June 17th: Ook, A Creative Retrospective

Note: While scouring my hard drive for old stories and embarrassments to back up, I found a small bundle of old stories. The following is one.

Ook by Liv Bentley-Hill

Unconscious on a desk that was not his own lay Robert.

Robert was about to discover three things: one, he was more than a little hung over; 2, High Stake Office Luge was never a viable procrastination option; and 3, he was no longer brunette. The reason for his sudden and entirely unexpected change seemed related to the strange series of events that began from a birth Robert did not care to remember, his own.

The highlights: Robert was born, there was a witch, some blood sacrifices, they pronounced him male, brunette, 1’ 6” with an iddy biddy penis his parents were sure would grow. He was a perfectly standard baby boy.

But he grew up. And he grew up to be an exceptionally standard child, teenager, youth, and adult. It was in his adult years he met his perfectly standard wife who had a perfectly standard profession (CEO of an International Palm Oil Harvesting Company worth tens of dozens of dollars). Together they spawned 2.5 perfectly average offspring (side note: his penis developed to an average size his wife sometimes beheld with a sigh).

It was about this time, somewhere in his 37^th year when he started working for UU Pharmaceuticals. Approximately a week later, this incident occurred.

But I digress.

Robert woke that morning, head pounding, joints stiff and hair suitably thinner.

“Robertson settle this for us, the coffee girl- oh…” Came a familiar, self-important drawl from somewhere in the direction of the doorway.

“Ook?” Robert asked groggily from behind the science officers’ desk. 

“Johnson, Robertson’s a…”

“Ook,” Robert cried helplessly from his new lips. “Ook?!”

“Johnson, get Peterson.”

“Ook!” Robert called after the figures receding down the hall.

                Why is it always on a Tuesday? Johnson thought to himself as he ran to fetch Peterson, the clawed staff veterinarian, at least an orang-utan is more amenable than a Honey Badger. Honey Badger don’t give a shit.

/\_(o.O)__/  ß Orangutan

Meanwhile, on an estranged island on a thinning tropical subcontinent a belly wobbled. So did a leg. A jaw followed suit before a larynx joined the party. Soon the forest was shaking as the Ex-Orang-utan tugged as his now brown hair.

                There was wailing.

“Jees Karl,” one of the encroaching Orang-utans sighed, pulling from the spliff between his thumb (because Orangutans have opposable thumbs, humans being 97% orang after all) and middle finger, “just chill.”

                Karl did not chill. Karl screamed, spluttered and melted into a puddle of vegetable oil. Because that’s what happens when ordinary people, high orang-utans and big corporations try to ignore each other. Mess.