someone who gave them a bad look.
We sailed past the main yard, where hundreds of murderers were square dancing. I found out later it was actually a riot.
As we went by, a few of them waved at us. Finally, someone waves!
Memories
I DON’T know why Don bothered to hire a crew in the first place. He was doing everything: driving the boat, checking the map, fixing the meals, cleaning up. He asked me to help clean up, but I don’t know how to do that.
We pulled into shore for the night. Don built a fire, and I shared some of my scotch with him. I also applied some soothing scotch to my bat bites, pelican bites, and spider bites. And to some other weird thing I had.
I started reminiscing about the great friends we’d made on this trip. Frenchy, and Peleke, and of course little Pip. I’d probably miss him the most.
I thought about my girlfriend back in America. What was her name again? It was something like “Snargaret.”
Just as I was missing her, Don told me a story that made me even sadder. It was about a priest and a rabbi going into a bar with a gorilla, and the priest ordering something but the bartender asking the gorilla for his ID, something like that. I forget the rest, but it was really sad.
To cheer us up, I decided to tell a joke. You need jokes to keep your morale up. And I told the dirtiest joke I could think of, to also keep our sexuality up.
Don went to bed. As the shadows from the fire danced on the trees, I did my funny cowboy dance and hit my head on a tree.
The Pelican God
I WOKE up screaming, “There are spiders all over my face!” like I do every morning. But this time there really were spiders all over my face. Don rushed over and helped me brush them off.
“It’s a good thing it’s not spider season,” he said. Not spider season?!
Don went off to the boat, to do whatever he does there. As I gazed up I saw something odd. It looked like a sheet of white paper, floating in the air. But as it circled down to me I realized, That’s no piece of paper, that’s a pelican!
If you’ve learned anything by now, it’s that it’s useless to run from a pelican. So instead, I closed my eyes tight and dropped to my knees. I prayed to the Pelican God and said that I would renounce all other gods before him.
When I opened my eyes, the pelican was gone. It was a miracle.
When Don came back, I asked him if he would convert to Pelicanism, but he said no.
Don was really starting to annoy me. He never called me Wrong Way Slurps or any of my other nicknames. Plus he was always ordering me around. “Would you please help me with this?” he would say, or “If you’re not too busy, maybe you could give me a hand over here.” Things like that. He kept pecking at my head, like a woodpecker. He started asking me stupid questions, like why had I brought scotch but not a hat.
“Well, you didn’t even bring a brain,” I said. Whenever anybody says an insult to you, just repeat it back to him by putting brain in there somewhere. Here’s another example: Say someone says something like “Do you have any idea where you are?” Just say, “Do you have any idea where your brain is?” Try it—it works with everything.
“Besides, I did bring a hat,” I said. I put a pair of my underpants on my head and told him it was a beret.
The Institute
I TOSSED some beef jerky to the alligators that were following the boat. Don complained about that, too.
Just to make him mad, I started eating candy bars and potato chips and throwing the wrappers overboard. Also cigarette butts. Personally, I didn’t see the harm. There was no litter anyplace in the jungle, so what difference was it going to make?
“Hey, Don,” I said, “is that a rare tropical frog?” I said, pointing to a Snickers wrapper as it floated away.
I thought about channeling my anger, but it was still kind of early. So instead I started coming up with ideas for inventions. That’s when I came up with the idea for the voodoo doll with interchangeable heads, so you don’t have to get a new doll every time you want to put a curse on somebody. The basic head would be the Don head.
I littered for miles. I was starting to get bored when, out of the blue, a patch of bright green appeared. I was tickled pink. It was a golf course, with a big clubhouse set in the middle. Finally, something in Hawaii that was pretty.
“This isn’t a golf course,” said Don. “This is the Ponzari Institute.”
“Huh?”
“It was founded by Doctor Ponzari, a famous scientist and philanthropist. He cured the plague in Honolulu. He’s even won the Nobel Prize. I wrote to him from America, and he’s invited us to stay with him on our way upriver.”
“Huh?”
Two servants met us at the dock and carried our stuff, which was nice because my arms were tired from littering. We passed several other guests who were reading, strolling, and engaging in lively conversation. It was like a bad dream.
