One day, the monkeys got out of their cages. We had nets and straightjackets and what-have-you, but we were little to no match for the awesome force that was the monkeys' ally, Bam-Sheeva the five-legged tiger.
Now, despite the implications of her fearsome title, Bam-Sheeva only had three legs. As the story goes, Bam-Sheeva never had five legs and, in fact, never even had four. Supposedly, there was once a thirty-eight-year-old idiot manchild who visited the zoo and mistook Bam-Sheeva's head and tail for two additional legs, and he went on to announce his perception aloud. This was overheard by Milton McDickle, who was nearby cleaning up after the polar bears. Word got around and the idiot manchild was eventually put to sleep, but Bam-Sheeva's new nickname stuck.
Milton van der Borscht (no relation to Milton McDickle) was present at the standoff between us and the tiger and the tiger's monkey fans. He was of absolutely no use to us during the struggle and, accordingly, shall not be mentioned again.
Bam-Sheeva was steadily looking in our direction, pacing back and forth with a pile of monkeys on her back, while the rest of us were locked at the elbows in Red Rover formation trying to conceive the next step in the monkeys' apprehension. Again, Bam-Sheeva was not looking at us, indeed, she was looking "in our general direction." It was as though she were looking at the contents of the scenery behind us in preparation for the attack, so that when she finally did pounce, we would get knocked into assorted stationary objects that would make our injuries and potential deaths quite delicious from her point of view. We had no option but to, uh, stare back at her, I guess.
This staring contest went on for a considerable amount of time and was not even brought to a halt when the monkeys on Bam-Sheeva's back got bored and began rubbing their own feces into into her fur. Granted, animals are dirty and tend to get crap all over themselves anyway, but the monkeys never stopped rubbing and Bam-Sheeva's skin got raw and started to bleed. An onlooking child made a comment about diced onions which his mother misinterpreted to be some sort of reference to Neo-Nazis and this created a ruckus. A distraction such as this could have been useful in our plight against the tiger and the monkeys, but what happened instead was the incident became, oh, just another one of those wacky things that gets brought up at dinner later that day.
Well, Bam-Sheeva eventually collapsed as a result of too much lead in her water that morning and the monkeys gave us a heartfelt letter of apology for making it such an interesting day.
We drowned them all anyway, but the sentiment was nice. You know, the thought that counts.
© 1999 kyle t.
IMPROVINOVELS
(there's like, a million to choose from)
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