Once there were two little monkeys who were taken out of the jungle. They struggled in human-world, and had many crazy adventures and escapades. They were quite the pair, tales of their exploits are a laugh-riot. Maybe even two laugh riots.
[Presidential edit: this page is pathetic and I insist it gets disambiguation. Now]
So, the apes were called The Treasurer and The Propagandist. The Treasurer was a neat ape who liked everything in order. The Propagandist though was a messy ape who would leave everything in a state. Most of the time you could find the Propagandist fretting in front of his empty knife racks, wondering where they all were. Silly Propagandist. They were still logged firmly in the backs of everyone he had stabbed in there.
On this particular day the two monkeys were trying to move liquids from one container to another. It was a metaphor for something. Monkeys in zoos are what Mother hates, especially the ones with shiny, colourful bottoms. We were made to hate them too, and forbidden for ever to visit any zoo that has them (parading up and down the fake, concrete rocks, throwing their droppings at each other, and delighting in it. And that is probably the connection with our tale). Our tale, dearest reader will bring you grief only, because we are talking about uncouth monkeys, like the ones in the zoo: they think they are original (the smearing), but they are just doing 'the wild thing' like those other wannabe hipsters.
A little walk in the park with these semi-domesticated monkeys was to follow. In metaphorical terms, we were looking for a barrel organ, where they could feel at home. Both monkeys were fascinated by mechanical items of various size, description, and malleability (the most arousing sensorial stimulus for the one was tactile, the other had more visual obsessions. In human terms, the one was a grabber, the other one a voyeur). One thing was for sure, they would prefer to build their own bucket and have one drown in it, whilst the other would film it. In any case, liquids would be poured, exchanged and drunk. All in pleasure, but with a hint of despair.
As they strolled fancy-free down that street neither mentioned The Cross Pipes, or any other scene of past infamies for the author. 'The system' was in dynamic equilibrium, which is about as good as it gets. As they chuckled their way down the street they started to sing one-time societal ditty 'Air Force Fight' as so: "I was born in Colorad0 / With all those other pin-head geeks / Thought it pretty cool / Thought I was pretty bad / but we were stiffs / hanging out / Now I fly F16's man / I am cooler than you / Fuck yeah!".
They came across The Wine Waiter, contorted around a post box, earnestly claiming he was: "Posting his balls to Nepal, where the temperature would be so much better". Poor, deluded sodomite, he actually believed what he was saying could ever be the case. The Treasurer rudely reminded him that such a disjunction was implausible, but he railed and railed against such words of sanity, in much the way a sick-sea badger (sick in the mind, not the body) might rage against the dying of the night time - that awfully scary blanket with which he cloaks the indignities he puts in us as we sleep - in the hope he might commit one more indecency under it. Pop quiz! was it a disgusting spectacle? A> YES, B. NO... continue reading at the paragraph of your choosing:
Correct my amigo. The horror is tangible to me now, even as I recount the recountings of one who recounted the rumor of an observation. A delusional project from the off. It really was like the Prague Spring; he believed anything was possible, the world was changing and the old vices and caprices were finally overthrown from the pantheon of man's shame. Oh man, it was horrific. The postman was on the horizon, just about to roll in like the beautiful soviet liberators, and offer a dose of the only medicine which we have ever tasted: reality. In the short and medium term it makes one sick (mind and body) but from what I can remember of the 'summings up' that various custodians have forced me to listen to, it is to be hoped that there is a decency-to-come, even inside myself.
Go pipe yourself, douche-o.