thecultofthepurplemonkeybyjetnoir

AN EMERALD GIRAFFE IN TEXAS

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE EMERALD GIRAFFE WERE YOU THINKING?" bellowed the purple monkey swearing foully, (To oath in the name of the emerald giraffe is considered the worst language you can use), "CAN'T YOU SEE?" The Clowns obediently but their hands over there eyes. The monkey groaned. "IT'S LIKE THE TEXAS COLD SORE MASSACRE ALL OVER AGAIN!" The monkey gave up. "YOU'RE ALL FIRED!" he concluded. The clowns grinned foolishly. Admittedly all clowns grin foolishly but these actually had a good reason to. The boss was in a good mood. He fired them every other day. The purple monkey turned away disgusted and belched.

-

It might be best if there was a brief history lesson here. The Texas Cold Saw Massacre was the most horrific thing that happened to the purple monkey's world. Everybody got a cold sore from a terrible monster known merely as Auntie.

-

The Purple Monkey had had an idea. It was so fiendishly simple; it was a stroke of genius. His popularity polls had been going up recently to an all time high of 3 percent. It was disgusting. With a bit of fate, this would drop them to around about –50 percent, a much more respectable score. He smiled. It was turning out to be a good day after all.

-

Neil was really beginning to get scared. He was being incarcerated in a gigantic, hollow pickled onion. He was unsure whether the purple monkey's previous quote had anything to do with his gaol but as a roast chicken merrily tap-danced its way across the road/street/whatever the hell these things called it. Neil began to sob.

He thrust his head upwards, towards the heavens, raised his arms, and screamed, "WHY ME? WHAT HAVE I DONE?" then more quietly, "Haven't I been through enough?"

The stench of pickle vinegar invaded Neil's nose, and other senses, as he gazed out of the translucent prison of slimy skin. He considered who he was.

-

One of the clowns waddled up to the purple monkey, who was lounging on a throne, a party hat on his head that read: 'I'M IN CHARGE. HA, HA, HA.' The clown shoved a Christmas cracker into his hands. The purple monkey grunted.

"Sir," the clown began, "they're getting out again."

"Yes, number 6," replied the monkey. The clown coughed.

"I am not a number," the clown stated, "my name is Harold." He withdrew. The purple monkey pulled the cracker. The joke read:

'HELP! I'M BEING HELD HOSTAGE IN A CHRISTMAS CRACKER FACTORY."

"Damn," swore the purple monkey, "they're getting out again." A new clown ran up breathless.

"Sir," said the clown, "we've found him."

"You found Neil!" gasped the purple monkey, "Right, activate Plan G."

The purple monkey jumped up and followed the clown out the door.


Note: I really can't add anything, can I?

Disclaimer: Neil is copyright to Square Pictures; and the story (plus other characters) to me. This story has been written on the understanding that you may read it and print it out; but you may not pass it off as your own, hire it out, or sell it for money. You also may not put it on your own or any other web page without my express written permission. Thankyou!

JetNoir