I have a Lost Prehistoric Monster fetish. Also I have lately been studying some science books about the flora and fauna of Skull Island.
This is a depressing hobby, because Skull Island vanished beneath the waves in 1948, and the ONLY remains besides photographs are kept locked up in the Smithsonian — the bones of the unfortunate Megaprimatus kong (the very last of that species, it turned out) that was foolishly exhibited and then killed in New York in 1933.
I will admit to being sexually attracted to the fake movie character “King Kong” in the 2005 film of that title, but I know perfectly well that it’s just an uncannily real-looking CGI replica. I will never get to see a live Megaprimutus kong. I had to face that fact about dinosaurs and kongs when I was little. I’ll probably never live to see a live Martian either. At least I got to see a few stuffed ones in museums before the cover-up.
No, I’ll never get to see any of the evolved dinosaurs or insects of Skull Island except in jerky old movies and grainy black and white photos. I wish I could blame it on Man’s Greed or Global Warming or something, but I know perfectly well that the very thing that allowed the creatures there to survive the “nuclear winter” that killed the dinosaurs — the volcanic vents that kept the island shrouded in fog — were the selfsame geological features that inevitably led to its collapse back into the sea. It’s a shame that more samples weren’t gathered during the expeditions, but those few explorers who escaped with their lives were very lucky to get away with that much.
Of particular interest to me would be the plant (or fish-glandular??) that gave the human Skull Island natives the will to survive on their lifeless corner of the island. Much evidence indicates they were dependent on this powerful but mysterious drug.
Even if I’m not a true kongsexual, I admit I like gorillas and the other Great Apes. And it runs in the family. My maternal grandfather decorated his house in the West Indies with sculptures and paintings of apes, to the extent that it was called “Apes Place” all over St. Maarten. We visited Momoo and Popoo there a few times in my youth, and I have fond memories of carressing the three-foot tall marble gorilla statue he kept on his front porch. I wonder if it’s still there. Unfortunately, after Popoo died, Momoo sold the house to the famous shitty artist, Jasper Johns. I have been back to the house since Johns bought it, but he’d erected a fence and I wasn’t able to see much over the top of it before the native guards chased me away.
If I know my readers, the true parts of the above will be considered lies. And yet it’s all true.
Anyway I hope you guys can cool it with the “Stang Gorilla Fetish” gags, okay?
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[Angry gorilla illustration via Shutterstock.com.]