Okay, I say by request, what I really mean is by dare. The idea came up in a comment thread on this awesome blog by Linnéa (which if you haven’t checked out before I strongly suggest you do, she is awesome!), and long story short, she uttered the words “I dare you to do it”, and a part of my brain suddenly shifted into gear, one that forces me to do things when people say that to me. So, here is a short story I am making up on the spot about a monkey called Bobby and his adventures. It is probably going to be terrible, just sayin’…
Thrice upon a time there was a monkey called Bobby. The first time, Bobby had magical powers and could transform into Monkey-Person and save the world. But this isn’t about him. The second time, Bobby was involved in a terrible tree swinging accident in which he gained too much momentum on the upswing and accidentally rocketed into the sky, all the way to the moon, where he still resides to this very day. But the third time, oh the third time, Bobby was…..a dreamer!
While the other monkeys all ran around the jungle doing typical monkey things, like swinging from trees, shrieking, eating bananas and then throwing the bananas on the road during kart-racing competitions with other animals and plumbers, Bobby would sit there, staring off into the distance, dreaming of the day he would become a rock star, or reflecting on the moment in his future in which he hoped he would circumnavigate the globe in a hot air balloon, or laughing about that time he went wandering and accidentally discovered that magic lamp that had the genie in it.
“Oh that’s right, the lamp!”
Bobby smacked his forehead in embarrassment, and ran back to the secret tree with the hole in the trunk in which he had placed the magic lamp, carefully concealing it with a sign which said “No magik lampz in here”, only with the ‘e’s back to front, because he had never paid much attention in monkey school. He peeled the sign off, but in the hole there was no lamp, only a small letter that said “Actually there was a magik lamp in here. Did you know that?” Bobby looked at the letter, hoping for a clue as to its author, when he heard snickering behind him. He spun around and gasped.
“Billy! Give me back my lamp?” he accidentally asked as a sudden one-off hiccup caused him to inflect his sentence at the end turning it into a question.
“Why? What’s in it? Is it chocolate? Or bananas? Or chocolate bananas?”
“What? No. Weirdo. It’s a genie, duh.”
Then Billy started rubbing the lamp, and Bobby shouted no, which was great for dramatic effect but really achieved nothing, and Bobby would have been much better off to have darted forward and tried to snatch the lamp out of Billy’s hand first, rather than shouting no, waiting a couple of seconds, and then leaping forward too late, causing both monkeys to fall out of the tree as the genie flew out of the lamp, which tumbled downwards as well due to this thing called gravity, thus pulling the genie, forever attached to his miniature home, down as well.
Bobby, Billy, the lamp, and the genie, who was essentially a neon pink gaseous being shaped like a giant teddy bear for the sake of not conforming to stereotypes, all lay upon the ground, groaning and moaning.
“Oh I wish we hadn’t just fallen out of that tree,” mumble Billy, and suddenly all of them were back up in the tree.
“What the? Billy! I wish you wouldn’t open your mouth and do stupid things like waste wishes!”
Suddenly Billy’s mouth was covered with duct tape, which, when he tried to peel it off, appeared to be permanently stuck.
“Mmm, mmm mmmmmmm mmm. Mmm mm,” Billy tried to say, with a complete lack of success.
“Last wish?” asked the genie, wiggling his glowing eyebrows that looked like fairy floss.
Bobby stopped for a moment and thought. He was a dreamer. All he had ever wanted was to get out of this place, to do something bigger, to see the world. But on the other hand, his friend would never be able to talk again if he didn’t reverse the effects of the last wish that was made. He smiled at Billy, who, after coming to the assumption that Bobby was about to make his last wish an act of kindness, tried smiling back.
Moments later, Bobby was on a giant stage floating through the air while being held up by several hot air ballons, strumming his guitar to hundreds of thousands of heavy metal fans, all sitting atop trees watching the coolest rock show ever. And Billy never spoke again.
The moral of this story is: you probably shouldn’t read my stories because they’re a bit silly sometimes.