The Rise, Reign, and Fall of the Lizard King
Three stories about a wannabe Lizard King
The election is over! Monarchies call this period the interregnum. America calls it The Peaceful Transition of Power. We flushed the turd on November third, and on inauguration day, we say ByeDon! In honor of this in-between time, I shall chronicle the unlikely rise, brief and buffoonish reign, and lyrical fall of The Lizard King.
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The Unlikely Rise of the Lizard King (April, 2018)
A few weeks ago, I found a lizard in our downstairs bathroom.
I screamed because, let’s be honest, I fear critters and I tend to overreact. The lizard scurried behind the sink because that’s what lizards do.
A few days later, I saw the same lizard in the same bathroom. At least, I think it was the same lizard; I didn't check the lizard’s ID. I screamed like a maniac and ran like hell.
I informed Christina that a lizard was living in our guest bathroom, that he (or she) was probably hopped up on lilac soap and Trader Joe’s air freshener. I described the lizard as a “wily little fucker,” before adding that we should probably avoid the downstairs bathroom—forever.
“Should we call someone?” Christina asked.
"Sure, do you know a lizard guy?"
Christina did not like my answer. Nor did she approve of my plan to surrender the guest bathroom to the lizard. But hey, I didn’t see Christina volunteer to evict the lizard. That left us at an impasse. It also brought us to that uncertain point in the narrative, where the hero must act in order to propel the story forward from the second act to the third.
A few nights later, as I sat on the couch doing absolutely nothing, Christina summoned me to meet my destiny.
“The lizard is in the dishwasher,” she said in a remarkably calm voice.
Briefly, I considered telling Christina that we would have to give up the dishwasher along with the guest bathroom. But since it’s my job to cook and her job to do the dishes, I knew that wasn’t going to fly.
I thought about calling our upstairs neighbor, but I really didn’t think my cowardice needed a witness.
Then I considered moving, but in the current rental market I knew that was a pipe dream.
“I think we're going to have to catch it,” I said.
I didn’t like hearing those words come out of my mouth. But as it turns out, you start making sense when you run out of unreasonable things to say.
“There’s no way you can catch a lizard,” Christina said.
Had I heard a challenge?
“I used to catch them when I was a kid,” I said.
“Yeah, and you run from them now that you’re an adult, so…”
“Hey, we can live without a second bathroom,” I said. “Do you want to live without a dishwasher?”
Christina and I looked at the lizard.
“He's just sitting there,” she said.
“He’s a wily fucker,” I reminded Christina. “He could take off at any moment. Get me something to catch him with.”
Christina handed me a dish towel.
“Get me something that works,” I barked.
“OK, Mr. Expert, what do you suggest?”
“I need a container to trap him with and something to seal off the top of the container. And hurry!”
A moment later, Christina armed me with a cup and a plate.
“What now?” she asked.
“Now, it’s on.”
Slowly, like a hunter creeping through a primordial forest, I inched toward the dishwasher. The lizard did not move.
Careful not to make a sound, I knelt down and stretched out my arms. I was close to the lizard. Danger close.
“What if he runs?” Christina asked.
“Damn it, honey. We need silence.”
Just then, Mortimer barked.
The lizard took off running.
I swatted at the lizard with the plate, then scooped wildly with the cup. I didn’t catch the lizard, but I did cause the wily little fucker to reverse course.
“There!” Christina yelled, pointing to the lizard running across the kitchen floor.
I gave chase. Mortimer followed.
“Where’d he go?” Christina asked.
I knelt down on my hands and knees.
“He’s in the corner,” I said. “We’ve got him trapped.”
Mortimer barked and growled.
“Let me get the dog out of here,” Christina said.
“No! He’s my wingman on this one. Keep up the pressure, Mortimer!”
Working together, as humans and canines have for tens of thousands of years, Mortimer and I closed in on the lizard.
“He’s trying to get in the cabinet,” I said.
“Don't let him do that,” Christina replied.
I looked at the space between the cabinet and floor. There was nowhere for the lizard to go.
“Get him, Morty!” I yelled.
Mortimer came in from the right, I circled left. The lizard ran...
Straight into the cup.
A second later, I closed the plate over the mouth of the cup.
“Got him!”
“Holy shit!” Christina said.
She raised her hand to high-five.
“Not now, honey. We've got to relocate this wily little fucker ASAP!”
Christina opened the door. I took the lizard for a long walk, and after warning the wily little fucker not to come back, I set him (or her) free.
“Good job, honey,” Christina said.
“Be honest, you didn’t think I could do that,” I said.
“I did not think you could do that.”
“Well,” I said, looking at my wife and our dog, “I couldn’t have done it without the help of a great team.”
We celebrated with hugs and high-fives. Mortimer even got an extra treat. With little skill and even less courage, I had evicted the lizard. I felt like a real hero, and I had just one request.
“Honey, can you call me the Lizard King from now on?” I asked.
Christina roared with laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“Let’s not get carried away with the heroic bullshit, Lizard King.”
The brief and buffoonish reign of the Lizard King (April, 2020)
“A lizard!” Christina shouts.
She freezes.
I freeze.
Mortimer freezes.
“What do we do?” Christina asks. “Get him out of the house!”
There is shouting. As it turns out, I am the one shouting. Not that I’m shouting anything useful. Frankly, I’m running around like a damn fool. We are not the sort of people who take critters in stride.
