Monkey News: Shut In

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More simian news from Carl Dilkington (c. May 2006). For all Monkey News, see the 'monkey news' tag on the left, or click here.
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There's this bloke right, been living in this estate for years. Never went out of the compound. His mum would call in and be like "Yea when you comin' over to see us" and he's always like "Nah, nah. Got a flu this weekend." He never takes his car out for a spin, never goes to the pub or whatever. There's girls askin' him out to protest the government and he's like "yeah, yeah".

So this dude, he's livin' a total shut in. What does he do? I mean, what does he do to let it all out, right? Turns out, he's a bit of an old tagger. Not a graffiti artist, mind you, he doesn't walk around with a can of spray paint and draw the dogs bollocks on walls. Nah, all he uses, right, is this marker he bought from W.H. Smith's, like, ten years ago. 'An artist's pen' he calls it to himself.

And he goes taggin'. Well, at first it was just signin' his names on walls and shit. He'd run around the apartment building, squeezin' into corners, like in the elevator, and then when he was sure there was no one around (cos the elevator was going to the next floor right now), he'd slip his name upon the wall. Very quick. Just like that. Then he'd smoothly hide his pen and stand at the door, cool as apples, and walk out. Not his real name, of course. Nah, he was too cool for that. He'd sign it 'BoxerBoy'.

So time passes on. He's taggin' away, right, but he's seeing - other people are noticing his coolness. Like, he'd be walking up the stairs, and all of a sudden, the dude from 2E - the one who went snowboardin' and that - he walks out. Says 'Keep it up killamonsta'.

And the girls. 3I and 5T, and their girlfriends on a friday night. He's just chillin' on his way to the 4th floor. You know, from the 3rd. And they just happen to come in. "Look", they say, "it's BoxerBoy! Right on, tagger!" He just keeps his cool, right and walks out into the 4th floor calmly, trying to find the keys in his pocket.

As he walks to his apartment, he sees this massive sign drawn in brownish-yellow paint on his own door! It's just two initials - D.K. Now he's all pissed. That just ruined the evenin' that. Yeah, he was a bad man, yeah he went around slappin' his name all over the place, but he'd never done it on someone else's door. Even in thieves and murderers there are ethics, he thought to himself.

But just then, who comes a'tinkling down the stairs but 6P. Dana Kelsington, beauty queen of the apartment complex. Dana drops her purse, and it lands by his door. She's like 'Oh, sorry, sorry".

But he's not havin' it. "Dana Kelsington, eh?" he said, nodding at his door. Dana gets up again and smiles at him. "Yeah. You're the tagger, aren't ya?" she asks. "BoxerBoy".

He doesn't know what to say. "Yeah. Kinda" he replies, his teeth straining against his lips.

"So funny" said Dana, walking down the stairs again.

BoxerBoy can't sleep. He gets up at seven to wash his face and that. It's her, innit. It must be her, he thought. Why else would she drop that purse right there? D.K. Dana Kelsington. She fancies me, he said to himself.

Next day, he wakes up early. "Let's make Dana some breakfast" he thinks to himself. "I'll leave it out there with a tag, saying "BoxerBoy. She'll have a right old time that," he think to himself. He looks in his pantry, yeah, and there's nothing. No eggs. No bread.

He looks in his fridge. There's some milk there. "Alright, good start" he says to himself. He takes the milk out, then, sees, on top of the fridge, he's got a box of Cocoa Puffs.

"Excellent" he says to himself. He washes a bowl, and puts the Cocoa Puffs in. Then he pours a load of the milk in there. "Right. Breakfast" he says to himself. He takes the bowl of cereal, and goes out and to the elevator. "6P. Right" he says to himself. On the sixth floor, he wanders around for a bit. Is it 'P' before 'Q'. Or 'S' before 'P'. Darn alphabet, he thinks to himself. Why should there be all this 'order'?

Anyway, he finally finds 6P, tucked away in a little corner in there. He walks up, and put the bowl on the doormat. As he straightens up, he smiles. "She'll like this," he thinks to himself.

So, like, two days go by right. And not a word from Dana Kelsington. BoxerBoy's gettin' all frustated and that. The blokes on his favorite internet chat site aren't turnin' up. Finally, he's like, FUCK IT. Pulls out his pen from W.H. Smith, and walks out to do some taggin'.

He walks into the elevator and waits for the doors to close. Once they're shut, and the elevator is moving up, he turns around, ready to put his name on the wall. But he stops in his tracks. There, painted at the back of the elevator in yellow paint, in massive letters, is a message - "Thank U".

"Cripes", he thinks to himself. "That was pretty fucking big." The elevator opens at the 6th floor and he walks out. And now, who does he see, but Dana Kelsington, walking out of 6P, with her little pet chihuahua.

"BoxerBoy!" she says. "Keep it up, mate!"

He rushes back home. He doesn't know what to do, really. Alright, obviously she fancies him. Obviously she wants to get together. But why all the faffin'? Why the games? What should a bloke do, really? He thinks about it, and he finally figures, 'whatever'.

Whatever, yeah? If she won't say she fancies him to his face, then what can you, then, really?

Fuck it, he thinks to himself. Just let it be. It's not going anywhere, obviously. So he just goes on with his life. His mum calls in and asks "Yea when you comin' over to see us", and he just goes "Nah, nah. Got a flu this weekend." Never takes his car out for a spin, never goes to the pub or whatever. There's girls askin' him out to protest the government and he's like "yeah, yeah".

Things go on, just as normal. But suddenly, one day, someone slippes a little message thru the bottom of his door. He's lying down, but he hears it - cos the snowboarder and the girls in 3I and 5T are gone away on vacation, aren't they? Everything is very quiet now. Just him and 6P in the building. He runs over, opens the note up.

"Cheers for the Cocoa Puffs, mate" said the note, "but I think it's high time we get together.

"Yes!" he says, raising his fist in the air. About time the daft bird got her shit together.

"Let's meet in the elevator, 10pm" said the note.

He looks at his watch - it's 9.44. Hurriedly, he runs about. Washes his face. Showers. Rubs his cologne on. Then, packing up his pen from W.H. Smiths, he buttons up his coat and walks out of his apartment. He waits there, in front of the elevator, till it's 10. Then he, very casually, right, opens the door, and steps in, backwards, to get some charm in. "Let's not look her straight in the face," he says to himself. "Let's just, very slowly, turn around."

He turns around ... and there's a monkey there, staring back at him.

He lands on his arse at first. Then, picking himself up, he tries to straighten himself up. "What's going on," he asks. "Where's Dana?"

The orangutan looks back at him, kind of confused. Then it taps him on the pocket. He doesn't know what it wants at first, but then realizes it want's his pen from W.H. Smith. He gives it, figuring, whatever. He wants some answers. So, the orangutan takes the pen, and writes on the wall.

"Those were some bloody stale Cocoa Puffs, mate. Got something new?"

Carl Dilkington,
Dartford, Kent