I asked a couple of girls if they want
ed to come see my little hula statue. They said no.
The Grounds
THIS DOCTOR Ponzari, whoever he was, was doing all right for himself.
The main house was a grand two-story made out of pineapple wood, the most precious of Hawaiian woods. Inside the great hall was a priceless set of antique wooden surfboards. Overhead was a collection of Viking battle-axes, hanging from the rafters by their wooden handles. Also on display was the very first US space capsule, which, I never knew, was made out of wood.
Outside, wooden walkways connected everything. On the lawn there was a giant upright hammer, stuck in the ground by its wooden shaft. Apparently it was some kind of artwork. People were meditating on the grass right below it.
There was even a wooden roller coaster to provide amusement for the guests.
The whole place was powered by a generator that ran on gas from human feces. The feces were stored in a huge wooden tank that sat up on wooden stilts, right next to the swimming pool.
Stacks of wooden beehives supplied fresh honey. “Those bees are harmless now,” said the guy, “but if anything ever happened to those wooden boxes, Katy bar the door.” I laughed. I know someone named Katy.
A teakwood observation deck extended out over a pool of piranhas.
There were even wooden cages holding wild animals that Doctor Ponzari had hand-raised after their mothers had rejected them.
I think my favorite thing was the old cannon. It was actually loaded, but they said the only way it could go off was if the wooden wheels suddenly collapsed and it fell hard. It was aimed at the house.
Breakfast at Ponzari’s
DOCTOR PONZARI was seated at a table in his flower garden. As soon as I saw him I could tell that he was pure evil. I’ve only had that feeling a few times in my life. I’d say about forty or forty-five times. My mailman is pure evil.
He was wearing a crisp linen suit. I wondered how many hundreds of people had died making it. His movements were elegant and refined, like some evil shit-bird from Hell. He was eating a banana, elegantly.
He rose to greet Don and me. “Ah, there you are,” he said, probably lying. “It’s always nice to see fellow Americans. Please make yourselves at home and stay as long as you like.”
When he shook my hand he tried to look me in the eye, but I knew better than that. “Very nice to meet you, Mister Slurps,” he said. How did he know my name? Maybe he could read my mind. Or maybe he could read the questionnaire I had filled out. “I apologize for not greeting you at the dock. I was giving a lecture.”
Oh, a “lecture.” I guess that was his word for insane rant.
Don made the mistake of asking what his lecture was about. Never ask someone that. Doctor Ponzari said it was about his efforts to breed a new coconut that was meatier, insect-resistant, and drought-tolerant. In other words, a monster coconut.
Breakfast appeared magically on the table before us. I started to ask if I could get it “to go,” but Doctor Ponzari proceeded to offer some advice. He urged us to give up our quest for the Golden Monkey. “Not worth it, too dangerous to go upriver.”
Don and I looked at each other. “What makes you think we’re seeking the Golden Monkey?” said Don.
“Everyone does,” said Ponzari. He added: “My brother-in-law has seen the Golden Monkey.”
“Who’s your brother-in-law, the Queen of Sheba?” I muttered.
“Actually, he’s a department head at Cornell University.”
Which one is that, I thought, the Department of Sheba?
Just to show off, Ponzari started telling us the history of the Golden Monkey. As soon as I heard the word history I stopped listening. I started listening again when I heard the words missionary position.
“The missionary position was that natives should not worship the Golden Monkey,” said Ponzari.
A little blond-haired boy interrupted, carrying two baseball gloves and a ball. “Father, you promised you’d play catch.”
“Gentlemen, if you’ll please excuse me, duty calls.”
Doctor Ponzari was clearly evil, but when I saw him playing catch with his son, I thought, What a spaz.
Theories
I HAVE to admit, after a while I came to enjoy Doctor Ponzari’s place. I guess that’s the nature of evil. I enjoyed doing cannonballs off the wooden diving board with all the sunbathers watching. I enjoyed teasing the animals in their cages, especially the lion and the gorilla. And I loved ringing the big cast-iron bell. “Hey, everyone, it’s midnight!”
Don and Doctor Ponzari discussed the causes of child derangement. I already know the cause: sugar. And not enough spankings.
