A Tale of Monkey Lust

He was there in front of me, this shining beacon.



I loved him, this 80's monkey. Our love was pure and whole.



But then one day he broke the news.



He had eyes for another. He, this monkey, could conceal it no longer.



And that other had passionate desires. She, this former dear friend of fifteen years, could not contain herself.



Thus he broke my heart. The beating bloody bulb shattered into the stratosphere.



But monkey love is fleeting. The call of the wild is covered in acrylic fur.



And he would soon sweep another of her feet.*



Their lips grazed. Both were overcome with a severe case of jungle fever.



And they proceeded with caution. A caution that melted into burning passion.



Very soon, she peeled his ripe banana; he sipped the sweet milk of her coconuts.



Their passion, undeniable.



Their mating call, righteous.



Oohoohaahaahaah



OOHOOHAAHAAHAAH



BOOMSHAKALAKALAKA BOOMSHAKALAKALAKA



THE END



*Yes, this was originally my idea. But sweet little homemaker Morgie TOTALLY went with it.



In the end, we were both equally to blame for this awesome perversion. To quote Morgan: "This must sorta be what porn directors feel like." Sage words.

Sigh...I miss her already.



Come back to visit soon, Morgie, and maybe next time there will be wee little monkeys roaming Central Ave in this jungle called Minneapolis.