The man who would become known as HVmonkey was the product of a sexually driven need to add to the already crowded genetic madhouse known as Planet Earth. Like every spud (we’ll call him “B”), he was born in a typical way—thrust from a perfectly comfortable refuge into a beat-or-be-beaten realm inhabited by the spoiled, the abusive and the self-righteous. Not to say there aren’t good people out there, but let’s face it—there hasn’t been a real revolution for nearly two-and-a-half centuries, and it ain’t as easy to rally the citizens as it used to be. But, I digress.

 1971: Charlie Manson and crew are sentenced to life imprisonment for the Sharon Tate murders, Ray Tomlinson sends the first e-mail utilizing the @ symbol, Walt Disney World opens its doors to the denizens of this planet and B breathes ‘real’ air for the first time in a hospital in Virginia Beach. Born a short time after a tragedy at Kent State, and a bit before the formation of a certain, very influential band (that might not have come around as we know it—if at all—had it not been for the aforementioned tragedy), B’s life was relatively uneventful—at least until puberty. Up until then, there was simply the innocence of youth, the potential of imagination, and the ignorance of the turmoil and chaos that lie in wait in the middle of the darkened corridor ahead. Had B known that he would only have a little over a decade of the amiable, carefree lifestyle of childhood, he may have packed some away for later. The beginning was truly the end.

>>FWD

 1983: Sally Ride is the world’s first Space-girl, McDonald’s introduces the Chicken McNugget, Ronald Reagan calls the Soviet Union an ‘evil empire’ (that one’s just too EZ) and two significant things happen to B—the acquisition of a key* that would one day open the doors of a reality undreamed of...and pubes! The pubes everybody gets, but the key is something that only a select few would get their hands on—and fewer still would be able to comprehend its purpose or its necessary reason for existing. B was fortunate enough to have a friend who ‘got it’—at least partially. After all, his friend was no older or wiser, but he knew a Good Thing when he was exposed to it. He shared the key, and then passed it on to B, selflessly parting with it—he wouldn’t miss it, for he possessed many others. B would one day possess many keys like this one as well, but this particular gift would remain a much beloved relic of his formative years  Simply put, this key comforted B, although it would still be some time before he fully realized its significance...and the Truth.

*The Merriam Webster Dictionary’s   third definition for key is as  follows; EXPLANATION, SOLUTION.

 It was a key not fashioned out of metal, but plastic (and ideas). It was created in ’82 by five gentlemen from a place called Akron , O-HI-O with the intention of initiating positive mutation all across the land. The key was an album in cassette form—and although B might not have completely understood the message, he did dig the hell out of the sound. Tight and hard-hitting—a relentless onslaught of sci-fi F/X and energy launched at him from a big sonic spud-gun. But, wasn’t there also an underlying hint of...tragedy? The sound of things, for lack of a better term, falling apart? How could this be? B’s brain was still emergent, still naive of the Wiggly World around him. But, perhaps his gray matter harbored that which would allow him to cut through the mental grease and grime, for he embraced the tinny synth tones, the maniacal laughter and the flawless jungle beats. B loved DEVO, and he would some day be on his way to a higher understanding.

 As mentioned before, B’s life was fairly uneventful—but he felt that things were about to become more interesting when he crept into his early/middle teens. Politicians were barrowing liberally from commercials and rock stars (proving that, as if it were any big surprise, they no longer had a clue), Space Junk came crashing down on everyone as Russia launched more to take its place, Chernobyl blew up, Iran/Contra, yadda, yadda, yadda; interesting = scary! And, as if the growing evils in the world weren’t enough, a new, vile complication came swooping in to deliver B a sampling of the reality that awaited him and every other good spud—HIGH SCHOOL!

“Simply a problem of biology

it’s a choice you never make

The scene is set and you’re subjected to

a lethal dose of growing pains”

 Ridiculed and ragged upon, B fit into no clique or circle; he wasn’t ‘popular’; he was indeed a misfit—but that was okay, for the outcasts understood and accepted him as he was. Those Beautiful Mutants of the school smoking area knew where B came from, and together they thumbed their noses at the class politicians and the cheerleaders—the leaders of the world today—because they somehow knew they had to get their licks in while they could...while it mattered, even if in some galling way. After all, speaking your mind around the wrong people these days can lead to a club-induced headache. But, if it hadn’t been for his reclusive friends (and DEVO, too—lest we forget), B may very well have not survived his HS years, as is the case with several poorly mutated ninnies who decided to make B a target of their aggression. Yes—high school was nightmarish to be sure (with exception to those Beautiful Mutants of the school smoking area), but it would only prove to be a dark prologue to an even more sinister place; the irreversible trip down that corridor had begun.

 The scars that B’s experience as a student left on him didn’t do much to foster an effort to seek out higher education, and the loss of his paternal unit not long after graduation sealed the deal that would determine the course of B’s life for the next decade—the 90’s became a numb and cloudy dimension. If it could be smoked, swallowed or snorted, B was interested. And, most of the people B lived with during this period had a talent for obtaining various substances, so keeping reality at bay was no difficulty. Escape was the word of the day...every day. But, from time to time, the outside world managed to creep in and drop a Big Bomb.

The 90’s—like the 80’s...but not.

 Not much interested B during this time...unless it got him to that fuzzy place where he wanted to be, in perpetuity. Tragically, he even lost his taste for the mutated outpourings of DEVO for a time. And, through constant shuffling and moving, B’s collection of albums dwindled; he even lost his first beloved key—OH, NO! But, he didn’t care, because he was a nobody in a world of somebodys; and he figured it would just be best to hold up behind a thick wall of ignorance, and let those somebodys on the other side rip each other apart. They would take the world with them, but that didn’t matter to B—after all, ignorance is bliss. It wouldn’t be until the beginning of the 2K’s that B would (re)discover that which he should never have so carelessly handled in his years-long stupor. Another key—one that posed an important and significant question.