Most of Ponzari’s guests were members of a group that has preyed on the fears of mankind for centuries: scientists. They had been invited by Doctor Ponzari to discuss world problems. Here’s an idea: discuss the solutions instead.
Hanging around scientists makes you come up with scientific theories yourself. You can’t help it; they just pop out. Here are some I came up with while I was there:
Birds evolved from dinosaurs, but guess what dinosaurs evolved from. That’s right, birds.
A skeleton is more afraid of you than you are of him.
The more you flip something, like a pancake, the more flippable it becomes.
If Superman ever visited Tarzan, at first they’d get along, but then Superman would finally have to say, “How can you live like this?”
Street signs would work better if they added the words You Idiot. For instance, instead of just Stop, the sign says Stop, You Idiot.
When you howl to make your dog howl, he’s not howling to sing along, he’s telling you to shut up.
If you put your shoes on the wrong feet and walk around, eventually you will split in half.
The best thing about going to outer space is being able to go to a party and say, “I’ve been to outer space—where’ve you been?”
When you die you become pure energy, but it’s not what we call a “usable” kind of energy.
Humans are evolving into a higher form and a lower form at the same time. Confused? Then guess which one you are.
Escape
I PRETENDED to be perfectly relaxed and even interested in what Doctor Ponzari was saying. Then I threw my drink in his face. He screamed in pain as I ran to the door. It was locked. Desperately I fumbled at the latch, until finally I got it open. “This is the stupidest party I’ve ever been to!” I shouted as I ran out into the night.
Soon I was back in my jail cell. That’s what I called my guest room. It was so nice and luxurious you didn’t want to leave. It was like you were a prisoner.
Doctor Ponzari sent over a bottle of champagne and some fancy appetizers, along with a note saying he hoped he hadn’t said anything to offend me. Don said I should go apologize to Doctor Ponzari, but I said Don should apologize to me for bringing us there in the first place. And for being Don.
I turned on the light only long enough to read Doctor Ponzari’s apology, then quickly turned it off. I don’t really like reading or doing much else by feces light.
As I sat there in the dark on my king-sized pillow-top bed, drinking the champagne and wondering how I could get hold of some more of those fancy appetizers, I had a weird thought: had I been rude to throw my flaming brandy into Doctor Ponzari’s face, just because the going-away party he had thrown for us was so boring?
To snap myself out of it, I decided to go exploring. I put on my velvet guest robe and grabbed a flashlight. Ahh, battery light.
The great hall was still and quiet. I accidentally knocked over the fireplace tools, then straightened them, then somehow knocked them over again before deciding to just leave them.
I came to Doctor Ponzari’s laboratory. I started to jimmy the lock on the door, but it was already open. Don’t you feel stupid when that happens? I went inside.
Lying loose on the window seats were clamps and matching curtain rods. I assumed the clamps were used to hold people down while experiments were done on the
m. I shudder to think what the curtain rods were for.
There was a tall wooden bookshelf, lined with rows of coconuts. Right below it was Doctor Ponzari’s chair.
Normally, when you go through someone’s desk, you don’t find much. Usually just papers that you have to toss over your shoulder. But in the back of the bottom drawer was something different. Inside a simple, satin-lined case was a beautiful gold medallion, complete with a ribbon so you could wear it around your neck. It had a picture of Abraham Lincoln on one side and, on the other, two topless lesbians fondling each other. I had never seen anything so exquisite. I had to have it!
So it wouldn’t be stealing, I decided to leave something behind. But what did I own that was worth as much? Only one thing: my beautiful stenchite hula girl. Or maybe my longhorn belt buckle. No, the hula girl. How, you’re asking, could I leave such a valuable gift? If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s that you can’t just take; you also have to give. Plus, I’d had several glasses of champagne.
I went and got my hula girl, knocking over the fireplace tools again. Who designs those things?!
I unwrapped the little statue and started to set her down on the corner of Ponzari’s oaken desk. I hesitated. Something the souvenir shop owner had said rang in my ears: “That’s the storeroom. That’s not the restroom. I hope you didn’t do anything in there.” It’s weird the things that pop into your head, isn’t it?
I gave my hula girl one last tap. Doctor Ponzari needed to get a new desk, because, as she danced, little cracks started spreading out from her.