FUNNY SCENE II: BACKLASH (Part One of Four)

Apparently, these screeds I have been slipping into the internet have attracted the scrutiny of a certain clique of pre-teen girls. For the most part, they are students at Central Ohio’s Rutherford B. Hayes’ Family Values Charter School. Here in my African hovel, I have been suffering a monsoon season of emails and text messages from this most unwanted readership.


In their dull-minded, but dogged communications, they are either pouting, or they are launching crude ad hominem attacks, taking issue with my choice of "Traveling With a Monkey" as a title:

“’Traveling With a Monkey?’ I don’t get it. Uhnh!”

(there is audible scrunching of their noses while they emit that nasal “Uhnh!”).

“What is this even about?”

Raising their brows while scrunching their noses:

“Okay. So…you have an imaginary friend, but it’s not a person? You imagine being friends with a monkey? Loser.”

In fact, these sophomoric, taunting letters have grown in volume to the point where I have hired an old Moroccan gentleman, Omar, to aid me in my correspondence. He is quite proud of the position.

Last week, when I met Omar, he was a roving vendor carrying only three items, each a dubious vessel of sorts: one unbroken rock, allegedly containing quartz crystals, one desiccated scorpion, entombed in a semi-clear plastic keychain, and one tan, tattered-leather shaving kit from the ‘Kalvin Cline’ collection.

The online presence of this colorful local entrepreneur may also explain the uptick in Nigerian Scam emails many of you are experiencing. I have not been able to confirm his involvement, but nonetheless, I truly apologize.

I am preparing, fairly soon, to say farewell, for now, to Morocco (in an attempt to dissuade certain Hamburg-based stalkers, I am intentionally keeping my travel plans obscured). A primate friend, an old friend actually, has taken special leave from the Kiev zoo to give me a proper send-off. Hopefully my hyperbolic account of his anticipated visit will silence that chorus of mocking Ohioan Jonas Brothers fans.

If I am effective, and the flow of emails relents, I have assured Omar a continued place on the payroll, but in a reduced, advisory capacity only. To my young tormentors, I offer the following evidence, meant also as an olive branch.

This is the debut of the second installment of FUNNY SCENE.

Traveling with a Monkey:

Morocco

or

The Backlash

EXT. DAY. Taghazout, Morocco

We see two POSTMEN unloading a van, the official mail transport. It is unmarked and has weathered into shades of grey and pink. There are many small deliveries for the Berber fishermen.

                              MOROCCAN POSTMAN 1

Derisively

                      Ees surfer.

Their dust-colored djellabas flutter as they work.
They extract a wooden crate addressed to a western name.
We see the stenciled letters: live contents. The men heave the box roughly into the road.

                          MOROCCAN POSTMAN 1

Pointing

             Eee! Eee!

MOROCCAN POSTMAN 2 continues unloading packages into the street.

We move in closer to the crate. A simian form glowers behind wooden slats. MOROCCAN POSTMAN 1 removes his Moroccan-style cap, and now begins a little taunting song.

                            MOROCCAN POSTMAN 1:

              Ooohhh. Ahhhh. I-eeee

This odd, high-pitched song is now accompanied by an equally bizarre, gyrating dance. We are suddenly unclear whether his intentions are antagonistic or amorous.

                          MOROCCAN POSTMAN 2:

               Raheed!

POSTMAN 1 or Raheed, acknowledges his partner for an instant, but waves him off. Now Raheed turns back to the crate. He lowers his face to the box, pulling on his ears, and extending his tongue.

                         MOROCCAN POSTMAN 2:

                          Raheed.



A spider monkey arm snakes through a wooden slat and strikes.

RAHEED screams. His screams become a gurgling noise.

His mouth is open-  too painful now, to shut.
We see that his tongue has been monkey-pawed into dangling, bloody tentacles.

JAMES enters, apparently his hooded, slits of eyes do not register the violence. JAMES saunters past RAHEED, who will now be known in the village as, CALAMARI.

                            JAMES

                 Is that you?

The monkey thrashes violently at the box as JAMES coos.

                           JAMES               

                            I see you!

JAMES is wearing mismatched flip-flops, salvaged from the nearby beach. He pulls apart the crate, and the Costa Rican Spider Monkey is reunited with James, monkey-nibbling his neck.


PART TWO TOMORROW