So you wake up with cotton mouth and a raging headache at your friend Bradford’s Fourth of July party. My god, you think, what time is it? You had about eight beers and 40 bong hits while everybody was swimming and grilling the burgers, but that’s about all you remember.
You decided to take a little nap on the sofa, it seems.
The sliding glass door is open. The sun has gone down and there’s a cool breeze, finally.
Muffled laughter from the kitchen. You can smell the pancakes burning. Man, pancakes would be good right now! Someone’s strumming out a fair rendition of Breakdown on the patio. Cigarette smoke is wafting through the door. You could use a smoke, for sure.
You struggle from your indent in the sofa and look around, and right there on the arm of the couch next to you is a chimpanzee. A big one, you guess. You’ve never seen one up close, but this guy seems pretty big.
He’s just sitting there, staring at you. He’s got some seriously bloodshot eyes and he’s wearing a little blue t-shirt that says Dancing Queen.
“What’s up, ninja?” you ask, holding out your palm so he can give you five. He doesn’t move.
Um: this is weird. Who the hell brings a chimpanzee to a Fourth of July party? Or any party for that matter?
“No, really, whose monkey man are you?” Your voice barely rumbles past your vocal chords. You need a beer. You giggle, a staccato little stoner’s giggle: huhhuhhuhhuhhuh.
Without warning, the chimpanzee climbs onto your lap. He hugs you and pats your head and starts to pick through your hair.
“Yeah, hello? Is this someone’s monkey?”
Gosh, you think, he’s really heavy. He must weigh a hundred and fifty pounds. His breath smells like jalapenos, too. Jalapenos and chili with hot dogs.
Then he starts to hump you.
“All right, that’s enough,” you say, pushing against his chest. It’s like trying to move a water barrel. “Help!” you cry, to no one in particular.
Suddenly, there’s something warm and sodden running up the leg hole of your shorts and into your crotch. In the half-light from the kitchen you can see something gooey and brown sliding down your upper thigh.
In horror and revulsion, you realize: the monkey just shit on you! A chimpanzee just took a crap on your brand-new Abercrombie shorts and all over your leg!
It’s a putrefying stench. Now you’re just pissed.
With all the strength you can summon, you push the chimpanzee aside. You get up and storm into the kitchen. A group of your fraternity brothers and their girlfriends are sitting at the table eating pancakes and doing shots of Jager.
“That stupid monkey in the living room just took a huge crap on me!” you cry. They all look up at once.
“Dude, your hair looks hilarious,” says your friend Shale, pointing at your head.
“It’s not a monkey, it’s an ‘ape,’” says Rebecca, rolling her eyes and putting little air quotes around ape.
“It crapped on me!” you shout. “These are brand-new shorts!”
“Dude, I’m not surprised,” says Shale. “That thing ate, like, a whole plate of nachos by itself. Didn’t it, Tazer? Back me up here, Tazer. Didn’t it?”
Tazer nods, folding a bite of pancake into his mouth.
“I think Dave brought it,” says Steve-o. “It belongs to his father-in-law who used to be in the circus.”
Disgusted, you go down the hall to the bathroom, remove your shorts and start running them under the faucet. “Monkey shit,” you mutter.
After a few minutes there’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” you say, hoping it’s someone with a little more sympathy. Only it’s not. It’s the chimpanzee.
He stands in the doorway, watching you.
“Oh, it’s you, you little bastard,” you say, scrubbing at your shorts. You pause. For some reason, he’s wearing a silk bathrobe and smoking a grape-flavored pimp stick.
“Why are you dressed like that?” you ask, nervously. “Did Dave dress you like that?”
He comes into the bathroom and shuts the door, quietly. You back away a little as he swings his huge, hairy arm and slaps you on the ass.
“Hey! Bad monkey!”
Within seconds he wrestles you to the ground and flips you over and tears your boxers off like a Post-It note. You try to get free but he’s too fast, too strong. You try to scream but he’s choking you with his big, simian paw, which feels like a leather work glove on the back of your neck.
The next five minutes or so you spend wedged between the tub and toilet, the top of your head hammering against the baseboard.
When he falls back, spent, you get up and run like a lunatic. You fumble with the doorknob, crash into the opposite wall and tear down the hallway, sobbing.
“I just got raped by a gorilla!” you shriek. You’re standing in the kitchen again, naked from the waist down.
Your friends, still eating pancakes, barely move.
“Dude, your hair looks hilarious,” says Shale.
“It’s not a gorilla, it’s a monkey,” says Rebecca.
“Ape. It’s an ape,” says Tazer.
“Really? I thought it was a monkey,” says Rebecca, turning her head to think.
You really can’t believe this. Should you call the police? Animal control? From the corner of your eye you see the chimpanzee coming down the hallway. He’s coming fast, really fast. Like an enraged linebacker he takes you down, and you tumble across the carpet into the living room.
His powerful hand flickers at your face and you hear something rip. With a precision that belies his brute power, he tears your face completely off. He tears it off as easily as a piece of wax paper coming off a moist dough ball, and runs.
Oh, god! The pain! You watch him lope out the sliding glass door and onto the patio.
You stagger to your feet and follow him outside. You remember hearing once that if you immediately put a severed appendage on ice, it will help save it.
The rest of the party is going full-tilt by the pool. There’s a fire pit, and bodies, everywhere. You crash into a group of people sucking on a huge bong.
You friend Pete looks up at you: “What’s up, killa? Why are you naked?”
“Your hair looks hill-are-eee-us,” says Vikki, laughing and pointing at your head. “And your face is missing.”
“That ape shit on me, and raped me, and tore off my face,” you say, your voice a flat monotone.
“He shit on you? No way,” says Tucker.
“And he raped me and tore off my face.”
You scan the backyard area for any sign of the chimp. He’s gone. You ask around if anyone has seen a large chimpanzee carrying a human face, but no luck.
In defeat, you stagger back to the kitchen. At least, maybe, you can have some tasty pancakes.
“Dude, your hair looks hilarious,” says Shale.
“I know, you’ve said – “ and you stop, looking down at the table.
In horror, you watch as your friend Rebecca cuts into a large stack of flapjacks that’s already half gone. Though your lidless, watering eyes, you notice that the third pancake down, second from the bottom, isn’t a pancake at all.
“My face!” you scream, startling her. She looks up as her lips close around her fork. She chews slowly and shrugs as you stand by, helplessly.
Slowly, you point to her plate.
“Oh, no!” she says, pulling half of your face from her late-night breakfast. It drips with Aunt Jemima syrup. “Sorry. I was wondering why that pancake had a nose.”
“Could this party get any worse?” you cry.
Suddenly, there’s a tug on your t-shirt. You wheel around and there’s the chimpanzee, dressed in a business suit and carrying a briefcase. He smiles at you.
Things are about to get worse. A lot worse.