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Monkeyman combed his hair while gazing into the mirror. He was having difficulty determining whether he should part his hair to the left or right. Perhaps a middle part? He wasn't sure that was fashionable anymore.
These are the mundane, unglamorous thoughts of Monkeyman, dear Reader. He who has been unjustly blamed for spreading horror throughout the subcontinent. Surely this hysteria cannot be blamed on his existence alone.
He took no comfort in the plight of other mysterious creatures, for he did not believe in Bigfoot or Chupacabra, his alleged hairy brethren. Nor did the more sympathetic portraits of him circulating among the town, WANTED posters depicting him in a slim-fitting nehru jacket of decent quality, mollify.
As Monkeyman returned to the duvet, a small tranquilizer dart shot from a blowgun passed silently underneath the sill of a barely opened window (a happenstance that would have been impossible only days before, when Monkeyman still exhibited his trademark caution by sealing all potential passageways at all times), striking him square in the ass.
Date Written: November 18, 2004
Average Vote: 3