The Monkey King sat atop his banana throne made of stone. He sipped a goblet of the fruits-of-the-jungle wine and then thundered:
“BEGIN!”
The monkeys that surrounded him in a circle began to move slowly round. They stomped their feet on the stoney floor at every pace. The peppery sound of monkey feet became the monkey beat. In the monkey palace, from the ceiling, a beam of light surrounded the apes in their ritual.
Two steps left. Two steps right. Three steps left. Three steps right. This continued 23 times. The sacred numbers of the sacred monkeys.
Suddenly, there was an abrupt silence.
And then the priest monkey emerged from a hole in the side of the palace with a ginormous gong.
“Behold the gods have brought us a tribute”
The human was wrapped in jungle vines and descended from the hole in the palace roof.
He was a man wearing a back pack. He looked a great deal like the apes but had less hair.
They lowered the man to the level of the Monkey King until the tribute was staring the monkey in the eye.
“G’Day mate, what do we have here. Christ, where am I? That was a bit of a dodgy hostel” he jammered in his Australian twang.
The Monkey King was not amused. He stared at his guest and raised an eyebrow.
“Well, pleased to meet you! What a pad you’ve got here! Your Dad musta been someone big in the circus industry.” he said
His Royal Highness was not understanding the ramblings of this traveler but listened to the sound of this creature’s murmerings.
“Anyway, aren’t you supposed to let me down from this bungee cord when I’m done. I’ve stopped bouncing now.”
With that the Monkey King smiled a sinister smile, put a banana in the mouth of his guest, then clapped his hands.
The circle of dancing monkeys began chanting in unison.
“OGaWoga OgaWoga Ogawoga. Ogawoga Ogawoga Ogawoga. Hoo ha. Ogawoga Ogawoga OgaWoga” the chant continued as a chorus, resonating against the walls of the temple — creating a cathedral of doom.
The monkeys above the temple started swinging the man from the jungle vines. Pulling back and forth they created more momentum with every swing. They pulled and pulled and then a metallic sound bungled through the air.
“GONGNGNGNGNGNGNGNGNGNGNGNG”
The chanting stopped while all the monkeys shook. Silence descended once more in the temple palace.
“Ladies and Gentlemonkeys,” proclaimed the priest clutching a golden statue in his hand.
“Tonight we shall feast upon our tribute, our visitor from down under. We shall take grace from the Gods, we shall enjoy our banquets, dancing and parties. But tomorrow, fellow monkeys, is never certain. No. We never know what tomorrow shall bring. Today is feast. Tomorrow may be famine.”
The monkeys weren’t listening. They were fidgeting around and were opening the man’s backpack. It seemed to be full of these toys. They all tilted their head to look at them. A couple tried to eat them, but they were too hard.
“Listen dearest Monkeys. If you don’t you’ll be smited down with lightening like your brothers.”
This had little effect. All the monkeys, even the Monkey King, was looking through the backpack of their tribute.
Then one of them started spinning the device, with his fingers in the middle.
“OOH AHA OAHAO AHOAHA” he said in his monkey joy and leapt on his feet.
The other monkeys copied. And the monkeys began fighting over the fidget spinners. A few ran off and were transfixed by the fidgetty-fidget-spinnerness of the the fidget spinners.
“I shall confiscate all the fidget spinners” boomed the giant monkey king. But the little monkeys were running off too fast in different directions.
They went back to their families and started showing off the fidget spinners. The child monkeys tried to grab them off their parents, but the parents kept them to themselves.
They were mesmerised by the three holed object that rotated and swirled and moved in endless circles.
Night descended on the monkey clan and the moon was a crescent. The Australian backpacker was snapped into pieces, cooked above the volcano’s lava, coated in a plantain dipping sauce, and handed out for dinner among the tribe. He was a bit scrawny and not very tasty but it was too late to ask for a refund.
The fidget-spinnerless monkeys gathered around on the hill of the volcano and planned their conquest. Tomorrow they would wake up early and lay siege upon the other monkey camps. They would raid and pillage the fidget spinners.
Morning came and the parrots squawked in the dawn sunrise. The spinnerless tribe of monkeys surrounded the other monkey encampments. They’d got the sharpest rocks and attached them to bamboo poles to use as weapons.
They approached one little monkey hut and went to the big monkey sleeping. They attacking group screamed to wake the creatures up. But it did nothing. They got closer and put their spears close to the sleeping monkeys. Again nothing.
They pushed it over to reveal that a pile of coconuts had been stacked to make it look like a monkey. Damn they’d gone.
The tribes went to the other huts, but to not benefit on their part. They screamed and got angry.
Meanwhile on the beach, the fidget spinner gang heard the distant cries of disgust and laughed and hooped in joy. And then returned to being transfixed by their spinners.
The tribes successfully avoided each other until the next wandering traveler came along with a fad-filled backpack. But that’s a story for another day.
THE END.
