This story was written when I was in high school and tried to imagine what I would look like when I was older and drew this monkey and had it smoke and swear and then I got it tattoed on my arm... some people say this story is juvenile & delinquent... but I'm tattooing it on my 3rdarm anyway...
Filthy, Filthy Lemurs
Larry the lemur awakes. He shakes himself from his lemur head to his little ring tail. This is to get the feces off. Lemurs sleep in trees and today Larry ended up on one of the bottom branches. He looks up and sees a bunch of assholes.
“Hey Herby!” Larry the lemur yells. “Get the fuck down here I want to go berry pickin'!” There is stubble on his lemur face. He coughs a lemur cough, for years of lemur smoking have left his lungs frail and useless. Larry feels dirty. Even for a lemur. Then again so would you if you woke up in a huge pile of shit.
“Jesus-fuck, man, I'm sick of berry-picking.” Herby isn't in the best of moods, but at least this morning he's not pissing all over the other lemurs. They start off then, hopping from tree to tree.
“Hey, that Josine's a fucking whore man. Last night I heard Kenny boffin' her.”
“Shit, man. Josine's expecting little monkeys with Bruce. That's fucking rough for both of them.”
A hunter appears suddenly from the bush and shoots the fucking shit out of Herby. All that's left is a little tuft of bloody lemur fur.
Larry watches the event unfold before him. Contemplates it. “Fucking Christ, that's the end of Herby. Now I have to pick berries by myself. Jesus!”
The End
This is the picture that accompanied the original story:
This is a lemur I drew when I went to Rein's deli with some friends from high school at 7 AM Saturday morning, which is when they open, after staying up all night talking about shit. It was drawn on the placemat. I am considering getting it tattoed somewhere on my body:
Quote & Excerpt from William Burroughs masterpiece Ghost of Chance:
"The word for 'lemur' meant 'ghost' in the native language. There were taboos against the killing of ghosts..."
"AND A MAN came to Me with a sick monkey in his arms, and said: 'Heal my monkey.'
'I cannot heal animals, they have no soul.'
'They have grace and beauty and innocence. What are the people You heal but animals? Animals without grace, ugly animals deformed and diseased by hate that has caused their sickness...' He cuddled his sick monkey and turned away. Then he looked back and said, 'Go heal Your lepers. And Your stinking beggars. Heal until You have nothing left to heal with.'
And others came with sick cats and ferrets.
