The Monkey

Encoded by spidey

You know, you've got a fair amount of blood on you there, sir.

Oh.

Yeah, it's not even mine.

There was just this... number one.

Hey, listen, I need you to take this thing off

my hands and just make it someone else's problem.

Yeah, I mean, I thought my boys were gonna love it, but... I'll tell you,

man, they will not.

No, it's not.

Yeah, a toy.

So, don't ever call it that.

It's a... it's... actually, I don't know exactly what it is.

Besides, it appears to be broken.

See, the drumstick seems to be stuck in the up position.

You do not want the goddamn drumstick to come down.

Okay?

Because when it does, I promise you...

We are all fucked to hell.

Okay?

Well,

sir, can't speak for you, but... I don't feel especially fucked to hell.

I don't know if every father passes some secret horror onto his kid.

kids.

But mine sure did.

My name is Hal Shellborn.

This is me and my twin brother Bill.

Wow.

This is us before everything.

Bill was the kind of kid that would say shake on it, but then pull his hand back

and pretend to slick his hair.

It was older than me by three minutes and eight most of my mom's persona.

So that made him my big brother.

I really took seriously and treated me like a shit whenever he got the chance.

I didn't mean to tell you.

Mom just hates you because you made dad even though she has to go on dates.

But I managed to love him anyway, even if I did

sometimes fantasize about being an only child.

I hate you, Bill Shellborn.

My mom raised us on her own for as long as she could at least.

And my mom, well, I can remember her perfectly like it was yesterday.

Your father.

Well, your father went out for a pack of cigarettes and never came back.

Just me, like an egg and scrap.

And sure, sure, I could have been one of his stewardesses,

but of course the deadbeat never took me anywhere.

Just brought back Swiss cuckoo clocks and bomb dietary.

Nick Knox and souvenirs to stuff are plausible.

And one day my darling boys, all about horseshit will be yours.

We know my mom thought it was a bunch of junk, but for

Bill and me, dad's closet was full of clues to who he was.

Oh, she is.

Well, that beats the skies.

How's that thing from Paris Frats or something?

It says organ grinder monkey like life.

I mean, life like dumb shit.

Oh, what?

Hey, give me that thing.

Here.

Do you think this does junk if I turn this?

Don't build, dad's.

Dad's gone, fuck face.

And I'm his next of skin, so legally, everything in your mind.

Stupid things broken, anyway.

Don't come in our room, dumb shit.

Shotgun.

Obviously.

Christ, what's worse than a blind date.

You're one of their teeth when your hands

doesn't kiss a goddamn frog and see what happens.

Okay, boys.

No soda after you brush your teeth.

And no fires.

And no video games because of the last fire.

I tried to tell him no fires, but these boys are nothing but willish.

Thank you, babysitter Annie.

I'll be on my midnight.

Okay, boys, got only one roll for tonight.

Keep your hands off the hot parts of the table, okay?

I'll try, but... just a man.

I'll pill, knock it off.

Hey!

Maybe an experience like that could have brought me in bill closer.

But it turned out one freak tragedy wasn't going to be nearly enough.

I was her head still together.

Oh, yeah.

Today, you're here with Annie Wilkes.

Gone by accident.

Rather in an accident because, you know, there's no accidents.

Is there a divine plan?

Sure, you know.

Maybe.

Call it a coin toss, you know.

No heads or tails.

But not Annie's head because that is separate.

That's a separate issue.

You know why her?

So, right?

Why Annie?

Why not you?

Or you?

Everything for a reason.

Yeah, totally.

And it is what it is.

It is what it is.

The word of the Lord.

Everything is an accident.

Or nothing is an accident.

Either way.

Same thing.

It's not if or even how.

It's only when.

Everybody dies.

And that's why I'll die.

And you will both die.

And all of your friends and their parents and all of their pets and everybody.

Some of us peacefully in our sleep.

And some of us horribly violently died up with clothesline.

Screaming through duct tape over our mouths and all that jazz.

And hell with it.

Let's go dancing.

I've been on

the day of a funeral.

But that probably was the happiest day of my life.

That's funny how quickly that can change.

Hey.

Kid.

Your brother says your dad left your mom.

Let out to pair his friends.

To buy cigarettes because you're a big fat baby.

You cry all the time.

And man.

Don't you moms deserve better?

I mean, don't she?

So I guess that means your mom will be wearing the pants in the house now, huh?

I think that's how it works, yeah.

Oh, but see, you're wearing pants.

And two people can't be wearing the pants in the house at the same time.

So looks like you got yourself a bit of a pants problem, kid.

Honey, I'm making PB&J.

Oh, wait.

How am I going over my two sons all day long?

Why don't you put dad's wear and monkey in our room?

You know I don't go in there anymore since I found that step sock.

Oh, yeah.

You didn't have anything to do with my babysitter's head right?

That'd be like, yo.

You really got the hots for that thing, huh?

I don't.

It's all good.

You can have it, but I got to do say you want to marry.

I don't want to marry you.

Say, I want to be Mrs. Stupid Monkey.

I want to be Mrs. Stupid Monkey.

I'll say...

I want to suck it's banana.

No, Phil.

No.

Say it or I'll eat the rest of your placenta, bitch.

I want to suck it's banana.

All right.

You have a deal.

You can have the monkey.

Eat

it.

Yo, Mrs. Torrance.

How she opens, joking his monkey under his desk.

You're

making devil's food.

I don't fucking want any.

Who talks to their mother like that?

What do you want to say?

What kind of shit am I?

You.

It's because of you that that be built in this to me.

You know what I'm talking about, don't you?

That asshole kid who lives in here with me?

That's Bill.

You want to know something else?

I wish Bill was dead.

Hey mom, you're home.

Is that not ready?

Mom.

No, you've been making it yet.

What the fuck?

The doctors call what happened to my mama, boomerang aneurysm.

But I was the only one who knew what it really was.

They said chances of it happening were one in 44 million.

And that's just another way to say.

It has to happen to somebody.

And that's how it works.

You turn the key and the drumsticks go up.

They come down again when it chooses who wants to kill next.

It doesn't take requests.

It kills who it wants when it feels like it.

And it doesn't owe you an explanation.

It's true what it says on the box.

It's just like life.

Son, perhaps it's best.

Shut up.