“Don’t let him out of your sight!” Christina says.
That’s right, I think. We need to track this sucker, capture him safely, then return him to the great outdoors. But to do that I must find my inner strength, my warrior spirit, or whatever it is I call upon in moments of critter terror. In other words, I need to get my shit together.
I hear a voice inside my head. It says, “I am the Lizard King.” The voice sounds a little like me imitating Val Kilmer, playing Jim Morrison. But that’s close enough for rock ‘n roll, isn’t it?
“I am the Lizard King!” I shout.
“Oh no, here we go again with this Lizard King crap,” Christina says.
“Lizard King!”
Upon hearing of the Lizard King’s return, Mortimer charges the reptile.
“No!” Christina shouts.
Yes, I think. The hound is right. It’s been two years since Mortimer and I have chased a lizard, but our last quest bathed us in glory. Onward! Charge!
The lizard heads for the dining room. Mortimer gives chase.
“I need a cup, or a bowl,” I say. “Something to trap him under.”
“We don’t have anything!” Christina shouts.
Nonsense. Of course we have cups and bowls.
“I am the Lizard King,” I shout. “Bring me my tools.”
Mortimer barks. The lizard has reversed course. He’s heading for the kitchen. But we have an open floor plan, and so the terrain works to our advantage.
Mortimer never loses sight of the lizard. I locate a tool with which to trap the beast. Turns out that tool is a serving dish shaped like a pineapple.
I grab the pineapple-shaped serving dish. Mortimer corners the lizard near the counter that separates the kitchen from the dining room.
I bring down the mighty pineapple trap.
“You missed!”
Mortimer barks, echoing Christina’s criticism of my battle tactics.
I try again, but miss.
This lizard is even wilier than the last wily fucker I vanquished.
“Don’t let him get away,” Christina says.
I make a third attempt. Naturally, the third one is the charm.
“Got him!”
I take out my phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Evidence,” I say. “A lot of people don’t believe my stories.”
I take a photo. Then it occurs to me that all I really have is a picture of an upside down pineapple serving dish on the floor. There could be a lizard under there, a million bucks, or nothing at all.
“Now what?” Christina asks. “How do we get him out of here?”
“I need a paper plate.”
“We don’t have any paper plates.”
“In the garage.”
Christina doesn’t move.
“Do you want to get the plate, or guard the lizard?”
“Neither one.”
“Morty, eyes on the pineapple,” I say, before disappearing into the garage.
A moment later, I return with the plate.
“Is this going to work?” Christina asks.
“Of course.”
I lift the pineapple, slide the plate underneath, and...
The lizard is once again on the loose!
There’s yelling, barking, and a rather harrowing series of near-misses and escapes under the dining room table. The whole chase feels like a scene from the Benny Hill Show.
Finally, I catch the lizard again. This time Christina has notes on my paper plate technique. I follow her notes, and it works.
“Get the door!”
Christina opens the front door. I race toward the door, holding my pineapple-shaped lizard trap. But the plate isn’t a perfect fit. As the door swings open, the lizard finds the opening in my makeshift trap.
“No!”
At the threshold of the door, I wave the pineapple out toward the street. The lizard flies through the air. He lands hard on the driveway pavement.
“Oh no,” Christina says. “Is he dead? Poor lizard.”
Mortimer and I move closer. The lizard is in one piece, but he isn’t moving. My heart sinks. I wanted him out of our house, but I didn’t want to hurt him. This Benny Hill sketch has turned dark, like Jim Morrison’s poetry. Has this whole episode merely been some kind of sad metaphor for man’s relationship with nature? Am I a monster? A killer? Is this the end, my beautiful friend?
Mortimer leans in for the sniff test. The lizard wiggles, then darts away, disappearing under my car.
“He’s alive!” I shout. “He’s alive!”
Mortimer and I go back inside.
“I’m still the Lizard King, honey.”
Christina rolls her eyes.
“Admit it,” I say. “You love being married to me.”
“I do,” she says. “But there’s something you should know.”
“What’s that?”
“You left the sliding door to the backyard open. So, I’m pretty sure this is all the Lizard King’s fault.”
The lyrical fall of the Lizard King (November, 2020)
Regarding Christina, I Love Her Madly. She knows how to Light My Fire.
Our house is located on Love Street, where I make Christina dinner in our Soul Kitchen.
When the Music’s Over, I do the dishes for my LA Woman.
Then come the Roadhouse Blues: someone needs to take out the trash.
But it’s dark outside, and these are Strange Days.
I consider Waiting for The Sun.
No, the trash is starting to smell. Time to Break On Through (to the other side).
Christina better Love Me Two Times, I tell myself as I grab the trash bag and walk out into the darkness.
My plan is to Take It as It Comes, but the gargantuan lizard living under our garbage bin has other ideas.
We Could Be So Good Together, the Lizard and The Lizard King, but he is no Peace Frog. He startles me. I shout, jump out of my flip-flops, and pray that the lizard does not Touch Me.
My Eyes Have Seen You, garbage lizard. Five To One, I’ll see you again. I don’t like those odds. The garbage bin and all its lands belong to you, lizard. Tell All The People, I shall bend the knee.
THE LIZARD KING IS DEAD, LONG LIVE THE LIZARD KING!
This is The End.
Zounds! This is better that David Foster Wallace's Lobster!
Followed your tweet here. Love the song titles as story construct. Have an idea for something similar brewing.