The "Monkeyshines" Case - Entry 11

The variant-creed monkey screeching was still echoing in my ears as I checked myself out of the hospital; my physical injuries were not life-threatening, and my psychological scars would heal, in time. But I had to find out just exactly how everything had gone so wrong; how I could’ve so underestimated the monkey-attack; how I wound up with the smell of monkey-poo coating my nostrils like the spilled cargo of an oil-rig coats a baby bird. I knew the causes of my injuries, and they weren’t all monkey-related, at least not the psychological ones; I had gone to Channel 12 out of some ill-minded attempt to prevent a monkey-attack that would far outshine my quest for revenge...a thirst for vengeance that had clouded my judgment, putting me on the front-line of the aforementioned monkey-attack.

Many years ago, as an obviously much younger man, I had been an intern at Channel 12 as a video-editor, and there was a physical altercation involving a misplaced-but-thought-to-be-stolen Peanut Butter & Banana sandwich that led to my outright dismissal. My dreams of video-editing went up in smoke, and, since having caved under the dismal pressure of reality, I was forced to open this Detective Agency. But I was left with, and still feel deep within my gullet, the mocking What Ifs of my previous life...and for that never-ending hurt, Channel 12 had to pay. But not like this...no. I wouldn’t wish a monkey-attack on even my most foul-tempered of adversaries, and my first thought was to find Bernice Sheppenwastein & her foppish brother Sean, if for no other reason than to hand them over to police, with my notes, to let them figure it all out.

To my surprise, Bernice wasn’t at her home...I called Randy, and he told me that a guard at the zoo had seen what looked to be an unleashed gorilla lurking near the monkey-cages, and I knew immediately that it had to have been Bernice.

Defeated, lost, and becoming rapidly under-caffeinated, I did what any man in my position would have done: I went home, poured a tall glass of Newfoundland Corn-Whiskey, and had a bubble-bath. Why would the gargantuan Sheppenwastein hire me to solve the case, only to assist her brother with the very plan she had tried to foil? But that was a thought for a different hour, as the juniper-bath-bubbles were already taking over, sending me into an orgiastic-ecstasy not felt since the last time I got drunk in the bath.

Entry 12