Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with what appears to be a grinning, simian butler for his various glowing rectangles. This "Monkeybomb" from a brand called 'Exquisite Gaming'—a rather optimistic name—is essentially a glorified paperweight shaped like a character from one of those noisy screen-games. It's an 8.5-inch statue made of heavy plastic, designed to hold controllers and phones, thus freeing up the human's hands for more important tasks, like opening my food tins. While its sturdiness is mildly respectable, preventing the cheap thrill of knocking it over, its complete lack of movement, sound, or feathery appendages makes it a profound waste of vertical space. It serves no purpose for me, other than perhaps being a new, unsettling idol for the human's strange digital worship.
Key Features
- MONKEYBOMB: Be careful - and don’t throw him, as he just might vaporize before your eyes.
- 8.5" FIGURE: Heavy duty PVC statue and sturdy base that holds your stuff without tipping over.
- VERSATILE: Easily holds and displays most hand-held electronics, business cards, TV remotes, eBook readers, etc!
- GREAT GIFT IDEA: Calling all Call of Duty fans, this is a collectible figure must-have gift. An essential for any COD gamer.
- OFFICIALLY LICENSED: Your favorite pop culture characters - With A Purpose! Officially licensed by Activision - Call of Duty, styled on Monkey Bomb.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in a box, a prison of cardboard from which my human eagerly freed it. He called it "Monkeybomb" and placed it on the end table with a reverence usually reserved for my dinner bowl. It was a grotesque little effigy, a monkey in a red vest, cymbal-hats fused to its head, its mouth locked in a rictus grin. It held its arms out, waiting. For what, I did not yet know. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail giving a slow, metronomic twitch. A new player had entered the game, and I, the house detective, had a new case. My initial sweep of the perimeter revealed little. A low, cautious sniff confirmed the scent of a factory in a distant land, a sterile plastic odor devoid of life. I circled it, my gray tuxedo brushing the air. The base was heavy, immovable—a professional job. This wasn't some cheap goon that would tumble with a well-placed shove. This thing was anchored. I rose on my hind legs, placing a soft, white paw on its head. Nothing. I tapped the cymbals. A dull thud. The grin remained, mocking my attempts to elicit a confession. It was a stone wall, a silent sentinel of secrets. For two days, it stood there, an empty-handed beggar. I had all but dismissed it as another piece of tasteless human décor, as inert and uninteresting as the fake plant in the corner. My investigation had stalled. I retired to a sunbeam to reconsider the facts, concluding the monkey was simply a fool. My human, however, had other plans. That evening, he returned from his labors, plucked his glowing hand-rectangle from his pocket, and placed it reverently into the monkey’s outstretched arms. Suddenly, I understood. The light from the device illuminated the monkey's face, its painted-on eyes seeming to glint with malevolent purpose. This wasn't a toy. It wasn't even a statue. It was a pedestal for the very thing that stole my human's attention from me. It was a collaborator, an accomplice to the crime of neglect-by-glowing-screen. Its function was to cradle the enemy, to present it to my human as a worthy offering, keeping his hands free and his mind ensnared. My verdict was clear. This Monkeybomb was not worthy of my time as a plaything, but it had earned my eternal enmity as a strategic rival. Its sturdiness was no longer a respectable quality, but a challenge. My counter-move was simple, elegant, and effective. The next time my human placed his game controller upon the monkey's arms, I waited for him to leave the room before leaping onto the table and claiming the controller as the most magnificent pillow I had ever known. The monkey could hold nothing. Checkmate.
