A BRAWL just started between a few monkeys over who loves the Monkey King more. (Awww). They jumped into the fountain and now they are smacking each other around.
Yes, the coronation party is still going. Wish I had never been coronated (yeah, I just invented a word, I’m that tired).
The responsible humans went home to sleep off their hangover days ago. Unfortunately the tourists keep coming. They just keep coming. And the party keeps going because these tourists are here to party and the monkeys don’t want to disappoint. The same song that’s played 5545 times (Bom Bom) is so loud the bass makes my heart vibrate out of its regular timing.
The nearby restaurants and bars donated food and alcohol at the weekend but the owners are getting pissed off. One old Dutchman – who has a five star restaurant on the other side of town – yelled at Jo-Jo, telling her the music needed to stop. She bit him and he complained that he didn’t get his rabies shot.
“Good,” she said as she bit him again. “Double the chances.” The old man never came back, so I presume he was busy getting medical attention.
“Maybe he had a point, maybe we should get some sleep,” I said, thinking of poor Balboa (monkey), who was so sleep deprived he fell off the cliff he was climbing in a game called Rabid Monkey Build-Ups.
“You not like party?” Jo-Jo snapped, ready to throw a beer bottle at me. I assured her I was having a wonderful time. I even showed her my happy dance, which involved skipping on the wall in my monkey onesie, throwing coconuts at passer-bys’ hurriedly driving past.
“What are you looking at!” I yelled at a sullen faced teenager who parked his moped momentarily to check the damage caused by a coconut that must have fallen out of a tree. “If you’re under 18, then you better beat it!”
He ran away and I knew I had been rude. It’s not really my fault. It’s been a weird couple of days. And I’m beginning to think the Bundy Rum bear won’t show up.