“Oh, look grangran, a headmunk!” My grandson said.
“What’s a headmunk?” I asked him.
As we strolled past the tree in the Amherst common, he explained, “It has a human head and a munk body!”
I didn’t believe him, frankly, because he has a tendency to be foolish, but by golly he was right. “Grangran, look!” he said, and there it was! Crawling down from a mighty oak tree, I spied a human-headed chipmunk who looked like he’d been dealt a bad hand, to be honest, and would fold as soon as he got the chance.
My grandson tried to cheer up the headmunk.
“You’ve got it great,” he said, “little guy, the best of both worlds. You get a big human brain, and you get to have claws and a tail too! I wish I was you.”
“No you don’t. You don’t know what it’s like to have a smart head and a dumb body. And, ever since the day I woke up conjoined, I’ve been having tweaks. Like, the other day I took the longest milk. No, I mean poop. Milk, actually. And I’ve been drinking warm poop before bed. Wait, I mean milk.. Why am I talking, I should be cleaning up my milk. Goddamnit, I keep mixing the words up. Stupid, stupid!”
“That’s ok headmunk,—“
“Don’t call me that!” the headmunk interjected.
“Ok, I’m sorry,” my grandson asked, “what should I call you then?”
“By my gradient, like any other respectable contraption, you son of a bitch!”
As my grandson and I were quickly realizing that this dialog had become unhealthy, there was a crack as a falling acorn smashed off the headmunk’s head. “Oh damnit!” His attention shot to the nut on the ground in front of him and he was filled with joy instantly. Numnumnumnum! He scrambled around, fully embracing his chipmunk spirit, filling his cheeks with acorns and scurrying up and down trees. We walked away while he wasn’t looking. But later, when his acorns were gone, we witnessed him sad yet again, touching his finger to his butt, to his mouth, then to his nipple, and then back to his mouth again, evermore confused by his newform existence.
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