Koko monkeys around with love
Remember Koko — the kind
ly young gorilla who made
news in the late ’70s because
of her American Sign Language pro
ficiency and lovable personality?
Well, Koko is no longer a young
un. Like all child celebrities, she grew
up when we weren’t looking.
One day she’s a cheeky, little mon
key with a pet kitten, and before you
know it, she’s blossomed into 230
pound womanhood.
And now Koko has got herself a
man.
A significant other, a lover, a mate
— a primate.
Where, you might ask, does a lone
ly young gorilla on the make find her
perfect match?
Like the rest of us, Koko had no
luck with the bar scene and single’s
nights at the Piggly Wiggly. Never
one to leave her future to blind luck,
Koko turned to video dating.
That’s right, in an effort to find
Koko a mate, her caretakers gathered
videotapes of eligible gorillas and
then screened them for the lucky
bachelorette.
Koko watched carefully and even
commented on some of the studs —
“He’s got nice hair on his head,”
“Feet too big.”
After she chose her favorite, he
came over for a visit. This first choice
turned out to be a dud — don’t they
all — but Koko wasn’t too discour
aged. She hit the VCR again, and
found another hunka-hunka burning
monkey manhood.
Koko was pretty excited when Mr.
Right finally showed up at her pad.
She chased him around willy nilly
and slapped him a few times.
Slow down, Koko, there’s plenty
of time for all that. Silly kid.
As happy as I am to see Koko
crazy in love — I mean, really, she
deserves it — I’m worried about her
future.
Chances are, Koko is much bright
er than her male counterpart. Say
what you will about opposites at
Like the rest of us, Koko had no
luck with the bar scene and
single’s nights at the Piggly
Wiggly. Never one to leave her
future to blind luck, Koko turned
to video dating.
trading, I’m pretty dam sure that
this relationship is going to suffer
astronomical communication prob
lems.
After the thrill of romping around
wild-eyed wears off, Koko’s going
to need more from her partner: con
versation, affirmation, positive feed
back.
“Honey, what are you thinking?
Honey?”
“Let’s talk about us. Where is our
relationship going? Answer me!”
“This stoic crap just isn’t cute any
more.”
“I SAID, pass the orange peels.”
There might be children by that
point. And no doubt, Koko will pick
up most of the childrearing responsi
bilities.
Who’s going to teach the kids that
yes means yes and no means no?
Who will help them with their sign
language homework?
Koko.
And she’ll probably be the disci
plinarian, too. “What would you fa
ther say?” just doesn’t have the same
effect when Dad can’t talk.
When the relationship finally falls
apart, what will Koko do? What sort
of world is this for a divorced gorilla
with a couple of kids?
Will she give up completely on
love and romance?
Sweet Koko, don’t close your
heart. There are plenty more apes in
the jungle. Well, actually, there
aren’t. But I hear that zoos are a
great place to meet guys.
Hopefully, Koko will find a sensi
tive guy who doesn’t mind dating
someone more educated than him
self. Really, though, he should have
some basic language skills.
Maybe Grape Ape is available.
Sure, he was no Mr. Ed, but at least
he could say his own name — over
and over again. And every once in a
while, he’d grunt meaningfully.
With a little persuasion, I bet Koko
could even talk him out of wearing
that goofy bow tie.
Maybe Koko should stick to this
video dating idea. “Love Connec
tion” is always looking for unique
contestants, and Koko has better man
ners and hygiene skills than many of
the people I’ve seen on the show.
Consummate game-show host
Chuck Woolery wouldn’t even be
phased by a non-human contestant
on the show. Chuck’s pretty slick.
He’s seen worse — oily, crude
men in raw silk pants. Spike-heeled
women who say things like,
“Omigawd Chuck, you wouldn’t be
lieve my embarrassment. I swear he
hadn’t brushed his teeth for two
months; they were like butter.”
On second thought, Koko’s way
too good for those “Love Connec
tion” losers. She’d fall into that “I’d
rather go out with you, Chuck” trap.
“Now Koko,” Chuck would say,
tugging at his collar and making
“Whew!” faces at the audience, “you
know I’m a happily married man.”
Poor Koko, looking for love in all
the wrong places.
Rowell li a junior news-editorial, adver
tising and English major and a Daily Nebras
kan columnist.
-1 1
Data assumes dire dimensions
Iwant to apologize. This isn’t my
real column.
As I was printing out my bril
liant 80-line dissertation on the met
allurgical advances in aluminum foil
since 1940, the computer suddenly
began shrieking like a gibbon in heat
and spewing forth green vomit.
