I like monkeys, they're pretty cool. They can climb trees and I never learned how. He flew us to the jungle, except I'm a ghost so he didn't know I was there. We perched atop a tree, and watched two monkeys fuck the everloving shit out of each other.
The display of intercourse was so horrifically beautiful, we hung ourselves. It was the only memory we would ever need; we felt accomplished.
Forgot grandkids. They suck anyway. The scorpion in the trees saw the whole thing. The scorpion is undergoing Witness Protection for the gruesome things he saw. But that's a whole other can of worms!
YOU ARE READING
Mr. Bananaman
Non-FictionThis story is one in a million. We would spoil your enjoyment of it if we told you any more than that- it's that kind of story.
