The Armless Monkey.

THE HARMLESS MONKEY

Bob Trump lectured in Creative Writing for the Great Unwashed at his local adult evening institute. He knew it would be a particularly difficult evening at the induction, when an armless Orang Utan loped in through the class room door. "What the bloody heck's goin'--!!? Bob was interrupted as he spluttered out his indignation, when a long lead followed by its owner being dragged along the floor came into view. "Oh sorry about this said the dishevelled figure as it picked itself up and began dusting itself down, "He gets awfully excited about prelates and he just saw one in the corridor, leapt straight onto his back and tried to make secular advances towards him, it was all I could do to pull him off.
The gender of the figure was not instantly obvious, from the bearing, dress, visage or labiodental sounds emerging from the lips of the form. "This is Ron said the form, "they said it would be alright when I phoned. Bob pursed his lips and looked at the Orang Utan then back to the form then said with well enounced clarity, "which one of you is enrolling? "Oh shrieked the body "why me of course silly! "And who pray tell are you? said Bob with ill disguised derision. "Oh, I'm Mrs. Fringbat - they said it would be alright, "what would be alright? said Bob with oily resonance, "that I could bring my pet along s'long as it was not trouble replied Mrs Fringbat.
Bob's shoulders slumped forward, he'd had a bad day at The Literary Guild's annual piss-up, and a couple of bottles of Chateau Lafitte and fifteen vol-au-vents had taken their toll. He was already defeated. "Okay the Orang Utan's in; any objections? Bob enquired to the latterday Hemingways and Cartlands. There was a long silence until someone shouted "Wot abaht yer list? "Look there's no need to get personal! shrieked Bob leaping to his feet, I have to carry lots of books around all day long and my body has had to compensate over the years - I'm going to see a specialist soon. Bob slumped back into his chair with his hands over his face weeping silently. "Nah not 'at sorta list - 'at piece 'o' paper yer got in yer 'and yer pillock. "Oh - um - thank you - um Amis, now sit down there's a good lad whispered Bob as a large vein on his temple began to throb violently.
Bob perused the list, there was nothing to indicate that an Orang Utan couldn't be a guest. Aha a solution. "That'll be an extra fifteen lids for the monkey said Bob slipping into East End argot to maintain his street credibility. There were no rumblings of discontent so Mrs. Fringbat paid the extra levy, and decided to ensconce herself next to Bob's desk in the hope that some of his literary cool might blow her way. But the simian was harbouring a resentment. 'Hm, I'm no monkey, cheeky sod' he thought to himself.
The simian was simmering.
The class continued to fill and once the available seats with desks were filled, people had to sit on spare desks by windows. The class eventually began with a brief lecture on 'Zen and the of Motorway Madness' which was a subject close to Bob's heart as he risked life and limb on the M25 every day. Voicing his psychic grievances in a literary way proved a balm to his throbbing psyche. Half an hour into his discourse and with most of his students asleep or suffering brian death, Bob began to notice an unsavoury smell emanating from under his desk. He peered underneath, and lo, the monkey had deposited a huge turd onto Bob's Hush Puppies. With a strangled cry Bob kicked out at the animal rendering the ordure airborne, whereupon it hit a sleeping Mr. Gurd (who was sitting cross-legged against a window) full in the face.
Mr. Gurd awoke - screamed - threw out his arms and crashed backwards through the window, then through the conservatory below and into the 'An appreciation of the dovetail joint' class - causing some consternation. Mr Gurd was not seriously injured but sued and got several thousands of pounds in compensation, and can often be seen savouring the delights of Soho in his little red sports car. Amis went on to be a literary giant with an expensive set of gnashers. Mrs. Fringbat met an eccentric millionaire, married him and set up an Orang Utan reserve in Frinton-on-Sea.
Bob Trump was pensioned off as a result with a rare psychiatric disorder. His old class is over-subscribed and going great guns with a new tutor at the helm.
An armless Orang Utan.