At first I nodded knowingly, rec
ognizing my own PMS symptoms.
But then there was ghostly silence.
The screen went blank for a moment,
then those words appeared: COM
PUTER CANNOT READ FILE. 1
looked at my puny fists. No, a base
ball bat would be far more appropri
ate.
Why? I asked myself. A pencil
costs less than a quarter, and there
are only a few recorded cases of pen
cils spontaneously losing or destroy
ing the work of scribes.
I took a deep breath and thought
of Brent Spiner, the actor who por
trays Lt. Cmdr. Data on Star Trek.
Whenever 1 think I would like to
pour Drano into my disk drive, I like
to think of that glorious day in the
24th century when computers will be
infallible, mild-mannered and sub
missive servants. Someday, you’ll be
able to go to Radio Shack and buy a
Mister Rogers with superhuman
strength.
Sunday’s episode of ’’Star Trek:
The Next Generation” proved me
horribly wrong. In the absence of
Picard and Riker, Data assumed the
role of captain with frightening re
sults. He performed with surprising
authority and curtness. Data even
challenged the inalienable right of
Worf, the show’s token Klingon, to
be obnoxious and overbearing.
As the show’s credits whooshed
by, I sat stunned. Data threw Riker
into the brig at the end while the
sound editors played the comic-re
lief music! Didn’t they see how fright
ening this could become? Hqw many
episodes before Data realizes he can
run the ship all by himself? It may be
a matter of months before Data beams
the entire crew into the center of a
He performed with surprising
authority and curtness. Data even
challenged the inalienable right of
Worf, the show’s token Klingon, to
be obnoxious and overbearing.
white dwarf star, sparing only Coun
selor Troi, who will be forced to
prance around the Enterprise in a
thong bikini until the season’s end.
He’d be nearly impossible to stop.
He feels no pain, nor any emotion.
He is bound to realize that in a future
of atheism, there is no reason for
ethics.
Maybe 1 could send a warrior an
droid from my time period to battle
Data, thus ensuring the possibility of
more “Star Trek” episodes involving
Captain Picard’s bare hiney. But who
could build such a robot?
Next thing I knew, I was racing
down O Street. I hoped it wasn’t too
late. The guy on the phone had said
that since Showbiz Pizza changed its
name to Chuck E Cheese’s Pizza,
Billy Bob Bear, Showbiz’ mechani
cal bandleader, technically no longer
existed. What if this Chuck E Cheese
was really a guy in a rat suit? Could
it be that human workers are more
efficient and are making androids
obsolete?
I shuffled through the front door
and walked past the “Lord of the
Flies’’ nightmare that is the Chuck E
Cheese game room. 1 found a door
marked “Employees Only” and
passed through it into a dimly lit
storage closet. There were paper cups
stacked four feet high, boxes of Tai
wan treasures for which kids played
Skeeball until their arms were numb,
and in the corner... Billy Bob! His
face was still stretched into a merry
grin. He had probably been singing a
Beach Boys song when they killed
him.
I plugged the tattered cord into
the wall outlet, and he jumped to life,
singing loudly. I desperately tried to
quiet him, but I had to unplug him
when he would not respond to my
pleas.
1 whipped a roll of aluminum from
my pocket and tried to construct a
machine that would project my com
panion and I 400 years into the fu
ture. Several hours later, I began to
wish that 1 hadn’t dropped out of 4-H
when 1 was a child.
1 would have to settle for bringing
Data to Lincoln. I folded the Reynolds
foil into a Fibonacci generator, and
after applying precisely 76 torques to
the device, Data arrived in shimmer
ing splendor. I quickly plugged in
Billy Bob and pushed him to nis feet.
“Bushy, bushy blond hairdo ...”
he wailed. Data cocked his head. He
drew out his fazer and shot Billy
Bob. I was stunned. Sparks shot from
Bob’s mid-section.
“Suuuurfin—** and thus he died.
When the smell of burning acrylic
fur and smoke cleared, Data was
gone. I scampered out to the
gameroom, and after a quick pause
to enjoy a round of that “pound the
plastic gophers on the head’’ game, I
gave chase. The parking lot held only
cars.
He’s out there. Maybe he’s the
new pledge in your fraternity or your
new boyfriend. He may even be sit
ting next to you on the Star Tran,
asking the driver if he’s seen Gene
Roddenberry.
PeDtrup li » top bo more Eagliik major
■ad a Dally Nebraska^ columatit.
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