Alright, I've never tried this collaboration thingie before, but would like to give it a shot. I had this idea for a story that I think could offer some enjoyable moments, so feel extremely welcome to add your contributions...

The Zoo

”Oh, that’s just great!” the manager of ‘The Zoo Containing All the Wondrous Creatures That You Ever Wanted Too See (And Some That You Really Didn’t Want To See At All)’ said and raised his eyebrowes, not because he was surprised at his own words, but because he had recently bought a new toupe and hadn’t got used to it yet. “So, now the Chupacabra has broke out of his cage again. Last week the Gold Dragon had Mrs. Humpinladder from accounting for lunch, and the week before that someone fed Nessie our new baby darling Kraken. What’s the hell’s the matter with this place? Can’t I take a day off before everything falls apart.”

The staff in front of him stared at their own feet, not in shame and guilt, but to prevent themselves from laughing at the sight of the managers toupe starting to crawl down his forehead like some weird spider.

“I’ve had it!” the manager roared and pointed towards the empty cage of the Chupacabra. “Go find that poor thing before it hurts itself – or gets eaten by something.”


...



[edit on 2004-8-7 by EyesOfTheFuture]

Cheezits! I don't know why I keep coming to the stupid zoo. What the heck do I know about zoology. Not a durned thing. I've got a BS in Accounting and an MBA. Shoot! I'm a bean counter. Not a zookeeper. And I wouldn't be a zookeeper either, if the danged staff here would do their jobs. I could just deal with the managerial issues, if that Dr. Wisenhiemer, or whatever is name is, would show up more that twice a week. How many seminars and conventions does he have to attend in a year?

And what is this "manager" thing? Can't anyone around here remember my name? Is Conrad Winkleman such a difficult thing to remember? And I don't even expect them to remember the whole thing. Is Connie too hard to remember? I don't think Connie Mack ever had this problem. I mean Cornelius McGillicuddy is a mouthful. So, if Connie Mack worked for him. Why doesn't Connie Winkleman work for me? I don't know. Maybe I should go with Connie Wink and maybe the staff could remember that.

And another thing. Why does everyone here have to stare at my toupe? Am I the only man in this god-forsaken land to wear a hair hat? I don?t know what to do anymore. Maybe I need some of that "Club Hair." They say you can swim in it.

Aw, who cares. We've got a Chupacabra to locate. I'll just stop by the office and put a little more adhesive on my pate. Then we'll look for the Chupacabra. Where did they get all these weird animals anyway? Nessies, Gold Dragons, Krakens, Chupacabras, what is this place, "The Munsters" meet "The Addams Family?"

What ever happened to the monkey house, goats, hyenas, elephants, giraffes, and whatnot? I don't even know what a Chupacabra is. Oh well, we better find the little critter before he gets hurt and the elusive Dr. Wisenheimer has to miss one of his blessed seminars to tend to the little one. I'll research the little mutant after we find him. Maybe, I better contact the PR people to see if they can notify the public of his disappearance. And I'll call those "Hair Club" people while I'm at it.


[edit on 2005/7/18 by GradyPhilpott]

Winkleman took a deep breath to clear his head, as he was beginning to feel a slight headache, probably due to the fact that he's brain had just produced the longest chain of thoughts ever recorded - or at least since that unfortunate incident at the zoo involving a pre-lunchtime-Megamouth, a thirsty dog, the dog's half blind owner and a brave icecream-salesman. Oh well, at least a Chucabanana... or whatever the damn thing was called, didn't have the potential to trigger an equally big disaster. Or at least he hoped so.

When Winkleman reached his office he called the PR-departement to get them ready to prepare a public warning, but to not issue it until he told them to. He was convinced that the creature still remained somewhere on the premises. And a public warning would mean bad PR for the zoo, which could trigger trigger-happy politician to come crawling out of their mud-pits with bloodlust in their eyes - and that could possibly mean his sweet, expensive @ss.






[edit on 2004-8-8 by EyesOfTheFuture]

Winkleman had been all over the zoo but not seen any sign of a Chupacabra, until he got to the mountain goat exhibit. Over forty kids came running down the small hill that led up to the goats area, just screaming in horror. A lone teacher came down shortly after and Winkleman stopped her to inquire as to what was happening. "It's horrible! The goats! The goats!" She ran off to catch her students, and Winky ran up the hill to see what had become of his beloved mountian goats.

There they were, all dead, all out of blood. "Chupy was definitly here," said a zoo groundskeeper who had appeared behind Winkleman and was sweeping the rubbish left behind by the storm of kids. Unknowingly to both men, the groundskeeper swept up Winkleman's toupe, which must have fallen off of his head after running up the hill. "I suppose Chupy has already regained full strength and my be headed somewhere else."