 After enduring a decade full of domestic bombings, school shootings, fast-food places making people fat and the popularization of sexual misconduct in the Church, B started getting a clear head. The fun stuff he’d been playing with no longer held his interest, and he decided to shed his paranoias (or at least repress them) and do something he’d deprived himself of for so long—go shopping.

“Beware when the great God lets loose a thinker on this planet"

                               -Ralph Waldo Emerson

B’s post-slump spree eventually took him to a trendy little music store in Lawrence, Kansas that specialized in trading—mostly crap, but there were occasional finds. Looking thoroughly through the used cd bins, B came across a familiar album cover (it looked like an old ad display for golf balls). But, it wasn’t the iconic imagery that was the attention grabber—it was the question that was scrawled across the cover; Are We Not Men? B’s mind flooded with near-forgotten memories. The question resonated in his head, and although it was just music to him in his youth, B knew it was something to which he’d have to give real consideration. He snatched up the album, then dug further for more. Alas, Q and A was the only DEVO material there. But, things would get better, because over the next few months, B would track down the other albums, one by one. And he listened, and he began to think—then, BANG!

 DEVO had called it! They were the post-modern harbingers of things to come! Realization hit B like a semi on the expressway. The keys fit the locks! His memory shot back to his first exposure to the band and, like a boomerang, came back through the years, bringing with it everything that had transpired in the world up to that point. Good and evil sleeping side by side; hostages for weapons to obtain more hostages; corporate heads on the take (make no mistake); everyone rushing out to grab the latest laze-inducing items so people can one-up their neighbors. Civilian tanks that get three miles/gallon carry people home to watch the celeb of the month have a breakdown deciding between foie gras and caviar for their pets! All through this, he kept seeing three important words flash before his eyes—DEVO WAS RIGHT! But, what to do with this knowledge? Was the damage already done? What to do, indeed.

 Aside from the new 'revelation' B discovered, he realized something else almost as important; he hadn’t been gainfully employed since he’d gotten on an environmental kick back in ’96, and joined the Sierra Club. This wouldn’t do. Granted, B really didn’t relish the idea of supporting the corporate system he’d developed a good hatred for (it was a rather outdated, hippie-like way of thinking), but he didn’t feel like not eating, either. So, he got hired by a Midwest-based grocery store chain (oh, what the hell...we'll call it Hy-Vee [named after the chain’s founders—more or less]), and moved to Lawrence—the only cool city in Kansas; it’s almost like its own little, near-ignorance-free country. It was at Hy-Vee where B first encountered 'The Personnel Manager', an imposing corporate bulldog who was the No. 2 man at the store; which basically made him the No. 1 ass-kisser. B worked the night shift, which, in The PM’s eyes, made him and the rest of the night crew scumbag thieves. This opinion brings us to the fateful night.

“I can walk like an ape, talk like an ape

 I can do what monkeys do!”

 After a rash of thefts at the store, The PM called a meeting with the night stock crew. After a lecture about doing and not doing the right things (which sounded not unlike a resentful parent explaining something to a 'special' child), The PM proceeded to try and compliment the crew by saying, quote: ‘I can train monkeys to stock shelves, but I can’t teach them teamwork’. He said this in regards to how tight a unit the crew was, and although the work was relatively simple, it was the diligence and camaraderie of the crew that made the difference. Needless to say, The PM would have made a lousy football coach. But, all was not completely screwed, as B took this as a sign. If he was going to be compared in any sense to an ape, he would embrace it; after all, there were worse things to be compared to (at least apes don't screw over their underlings for a greater percentage). From that fateful night forward, B would become known--in many circles--as The Stupendous, Zero Cool Hy-Vee Monkey! 'HV' for short. 

 He had the name, but B refrained from using his new moniker in public--the straights wouldn't understand. Where, then, could this new symbol of the under-appreciated megacorp stepping stone reveal himself? Where could this champion of shit-takers everywhere spread the word of the Devolution of humankind (or help spread it, as it is)? The one place where he knew everyone would be! The place that gets more peoples' attention than anything else (okay, besides the modern altar that is television)! A place where everyone is truly equal, existing in a Universe of ones and zeroes--The Universal Church of the Almighty IN-TER-NET! It was here--not dissimilar from the high school smoking area--that B felt like he belonged; felt like he could make an impression in this world. Here, he mattered, and what he did mattered...and to the right people, too. The misfit finally fit in.

 2004: A certain, soon-to-be re-elected 'Retarded Cowboy' has been getting the U.S. Army slowly killed off for a while, The Space Program is working hard to get humans to ruin another planet, NO MORE 'FRIENDS' and HVmonkey makes his first cyberspace appearance in a little place called SpudTalk. Here, HVM--and those like him--could spread their knowledge and witticisms in a big world made small, to make small people big; to hand out spankings to those corporate bulldogs; to build the Devolutionary Army needed to put things back where they belong! And, for all this to be done, the people must know what they are (not think what they are), they must stray from the herd, and most important of all, they must keep on mutatin'! As B, he didn't really buy into this...didn't have much hope for the human race--as HVmonkey, though, he still didn't have any hope for man, but he did hold out for the notion that if enough properly motivated Spuds get out there and go beyond the Normal Thing, the ninnies and the twits will be forced to eat their share of crow, and hopefully choke on the feathers.

 Duty Now for the Future...and the future is NOW!