Editor's Note: Simon wrote this article in 2020 on the Leech Lake Reservation in northern Minnesota at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic.
Not long ago, news broke that a wild monkey on a motorcycle in Indonesia attempted to kidnap a baby in a diaper. The furry fucker dragged the kid five feet before dad or grandpa leaped and grabbed the baby from sudden doom. This evil report came in as I was reading about the vicious, venomous “Murder Hornets” that are spreading across the U.S. and into Canada like some Biblical fucking plague. Their sting is supposed to feel like a hot needle in your knuckle or into the soft spot between your toes, times 10.
Meanwhile, CNN news wizards were on the tube again reporting on the hundreds of thousands of people dying from this new global pandemic. Into my third or fourth coffee, photos of spoiled, half-naked yuppies, dipshits, and dickbags who’d flocked to a park on the west side of New York City were plastered on the screen. “I can’t stand tan lines on my arms, let alone my face,” a guy in a multi-colored speedo bitched in the background.
I immediately began to wonder why American primates are failing us. “Why aren’t they kidnapping these bastards?” I thought. We could save a lot of taxpayer dollars if we somehow imported those Indonesian monkeys on motorcycles and unleashed them in places like the West Village and Huntington Beach, California, where white protestors in MAGA hats wave placards reading “I NEED A HAIRCUT” and claw at shuttered mall doors like zombies with AK-47s. These brainless fucks would rather spread death than look anything resembling a hippie for more than a week.
And speaking of bloodlust and stupidity, the NYPD seem to have an insatiable appetite for any person found without a mask north of Central Park, but, hell, that’s not news; god no, that’s an old predilection, one that predates Covid-19. American cops are known to devour two things: powdered donuts and people of color just going about their way.
Indeed. These are brutal, nasty days, and they’re about to get even more brutal and far more nasty because the stay-at-home orders in all 50 states are slated to stay in place at least through the fall, if not longer, which will prompt more MAGA rallies and protests and more badges tackling black kids on the subway platform instead of white guys in speedos in the parks adjacent to rich neighborhoods in New York.
But back to the monkeys on motorcycles: We could sweeten the deal by offering to ship their bikes at no cost. Then, we will savagely whip the evil curs who forced them to learn how to ride a motorcycle in the first place. I have no patience for people who abuse animals, so we will, as a matter of law, provide protection for the primates from those multi-color speedo NYC parkgoers who, like the MAGA fucks, would rather spread certain death than dare miss an opportunity to tan their nipples with their neighbors.
Well, here we are. The world has gotten even more sour and backward and far more interesting. It’s a weird thing to be surprised and bored at the same time. Boredom isn’t familiar with this level of masturbation. It feels in demand. Shit, boredom doesn’t know what to do. I feel bad for boredom. I feel bad for masturbation. Hell, neither were prepared for this level of pressure. I looked for the God of masturbation in Greek mythology and only found Eros, whose domain is predominantly sex, but sex takes two or three or six people, depending on your flavor. I concluded that masturbation needs a god, now more than ever.
We need monkeys on motorcycles. We need hornets. We need masturbation, and masturbation needs a damn sexy deity. We need more COVID tests – for everyone – but we’ll get the monkeys and hornets and a god of masturbation long before the Trump administration admits fault for encouraging folks to clean their thorax with Clorox. We’ve got a grip on the situation, pun intended. With lube. The powers that be don’t. See you at the next pandemic, my fellow fuckers.
Simon Moya-Smith
Cass Lake, Minnesota
April 2020