Winkleman bent down over one of the slain goats.

"Dangone Chupacabra! What else can you expect from the little beast? I told those idiots not to put golldang goats in a zoo full of monstrosities. Where's my Rolaids?" Winkleman wiped his brow with his bandana. It was hot and the goats were beginning to smell.

"Chupy's been nothing but trouble since he got here. What is this beast? Who's idea was it to put that thing in a zoo? I've never seen anything like it? The dadgummed thing will eat anything? Dear God! I get the creeps everytime I look at it."

Winkleman walked past the dumpster and leaned over to spit out his chew when he saw what looked like a small dead animal.

"Did Chupy kill something else?" Winkleman thought as he reached for the hairy mass. "Dear God, it's my hairpiece."

Winkleman's pulse quickened; his face began to flush. His chest began to ache and his left arm went numb. His jaw was aching and he began to wobble as his world began suddenly to close in around him as he crumpled face down on the ground.



[edit on 04/9/11 by GradyPhilpott]

Shareese Jackson moved as quickly up the hill as her large frame would allow.

She hated this job, hated animals, and most of all, hated Mr. Winkleman. But it was much better than being stuck in some fast food joint or some lameass office park with a bunch of lily-white suburbanites complaining about crap she could care less about.

Another damn animal loose, and exactly what was she supposed to do? Perhaps Winkleass should worry less about that bald head of his and try keeping things locked up!

As she crested the hill, Sharese saw a dark mass spread across the path near the dumpster.

What?

Cautiously moving forward, Sharese began to realize it was a man.

Oh, Jesus, don't let there be a dead man in front of me?

It was Winkleman, she realized. His arms were awkwardly pinned beneath his body and one foot looked horribly twisted. She moved closer, looking around to make sure Chupy wasn?t hanging around to finish lunch.

No blood.

"Mr. Winkleman, are you ok?" she asked, while poking a finger into the man's shoulder.

No response.

Shareese moved around the body to get a better look at the man's face. His eyes were closed and his mouth hung open with a slight drool hanging from the lower corner.

"Mr. Winkleman!" she said more loudly, pushing him on to his back.

No response.

Shareese couldn't figure out what happened to him. He didn't look hurt- not by fangs or claws, anyway.

"Mr. Winkelman! Wake up!"

No response.

Shareese looked up and down the path. There was no one to be seen. Kneeling with great effort, she placed her ear close to Winlkeman's chest to check for breathing. As she tilted her head and held her own breath, Winkleman let out a tremendous sputter.

Jumping to her feet with greater ease than one would imagine for a woman her size, Shareese began shaking her hands and yelling, "Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus! Winkleass ain't dead! Mr. Winkleass, you stay still! I mean Mr. Winkleman. Don't you move! I'll call for help!"

Shareese reached for the radio clipped to her belt.

"Andrew! Mark! Melissa! Anybody? I found Mr. Winkleman by Building Four. He needs help quick!"

From a large nearby tree, unblinking eyes lustfully considered the spectacle before them.


[edit on 16-9-2004 by loam]

EDIT: Cleaning what the board conversion did to quotes.

[edit on 25-3-2006 by loam]

Shareese Jackson turned back to Mr Winkleman, her eyes searching, desperatly trying to find some obvious problem that, fixed, would bring Mr Winkelman back round.
She started to panic, feeling for a pulse where she thought a pulse ought to be she called out, almost screaming, barely disguising her fear

" help..., somebody, anybody."

Above her in the tree, the unblinking lustful eyes, were starting to water, so their owner was forced to blink. It moved slowly silently, trying to get a better view point, when suddenly, crack, the branch supporting the beasts weight snapped. It scrabbled desperatly trying to grab a branch or gain a foothold, but to no avail. Falling now it twisted its head like some crazed half cat half gymnast as its body allowed the momentum to spin it too, fully around until, like a cat it landed softly, immediately ready for action.

Shareese spun on her heel dropping Mr Winkelmans head to the concrete floor, she was vaguely aware that her mouth was open trying to scream but she could not beleive what she was seeing. Slowly she gained her composure, she hadn't moved and neither had it.

" Why Jim Bob I thought I told you not to climb those damn trees, look at the state of your trousers, they were clean on this morning."

"But mom, we were playing zoo, we just got to the part where Sarah gets killed by the Chupacabra"

"I don't like you playing these violent games, you know that, now you and Sarah come inside and wash up, I am sure her mom will be as mad with her as I am with you"

"But mom...."

Shareese was stricken by a sense of deja vu. A chupacabra is missing. Winkleman is on the ground unconcious and Jim Bob, the creep who does menial jobs around the zoo is hanging out in trees. All those games she played as a child, can they be happening for real now?

