AcmeShorts

Moonbeams the ape-man leaned over his high perch, rubbing his sore balls and appraising the threat of his fellow cro-simians below. He was used to garnering laughter and, ultimately, respect from his peers with his noises and manner. Funny faces, obscene gestures, lots of “aping” of others. But somehow the tides had turned. Oh how they had turned. The shrewdness was now hooting and hollering up at him, shaking their fists, threatening. He had, perhaps, gone too far. It’s funny, he mused, how that one little improvised turn of a joke can sour an entire routine. It was a tough call though: whether or not to listen to one’s creative ego. Who knows? Maybe I’m ahead of my time, and they just aren’t ready for my brand of comedy yet. A rock flew up from the mob, ricocheting off the cliff beneath him. At some point he would have to go down. They would be waiting for him. If he had to do it over again, maybe he would tweak the bit where he crammed his balls in the ass of Treeclimber’s wife.