Dr. Johnson's Stories From The Jungle

International Liaison

2009-06-17T18:32:00.000-07:00

In the fall of 1997 I was invited to speak at a charity ball in London in honor of the remission of epidemics spread by animals. As a show of good faith, I decided to bring my disease-free monkey (Charles) with me. Upon arrival, I found that people aren't too fond of monkeys in England; Something about them being dirty and disease-ridden. So I went to a restaurant and brought Charles, big deal! What was I supposed to do, chain him up somewhere while I ate? They seemed to get particularly upset when he jumped up on my table and moved to neighboring tables. It's a proven fact that monkeys' hands are cleaner than human mouths. All that bacteria growing in mouths, and then you have the ever so clean monkey feet, which are constantly exposed to open air. I guess I'll never understand the English, but then again , who can?
I felt like leaving the country that minute, but unfortunately I still had the speaking engagemnet that night, and I wasn't one to cancel an engagement. I proceeded to the ballroom and gave a statistics speech on the decline of epidemics in the jungles worldwide. After a standing ovation, I introduced everyone to my friend Charles by letting him off his leash so he could shake a few hands. They didn't like that so much, and that's when it hit me, the cold reality of the situation.
People want to act all environmentally supportive, but when they're confronted with a gunuine artile they freak out, and lose all composure. It all comes back to money. If there wasn't money in preserving endangered species, most people could care less. It's kind of like the movie "Free Willy." Everyone wants to cage the whale, because they can make a lot of money from it, but the boy and his family actually care about the whale and do all they can to set it free. In a way, Charles is like the whale, and I'm like the boy who's sneaking around at night and setting him free. Only I'm not throwing him into the ocean, 'cause then he'd probably drown.

The Day I Became A Man

2008-08-19T01:41:00.000-07:00

I waved as I stood on the shore, watching the boat speed away. Why my family decided to leave me stranded on an uncharted island I’ll never know, but I guess they only did it to make me stronger. You’d think they’d have left me some sort of instruction manual for life, or at least checked up on me once in awhile. It’s hard when you’re thrown into the wild on your own, especially at the age of twelve.

Fortunately it wasn’t long before a young native girl discovered me. She looked pretty cute, and I was sure that my dashingly good looks had drawn her attention. As I approached her, she screamed real loud, and within seconds I was surrounded by warriors. These men were very strange, cause instead of threatening me with their spears, they all seemed fascinated by my pale complexion and they began to nibble on my ears. She’d tricked me! The little temptress had played with my emotions, and then gone straight for the throat.

I wish I could say that this was my only experience with cannibals, but amazingly enough I’d frequent many Man-Eating Camps throughout my life. To clarify, I don’t mean “frequent” in the way a fat man frequents a buffet, but more in the way a chicken frequents that same buffet.

I didn’t know how I was going to get out of this situation, but I knew that I wasn’t about to die as a tender young boy, although that’s exactly what they wanted. Suddenly it hit me, they’re looking for a perfectly cooked meal, seared slightly, but not burnt. I may have only been twelve, but I sure had a big brain up in my head. I managed to untie the ropes around my wrist and I began to dangle my arm down in the fire. They all began to hoot and holler making angry faces at me. I’d done it! I found their weak spot. Soon I had both arms swinging in the flames. Some of the old ladies were crying because they knew that they’d probably be getting last dibs since they moved a lot slower than the younger natives, and nobody wants burned sloppy seconds. It didn’t take long before the entire tribe was holding me back with all their might, as I attempted to throw myself into the fire. They pushed me out of their village and back into the jungle. I was alone again, only this time I had 3^rd degree burns, and had learned some basic survival skills. I was like a Preying Mantis; dwelling in tropical climates, ambushing the enemy with my mind tricks, and acting in a pseudo cannibalistic manner. On that day I realized I was no longer a boy, but I had become a man.

Hog Tied

2008-08-06T00:47:00.000-07:00

As a highly respected Doctor in the jungles, I have encountered a wide variety of strange situations. One of which seers deep into my memory…It was a calm night, the damp South American air was forming beads of sweat on my forehead, as Cusavy, the pigmy Indian chief approached my tent. “Hail Cusavy.” I muttered, he ignored my greeting and proceeded to slop a wet heap of warthog down in front of me. I didn’t catch everything he said, but apparently his son, Bondusy was riding his warthog through the frothy forest when a giant boa attacked them, Bondusy managed to free himself, but the warthog had been crushed before they could kill the snake.

The whole situation stunk of mischief and dead warthog. First of all, who rides a warthog through the jungle in the middle of the night, amongst thousands of poisonous creatures, and secondly, why bring it to me and expect some sort of miraculous healing.

I felt like cramming it in a box and shipping it up to U.S. customs for FDA approval for the meat loving kiddies back home. Remembering the hog’s sentimental value to the chief, I shook myself free from all thoughts of giving up on this beast. Grabbing the lifeless hoof I took its pulse. “Yep, just as I thought, DEAD!” I quickly took my small kerosene lantern and emptied its contents onto the hog’s hairy body. Smiling at the chief I began rubbing it around, while chanting repeatedly, “ITHIN KHE'S AG ONER.”

Everything was fine and it appeared that I was making an effort so they were satisfied, that is, until I lit a candle for more light, forgetting about the kerosene covering my hands. Cusavy and Bondusy screamed in horror as the flames spread to the hog, I tried to explain in between screams of pain, that I was cleansing it with fire. I ran out of the hut, found a fresh pile of water buffalo dung, and engulfed the flames eating at my hands.

Returning to the hut, I found what was left of the warthog and a sad but accepting Bondusy waiting along side an unhappy chief. I assured them that I had done all I could and walked them out. The air stunk of dung as I patted them on the shoulders and they walked away. I knew they were thankful for what I had done.

The World Is A Jungle

2008-08-06T00:37:00.000-07:00

The world is a place of untimely woes,

Of snatches and snares, and terrible foes.

And how is one, to make it alone,

Amidst all the strife and cares that we’re shown.

The comic companions to everyday things,

Are mishap and misfortune, and tunes that they sing,

That say “Irony, Irony, tis oh but a dream,

But goodness will find you, though dark it may seem.”

Life is a journey, we travel beside,

Those who embrace us, in which we confide,

In God that we trust and put all our care,

He’s sure to be watching and guiding us here.

To another great chapter, and many good times,

I welcome you to, this Jungle of mine.