"What the heck is happening here?" Shareese yells at Jim Bob. "What were you doing up in that tree?'

"It's just a cool place to hang out at lunch, Miss Shareese. I've been doing it all summer long," Jim Bob responded in his Gomer Pyle, "aw shucks" kind of way.

"Well, tell me what you saw! What happened to Winkleass?"

"I don't know. I mean he was walking back to the office and when he passed the dumpster, he reached in and pulled something out and then he wobbled a little and fell on his face. I didn't have anyting to do with it. I promise, Miss Shareese.'

Winkleman began to groan.

"Go straight to the office, Jim Bob and call 911. Tell them we've got a man down here and he needs immediate attention. Now, get to it! Quickly, quickly, quickly!"

[edit on 2005/7/9 by GradyPhilpott]

(beautifuly brought back to subject)

[edit on 22-9-2004 by Smudge]

Chuck Noble strode towards the front gate of the zoo with purpose, it wasn't his real name of course, David Grout had died many years previously in a car crash and so had his old life, despite the years, he was still occasionally drawn down memory lane to look a while. The looming gates of the Zoo snapped him back, he was determined not to spend one minute more than he needed to in this sad excuse for a public relations exercise. If they'd have listened to him this place would have remained the top secret Centre for the Study of Zoologiclal Anomalies and everything would have been right with the world. But no, the bill of government transparency, as it was being called by the press, had put paid to that. Still at least the government had refused to give up people like him.
He didn't look like your typical multilingual, super smart, super fit, CIA geek, more like the archetypal hollywood representation of a CIA bone crusher.
At six feet and four inches he towered over most of his colleagues, who had mostly been recruited from Harvard and the like and who were better known for their brains rather than their brawn, Chuck was smart and he knew it, but he also knew that he was recruited for the dirtier side of the business. He was also ruggedly handsome, with a face that would make Arnold Swarzenegger look positively effeminate, this combined with his ability to charm the birds out of the trees and you can see why the guys at the office called him Peter Perfect.
Today Peter Perfect was on an admin mission, him on admin, what were they mad? He knew they were real mad, mad about the way he'd dealt with the Beast of Bodmin Moor, I mean Jesus how many more monsters did they want in this place anyway. So now he was being punished and was filling in for Dr Weisenheimer, who wasn't Dr Weisenheimer at all but rather Donald Gowerthy, also from the CIA special operations department. Weisenheimer's job was to keep an eye on things here at the zoo, but then he'd gone and got himself killed down in Nicaragua trying to locate the
' beast that makes strawberries of men' as the locals had called it, and now until the replacement was trained up it was up to yours truly Peter Perfect, Chuck Noble, to take care of the Critter audit, oh well at least he wasn't gonna get shot at today right.

The administration building was on the western edge of the zoo, tucked in between the dragon ponds and fairy cages. In the main office, Conrad Winkleman sat awkwardly in a wooden chair, leaning heavily on the front of a steel desk for additional support.

"Mr. Winkleman, they're on their way," said Jim Bob, leaning down to speak directly into Winkleman's pale and unconscious face.

"Why is it taking them so long?" said Melissa as she entered the room with a fresh, wet hand-towel to put on Winkleman's forehead.

"They don't like to come here," answered Shareese, looking at her long finger nails, searching for dirt. "Probably think they're coming to get body parts like last time."

"That's just ridiculous," replied Melissa. "Didn't you tell them Mr. Winkleman is alive?" she said looking at Jim Bob.

"I told 'em," said Jim Bob, "but they weren't too happy with us callin' again. Hung up faster than a knife fight in a phone booth. But I think they're comin'."

Mellissa shook her head in disgust and placed the cold hand-towel on Winkleman's forehead.

Shareese let out a quick snort. "Chickenasses afraid to come to the zoo!"

"About as useful as a trap door in a canoe," added Jim Bob. "What's the point of 911, if they're going take their sweet time getting here?"

"Maybe we should drive him to the hospital ourselves," interjected Melissa, as she considered Winlkeman's condition.

Jim Bob glanced at Shareese. "My truck is in the shop."

"I can't do it," said Shareese, "I take the damned bus."

"Maybe when Mark and Andrew get back, they can take him. That is, if the ambulance doesn't come," said Melissa with growing concern in her voice.

Shareese walked to the window and looked outside. "They ain't ever gonna find that damned animal," she said. After a few moments, she turned back around, folded her arms, and looked at Jim Bob. "Weren't you cleaning Chuppy's cage before he got out?"

"I was," he said.

"Did you lock it when you were done?"

"Now hold on before you cloud up and rain all over someone's parade."

"Did you?"

