Son of Joxer and the Escape From Space Monkey Island

© 2006 Joel A. Hoekstra


Due to some space-time warp thingy that’s too complicated to get into right now, a man known only as Son of Joxer is, in fact, the only mortal to have survived the overly dramatic sinking of Atlantia. Renowned for it’s insufferable arrogance and poor customer service, the gods punished the city of Atlantia by allowing the entire island of Atlantis to be swallowed up by the sea. Son of Joxer happened to be out on a fishing trip that day, and missed out on all the excitement. Outraged that a mere mortal managed to escape their wrath, the gods punished Joxer by ship-wrecking him on Space Monkey Island, land of unspeakable peril and unbearable cuteness (with flowing rivers of madness and hooey).

Unbeknownst to the gods, the scheming Queen of the Amazons has already stranded her own insufferably cute daughter, Gabriella, on the isle of the Space Monkeys (mostly to keep the Space Monkeys at bay, but also because she had a nagging suspicion that Gabri would one day eclipse her in the cuteness department). Frightened and alone, Gabri seeks out the enticing aroma of fish stew coming from the coastline and stumbles upon none other than Son of Joxer, last of the Atlantians!

With Gabri as his sidekick (fighting with her little stick), will Son of Joxer ever escape his divinely decreed exile on Space Monkey Island? How will he be able to decipher the weather-worn maps carved on the walls of the ancient ruins? Will he be able to put up with Gabriella’s incessant nagging or will he "accidentally" push her over a cliff? Will Gabri ever learn the secret ingredient to Joxer’s fish stew recipe? And how long will it take Joxer to realize that he’s been cursed with immortality? Find out the answers to these and other scintillating questions in:

Son of Joxer and the Escape From Space Monkey Island
- published by Trojan Pulp Fiction Press.
© 2006 Joel A. Hoekstra

There are actually 48 Trojans in this picture, however, only two of them can be seen
attempting to escape Space Monkey Island in the lower right corner. Stupid Trojans.

EXCERPT: Son of Joxer and the Escape From Space Monkey Island

Chapter 1: A Portent of Things to Come (Wherein Son of Joxer begins his tale)

It is I, Son of Joxer, who tells these tales. I have grown old and weary from my many travels. My memory certainly isn't as sharp used to be. I fear that if I don't write these tales down for posterity, I'll eventually forget them myself.

I have been struggling for some time now to start my tales from the beginning. In my mind, the stories are all jumbled together and confused. Sometimes I don't remember things in the correct order, or how old I was, or how many wives I had at the time. A properly told story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end. I don't know yet how the story will end, and I can assure you that the middle is quite muddled, but I can distinctly recall how my adventures began.

I suppose if I was telling a proper story, I'd tell you about my humble origins and neglected childhood, if only to gain your sympathy. But truth be told, I had a fairly unremarkable childhood. I was an orphan, but not a slave. I grew up with many siblings, though looking back on it now I suppose most of my childhood friends where actually the children of household slaves, and not really kin of mine. As I said, I was a merely an orphan, a charity case for the senior wife of the household. It's not like her children were really kin of mine either.

All things considered, I think I had a rather happy childhood. Of course, a goodly portion of my fellow siblings died due to accident and disease, but I survived to tell the tale, and don't remember ever being sick or bed-ridden. I lived a quiet, unassuming life. Most young boys dream of doing heroic deeds, living lives of adventure with glorious confrontations between gods and men. I was never one of those boys. I mostly kept to myself, tried to stay out of everyone's way. Above all else, I wished to be left alone, to be free of toil and trouble.

I eventually wed and set up a small basket-weaving shop to make my means. We settled in a small fishing village along the coast, quite oblivious to the ruckus and mayhem of city life. I should probably tell you a bit more about the city. It was the most impressive and magnificent city in the world at that time, the city of Atlantia. Renowned for its insufferable arrogance and poor customer service, Atlantia was the only city founded upon the isle kingdom of Atlantis and its royal navy dominated the trade routes of nearly a dozen other countries.

What most people didn't know at the time was that Atlantia was utterly doomed, cursed by the gods. My wife knew. She told anyone and everyone who would listen that the entire island was fated to be swallowed up by the sea someday. No one ever really paid her much heed, I'm afraid. Not even I. Her occasional rants against the corruption and taint of city life were easily dismissed as the ravings of a mad woman too taken with rural living for her own good. I didn't mind it though. In the rural coastal area in which we lived I had my wife all to myself, I suffered no rivals, and reported to no overlord (save the occasional tax collector).

Then one fine summer morn, my wife urged me to go on an unscheduled fishing trip. The fish happened to be out of season, but she insisted that she was really in the mood for sea fish and that she was sick and tired of having crab cakes for breakfast every morning. Just to humor her, I set out alone in a small sailing boat with a couple of hand nets. I didn't actually believe I would catch anything, mind you, I just wanted to get away from my wife's nagging for a short while.

Looking back on it now, I often wonder if my good wife hadn't had a vision from the gods during the previous night. Perhaps she had an ominous portent that the island would sink that very day. In any case, it's probably a good thing that she goaded me into taking a fishing trip, knowing full well that I would have chided her for her superstitions if she had attempted to warn me (yet again) of the city's imminent demise.

My tiny boat was soon caught up in a tremendous squall and the mast was snapped in twain. I wouldn't know for certain until years later that the entire island of Atlantis had indeed been swallowed up by the sea, just as my wife had prophesied. At the time I had more pressing concerns, such as whether or not I would ever see land again. Thus began my life of adventure and really wild things. And so my tale begins in earnest...

This excerpt is reprinted with permission of The Trojan Pulp Fiction Press.