She kissed him back. Warmly and deeply and the lights were low in that dusky sort of way.
It was beautiful.
They were both howler monkeys.
Which is beautiful, too, in it's own right.
After the mutual snogs they both began howling again. That's what they do, they're howler monkeys.
Hell, I get like that sometimes when I snog somebody.
She flung some nearby dirt at a tree (also nearby). She felt so good she restrained from throwing any fecal matter and only gave the remaining dirt a mildly wistful look. And scratched an itch, but without any accompanying innuendo... honest.
He just grinned and howled again, making his mouth into a horrible twisted (and loud) shape full of teeth and gums and howls. And he leapt at the tree, howling, slightly jealous, but still largely happy.
A yellow butterfly distracted him, and he rushed off following it behind a plant where he got distracted yet again, this time by just squatting. And the plant, though when he got down closer to examine the leaves is when the squatting distracted him. After a few minutes of rocking back and forth on his haunches he got distracted by standing, then by squatting again until he fell over and fell asleep.
And he dreamt. He dreamt of open fields, of playing against Jack Nicklaus on the PGA Tour, which is probably a copyrighted couple of words and also had disallowed him from playing on the tour when he was younger on account of his being a monkey, and so he blurred the words slightly in his dream, though if you looked closely it looked suspiciously like their logo, as well, even. He dreamt of running up and kneecapping a caddy with his putter in a misguided show of affection to his caddy after sinking a putt from 50 feet out with a rather difficult break.
He dreamt of diving off the cliff nearest the 10th green, into the wide open ocean, and as he whistled through the air towards the glinting sea he passed lemmings, also on their way down to the sea, and a sea lion, and a bag of rubbish that he knew, through some sort of odd extra sense, liked to be called 'Greg', and he flew off, bored with diving with lemmings, and the credits began rolling as he flew off into the sunset, where he met the female howler monkey he'd just been kissing whilst he was awake, and they began kissing again, and he barely noticed it when the end title rolled by,
'Diving With Lemmings'
Certificate 15
(c) 2001 Dreamworks.
But that was beautiful, too.
disclaimer:
This issue was mailed in to us by one of our writers stuck somewhere in East London during the middle of last Monday's tube strike, during the course of which (the writing) he shuttled back and forth between Whitechapel and Stepney Green on the only train running with any degree of consistency in the whole of London.
The original ending involved the maiming of several ASLEF/London Underground workers at the hands of the two monkeys, however, due to their decision not to strike this Monday (otherwise known as Sane Magazine Monday™) and the abhorrent spelling in that final few paragraphs we forewent that ending with this alternative ending we'd had lying around.
Thank the heavens for creative use of time on the train.
We have an incredibly large announcement to make next week... stay tuned...
Yer Weekly Horoscopes. Sublime like a key lime (pie).