"I'm not answering that!"

"Why not? Did you?"

"I did!"

"Then why you acting all nervous?"

"I'm not!"

"Looks like it to me."

"Stop it! Both of you!" interrupted Melissa. "Mr. Winklman doesn't need to listen to you fighting."

"Maybe Mr. Winkleman would be interested to know I found Billy Bob up in a tree," said Shareese.

"It's JIM Bob," said Jim Bob, whose neck and face were both turning a bright red.

"Found him up in a tree, acting like he didn't have a care in the world."

"I was fixin' to come down! I told you I was having lunch up there!"

"Winkleass falls to the ground and you're eating lunch? You rednecks have a strange sense of duty," snorted Shareese.

"Enough! Both of you!" exclaimed Melissa. "Jim Bob, why don't you go look for Mark and Andrew. Shareese, help me move Mr. Winkleman on the desk so he can lay down."

Jim Bob stormed to the exit and swung open the door. Before him stood a tall man, whose chiseled features didn't seem surprised by the sudden opening of the door. Jim Bob froze before the unexpected figure.

"I'm here to see Mr. Conrad Winkleman," said the tall figure.

"Are you from St. Agnus Hospital?" called Melissa over Jim Bob's shoulder.

"Um, no. I'm Chuck Noble... Dr. Chuck Noble. I'm here to replace Dr. Wisenhiemer."


[edit on 23-9-2004 by loam]

EDIT: Fixed conversion issues.

[edit on 25-3-2006 by loam]

"Well, get over here quick," Shareese screamed. Mr. Winkleman collapsed outside near the dumpster and we're waiting for the ambulance.

"I'm a Veteranarian, you know, but perhaps I can help," Noble declared, as he put his fingers to Winkleman's neck. "His pulse is strong and is very rapid--about 120 beats per minute," Noble said, basing his estimate of Winkleman's pulse on a ten second count. Noble is a mathematical wizard. "What's that he's clutching in his hand? Is that a dead animal?"

The room fell silent. No one moved. Jim Bob, Melissa and Shareese stared nervously at each other.

"Well, let's take a look. Dear God, his hands are are like a vise," Noble grunted as he pried the hairy mass from Winkleman's hand. "It's a-it's a-a, what the hell is this?"

"It's Winkleass's rug!" Jim Bob blurted out.

"I see," Noble said, suppressing a grin. "Is there some relationship between the 'rug' and Conrad's condition?"

No one moved. No one spoke. A siren broke the silence.


[edit on 2005/7/9 by GradyPhilpott]

"Oh, good; that must be the ambulance," remarked Noble in a curiously casual way, being as there was an unconscious man at his feet. He tossed Winkleman's tattered postiche in Jim Bob's direction and said, "You, go meet the EMTs and bring them back here."

Dodging the airborne hairpiece with a look of alarm, Jim Bob yelped, "Be glad to, sir, but that siren wasn't from any ambulance."

"No, indeed. That was the alarm on the maximum security enclosure," Shareese chimed in. "We've got us a Jersey Devil on the loose."

"I assume that would be a bad thing?" responded Noble, taking a moment to enjoy the absurdity of the situation. After all, how many days does one spend in the company of an insensate zookeeper, a profusion of mythological beasts, and a mentally deficient handyman? Outside of Langley, that is.

Shareese favored him with an inscrutable look. "Maybe not. Maybe J.D. and Chupy can keep each other occupied for a while. They like to hunt together...."

Jim Bob watched Noble ride off into the distance. "That man's bigger'n Dallas."

"I can't believe the ambulance is not here yet," said Melissa.

"They ain't coming," said Shareese, as she looked out the window. "Don't blame them, either. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure why I'm still here. Could be workin' a nice job somewhere. Doing something that won't get ya killed."

"He sure is brave ridin' out there like that," said Jim Bob. "Chupy's one thing, but J.D. too? Now that's a pair that'd be meaner than a skillet full of rattlesnakes."

"I wonder how he got out?" said Melissa. "Do you think Chupy did it?"

Shareese shook her head. "No, I don't think Chupy would know how to unlock the cage. We got someone here making trouble."

Just then, a third alarm rang, it's unique pitch immediately revealing the nature of the problem.

"Oh my god," cried Mellisa, "Griffy's out!"

Jim Bob slammed the door and moved to the center of the room. His face and neck lost their normally red color, and his mouth hung open. "I think we are gonna need to figure out how to get outta here," his voice quivered.

"What's wrong, Jim Bob?" asked Melissa.

Before he could answer, a loud thud shook the ceiling. All three looked at the skylight above and saw Noble's bloody face pressed against the hard plastic.

[edit on 25-3-2006 by loam]