First off, Dorothy Barker has recovered from her allergic reaction and I have recovered from accidentally eating one of her dog pills because I couldn’t split it in half so I used my teeth. I figured I would either get really healthy or die but neither happened so it was basically a very anticlimactic superhero origin story.
Secondly, this weekend I made an investment in an organ grinder out of spite and wisdom. My parents came over and I felt bad that the house is a mess but they’re very nonjudgemental and I considered cleaning up the stacks of stuff because probably your parents worry about you if you have a toilet seat on the kitchen counter but it was a brand new toilet seat still in the package so technically it was more like I was bragging about my new purchase and that seemed like a good way to reassure my parents that they didn’t need to worry about me because I was obviously doing pretty damn good if I had unused toilet seats to spare. Victor didn’t see it the same way but Victor’s family are a bunch of Rockefellers who I guess go through new toilet seats every week like they’re disposable.
Aaaanyway, we went to this antique sale in a barn and this guy had an organ grinder for sale and I asked to listen to one of the music rolls and some lady loudly whispered to one of the owners of the booth, “Don’t you hate it when people want to try out all the things and never buy anything?” and then I was like, “FUCK YOU, LADY. I’M BUYING THIS PIECE OF SHIT” but I just said it with my eyes (and all of the money in my purse) and then later I realized she probably works for them and provoked me on purpose. But I still won because I got a super cheap organ grinder with 10 cobs of music and the organ almost works and is only 80% out of tune and filled with silverfish.
I took it home and realized most of the roller cobs aren’t labeled so I decided to go on instagram and play the tunes and see if people could help me identify them but I didn’t realize this app I’d signed up for was sharing all of my instagram stuff on Facebook and twitter so basically I flooded my twitter stream with a dozen videos of me playing horrific organ grinder music and that’s exactly how you lose followers and/or punish people who love you.
Except that actually a ton of people were like, “This is not the worst Sunday night I’ve ever had” and we identified several of them, including one song that’s famous for being loudly hummed by one of Jack the Ripper’s victims right before her murder and if it sounded half as terrible as the organ grinder version I’m not sure he would be convicted.
The good news though is that my arm is getting a great workout and I think I gave myself carpel tunnel syndrome and I’m pretty sure this is how you get a service monkey. The monkey grinds the organ, right? (Ew…phrasing.)
I’m not sure how it goes but I am sure that I have an opening for a monkey that needs to be filled. (Again…phrasing.) And the super good news is that when Victor is like “What will I get Jenny for Xmas?” the answer is “BINGO – MONKEY!” He says that’s not how that works but I’m pretty sure he just doesn’t want to ruin the Christmas surprise. But Victor is awful at picking out presents and instead of a cute monkey that can hide under my hat on planes he’ll probably get an eat-your-face-off chimpanzee so I sent him a list of premature baby clothes and he was like, “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?” and that’s how I knew he was thinking of the wrong size of monkey because it’s pretty obvious if I send you a shopping list of preemie baby bonnets and sailer outfits that they’re for Dr. Zaius. Also, Dr. Zaius is what I named the monkey I don’t have yet. And it’s nice because doctors can be girls or boys so it’s gender neutral for all monkeys and also because when I don’t want to go to a party I can say, “I’m sorry. I can’t go. I have to see my doctor.” And I do. And he lives under my hat and watches horror movies with me and holds my hand when I’m having a bad day and grinds my organ and throws shit at assholes. EVERYONE WINS.
PS. Victor says he’s not getting me a monkey because they are not pets and it’s cruel to keep them as such and technically I know he’s probably right and that’s fine and I accepted it with grace because what I really want is a tiny, tiny owl. One the size of a beet that doesn’t fly and just lives in the yard and is too little to carry away Dorothy Barker. Because I’m a responsible pet owner y’all.
PPS. After listening to WAY too many videos of me playing an instrument that sounds like a haunted accordion making popcorn I was flooded by comments so perfect that I have to share them here. A few of my favorite responses to “What’s this song?”
Sounds like My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean (possibly with Satan)
Sounds like my 6th grade band performance.
Sounds like you summoned a ghost and we’ll all soon be murdered in our beds.
Sounds like someone’s trying to murder that song.
Sounds like “Don’t go down to the basement without your Louisville Slugger wrapped in barb wire.”
Sounds like pain.
Sounds like you’re playing it backward.
Sounds like music from a old timey funeral home.
Sounds like a drunken Confederate harmonica player with severe depression.
Sounds like your popcorn is about to burn.
They all sound like the same song to me. That old favourite, “I Truly Wish That I Was Deaf.”
I love you guys. Sorry if I murdered us all with this cursed machine. Send help. And by “help” I mean, “a small backyard owl.”
