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Left Then: a co-operative story.

  
 
aus
03:41 / 31.07.05
After seven years as circus performers, few of the monkeys had survived the vocational hazards of circus life, travel and performance. The remaining monkeys spent most of their time securely locked in their cages, with no freedom from those cages except when they performed in the ring together.

Even this limited freedom was threatened, since PETA had changed the fundamental thinking of most of the populus and were working towards the elimination of all animal circus acts.

Although they shared the instincts of other primates, the monkeys were deeply habituated to circus life. Most could never adjust to any other circumstance. However, certain members of PETA still believed there was hope for the salvation of trained circus monkeys...
 
 
8===>Q: alyn
03:58 / 31.07.05
... if only they would accept Jesus Christ as their personal savior. The first priority was to dress the monkeys like decent Christian folk and so a master monkey tailor was brought in to consult, provoking controversy among the PETA activists. Abeline DeVries, the leader of the Christian PETA faction, wanted to dress them as Hoosiers from the 1920s, as she felt Indiana in the 1920s was the pinnacle both of Christian culture and of animal activism. Piquar Estilluvi, a constant fly in Abeline's ointment, argued that this fixation on the past was counter-revolutionary and counter to PETA's animal ministry. Manus Hector Stately, a newcomer suspected of uncouth sympathies, argued that dressing the monkeys at all was an un-Christian violation of their dignity and civil rights.

None of this facticiousness mattered much to Valois Heimerer, the monkey tailor. He had learned his trade at the feet of some of the greatest beast clothiers in the world and yearned to prove himself their equal, so he rolled out his measuring tape and set to work, losing only an eye in the process. Ten months later the monkey suits were ready, and Abeline was horrified to discover...
 
 
aus
14:12 / 31.07.05
...that the obsessive Valois Heimere had cleverly hidden a chemical formula in the monkey suit design. In the wrong hands, the cut and stitching of each suit could provide vital information about a secretly developed drug that caused people to post on internet discussion boards completely out of character.

But it was too late. The mind-control evangelists had already convinced the monkeys of the saving grace of Jesus of Nazareth. Having accepted Jesus as their savior, the suit-wearing monkeys had been released into the world to preach the gospel. Now there were an uncertain number of monkeys involved in various forms of professional Christian witness and mission on six different continents and various islands. Each monkey was dressed with a formula that could potentially change the Internet forever and, even worse, cripple the extraordinarily popular PETA blog.

Abeline DeVries immediately realized that there was only one organization that could team with PETA to resolve this terrible crisis: the International Banana Growers' Council, which had recently merged with the International Network for the Improvement of Banana and Plantain to produce a worldwide banana monopoly...
 
 
All Acting Regiment
15:07 / 31.07.05
Meanwhile, at the White House, a small furry figure had evaded the guys in giant exoskeleton armour suits* by dint of being small and furry. Furthermore, the security cameras, though they latched on to him for a while, realised he was a Christian, and obviously couldn't be a terr'rist.

This was in fact one of the monkeys mentioned earlier, and he had a bone to pick. He slammed open the door to the President's study. The seated figure spun round on his easy chair, and would have dropped the airfix cruise missile he'd been carefully building if the stupid fuck hadn't glued it to his own hand in a visual delightfully reminiscent of a cock during masturbation except with panels, engines etc.

The president eyed the monkey for a second,and then, with a look akin to what you might expect to see on the spotty, greasy face of a drippy 16 year old Harry Potter fan with no social life when they find out that their lame-assed wizard-tyke protagonist's left smooth bollock had against all odds dropped a fucking inch, the president exclaimed:

"Pappy?"

"Damn straight, fucker", replied the monkey. "Now you'd better get to releasing all those monkeys you've got trapped on the International Space Station. They're your brothers and sisters, for pete's sake."

"But...but..."

"No buts. We know you put them there for a laugh a few years back. The joke's over."

At that moment, a small voice broke out from somewhere near the curtains, and a little pointy face peered up over the desk to glare at the President with beady eyes, which produced a look on his face you might expect to see on that of a drippy 16 year old Harry potter fan when they find out that their fucking stupid boy wizard character's right nipple's outer circlet had been peirced by a single lance of black, curly body hair.

"And you can release the pole-cats while you're about it, you cunt, you."
_________

* The guys in giant suits were actually quite weedy. Instead of hardy physical training they played Connect 4 in their battle suits for hours to improve their, no, honestly, to improve their in-suit co-ordination.

However, this was no ordinary Connect 4, you fuckers, this was Giant Connect 4, with the top of the frame being a good 2.5 metres above floor level, and with the coins large enough that a small chap could easily sit on the disc and still have a good inch of rim to spare. There was even a little step ladder so you could reach the slits.
 
 
Topper
22:52 / 01.08.05
[aus]... and portable meth labs, man, that your posse can front upon. They're your boys... they deserve something to step to."

"That a meth lab, man?" "Yeah, you a meth lab?"

"I'm seeing your future... it's a meth lab of crystal meth... that's your future, Mary Kate."

The monkey addressing the joint banana commission swung a diamond-studded paw at his entourage. That monkey's paw spoke silence.

"Gentleman, Ladies, members of the what-have-you, we are your genetic twins, fraternally. We are your fraternal twins. Not with... the hair and the... prehensile... I mean genetically, if you look at it. Granted, it was you who mapped the DNA.

"The point. That is, the point is that we are your equals now. We're cute. We're organized. We hunt.

"We are the Primate Christian Army...
 
 
Topper
00:22 / 02.08.05
"...We are the Farmer in His Dell... the Many-Sided Octopi... the Cocoanut Cartel. We dance upon your stages, we light upon the breeze. Our chests have stickered tassels, our bottoms dungarees.

"I am El Presidente. But you must call me by my real name, Glans Hardwick..."
 
 
aus
03:37 / 24.08.05
(This went downhill surprisingly quickly.)
 
 
iamus
01:33 / 26.08.05
You mentioned monkeys on the first line and you're surprised?

Red. Rag. Bull.
 
 
gridley
03:09 / 26.08.05
Meanwhile, sitting on the third floor balcony of a riverside brew pub, fledgeling beast clothier Manus Hector Stately sipped timidly at a pale ale and fantasized about how best to strip naked an improperly-dressed monkey. He imagined steam powered vehicles with mechanical arms that accordioned out to slit fabric with razor sharp blades. He dreamt of textile-eating bacterias and gignatic magnetic button poppers.

But mostly he thought about the naked monkeys themselves.

Their dignity, their allure, their power of him. Of all the animals he had dressed and undressed over the years, none had bewitched him so or forced him to question his own career like those bewildering primate cousins.

Two women in jetpacks appeared overhead, circling the riverfront until finally their goggles fixed on him. They landed gingerly on the railing of the balcony, the heels of their boots catching on the edge. They stood their silent for a moment as though expecting him to act, then removed their goggles and...
 
  
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