The Monkey's Name Is BONGO,
Not Scapermonkey, Not Monjo Jojo, Not Hey-You-Get-Offa-My-Cloud,
As Amusing As Those Names May Be, And I Missed Him Very Very
Much. And Don't Worry, He'll Be Drunk Again Soon, I Promise(20)
You all know the story.
Girl has monkey for a muse, girl hates monkey, girl's monkey
runs away, girl is distraught until monkey returns, girl promptly
goes back to hating monkey. It's a vicious cycle. Bongo came
back, finally, and I wrote this. I'm sorry. I had to. It hit
me at work and I was writing notes in purple pen on my wrist...
they came out something like "<eg> postal delusional
drunk Cubs Stardust" and when you look at it like that,
it's just scary. Mucho thanks to Elflore, who beta'd (gasp! Someone
actually beta'd a Cordefic!) and gave me the ending. You the
man, Elflore. And a teeny shout out to ChianaWade. She knows
which bits she gave me. Natalie, thank you for taking such good
care of my monkey, and taking time to punch air holes in his
box. And I ask you, WHAT fashion sense? I think the big sticks
are Becca's... although they could also be Sarah's or Cristin's.
I just don't remember anymore.
Author's Note: Chapter 3
is for anyone who ever wrote a songfic. This is my idea of a
songfic. I'm so glad y'all don't write like me. Lyrics are Hogie
Carmichael's, I think. Don't sue me.
Chapter 1: The Monkey Returns
Bongo drunkenly stumbled into
Corde's room, wearing a Chicago Cubs hat and holding a bottle
of Jack Daniel's. Corde was curled into a ball, rocking back
and forth muttering, "Monkey, I want my monkey, where's
my monkey, who's got my monkey, I want the damn monkey"
in a despondent monotone. There were tear streaks down her face
and she was wearing a white sweater with very long sleeves.
"Loooshy, you got shome
'shplainin' to do" Bongo yelled cheerfully just before he
flung himself into Corde's computer chair and passed out.
Chapter 2: Hunting and Gathering
Several days later, when Bongo
had finally slept it off, he woke up to find Corde still rocking
and muttering. He blinked, looked at her again, and left her
there. He needed something to eat. A diet of screwdrivers and
Jack was fun, but any nutritionist would tell him that it didn't
exactly meet Food Pyramid requirements. Silly nutritionists.
Bongo made his unsteady way
down the stairs into the kitchen. (It wasn't that he was still
drunk; for once in his short life, he was completely sober. It's
just that normal-sized people staircases aren't made to be navigable
by short little monkey legs.) At the risk of being accused of
monkeying around, he finally slid down the banister. That's what
banisters are for, isn't it?
Being sober for the first time
in his life, Bongo was slightly baffled by the veritable Sears
Hardware of gizmos in the kitchen. He had never actually prepared
food for himself, so he was at a loss. He looked in the refrigerator,
stared at the empty breadbox, glanced at the freezer and decided
to call for pizza. Maybe the scent of breadsticks would awaken
Corde from her monkey-deprived stupor. If that didn't work, Bongo
could always steal her wallet and move to Bali. Whichever.
The starved simian called for
pizza, after snurching a twenty out of Corde's wallet, and settled
down on the couch to wait. He grabbed the TV remote and flipped
channels idly for a time, not at all interested in Tom Green's
cancer or E! True Hollywood Story. A repeat of Will and Grace
caught his eye for a moment, but it was the one with Molly Shannon.
He'd seen it.
Bongo noticed a tape in the
VCR and pressed the PLAY button on the remote. A recent episode
of Farscape flickered on the screen, just as John and Aeryn were
running around Moya trying to catch the strange puppy-thing.
Bongo sat straight up in his chair and stared raptly at the screen.
He chuckled. Gotta love the teamwork with those two. He began
to grin evilly.
Upstairs, some deep, inner
part of Corde stopped whimpering to give a primal scream. The
rest of her sunk deeper into the museless pit to which it had
banished itself. Corde kept rocking and moaning.
Chapter 3: Gooooooooood Morning!
Bongo finished the pizza as
he finished watching the show. He put one last breadstick
in a plastic baggie to taunt Corde's brother, who hated when
people left only one breadstick. The diabolical monkey went back
into the kitchen and filled a glass with ice and cold water.
He then made the arduous trek back upstairs to Corde's room.
All the ice had melted by the time he got up there, but he didn't
want to waste time going back for more. Tepid water would work
just as well. He went to Corde's stereo system and inserted a
special CD. He donned earmuffs and cranked the volume. 75 decibels
should do it.
"And now the purple dusk
of twilight time" the stereo crooned loudly. (Is it actually
possible to croon loudly?) Bongo calmly poured most of the water
on Corde's head. "High up in the sky the little stars climb,
Always reminding me that we're apart" the voice boomed.
Corde snapped out of her psychotic episode instantly. Bongo grinned.
"Wet Willie!" he
shouted over the most annoying sound in the world, Willie Nelson
singing "Stardust." Corde screamed and wished she could
return to that museless pit that had held her captive.
"SOMETIMES I WANDER WHILE
I SPEND THE LONELY NIGHTS DREAMING OF A SONG" Willie's voice
boomed. Three streets away, a neighbor called 911 and reported
a man being tortured to death. Bongo joined in on the song's
last verse as Corde's ears began to bleed. "Though I dream
in vain, in my heart it always will remain my stardust melody,
the memory of love's refrain."
The stereo clicked off. Corde
whimpered, "blessed silence" and promptly passed out.
Chapter 4: Intelligent Conversation
Bongo picked up a Very Large
Stick (TM Becca) that just happened to be lying around (gee THANKS,
Becca) and whacked Corde upside the head with it. "We'll
have none of that," the monkey told her.
Corde groaned and held her
head. "Couldn't you just shoot me? What did I do to deserve
"You LEFT ME in St. Louis,
for starters," Bongo reminded her, brandishing the stick.
"Oh yeah, that,"
she said sheepishly. Then she did a double take. "Hey wait
NO I didn't! You ran away from me, remember? You WANTED to stay
behind! Anyway, how'd you get back?"
"I have friends in high
places," Bongo said loftily. (High places, loftily. It's
a pun. Get it? GET IT?) "Lots. More than I ever imagined.
I got hugged and lei'd by more people in one weekend than you
have in your entire life. I'm popular!"
"You're also delusional,"
Corde said under her breath. Bongo ignored her.
"Oh, the places I've been,
the people I've met! I saw David Kemper and Richard Manning on
a webcast, not to mention Virginia Hey. Beat THAT!" Bongo
buffed his little monkey fingernails on his chest fur.
"I saw Kent, Wayne, Lani,
Brian, Claudia, Ben, Anthony and Gigi," Corde responded.
"Any more and I would have keeled over from too much excitement.
And quit doing that. Monkeys don't have fingernails."
Bongo looked at his furry little
paws. "Hm. Whaddya know, you're right. Monkeys DON'T have
Chapter 5: The Curse of Popularity
Bongo went over to Corde's
poor, abused computer that had been sitting unused for nearly
a week. Six days, to be exact. The same amount of time that Bongo
had been gone. Funny coincidence, that. The computer coughed
and sputtered as Bongo turned it on, so he added a little motor
oil. (KIDDING! Everyone knows that you don't oil computers. You
use antifreeze.) The computer smirked and refused to boot up.
Bongo frowned and kicked the computer. It shuddered, growled,
and turned on. "Percussive maintenance," Bongo smirked.
"Works every time."
Bongo signed on to Corde's
Yahoo account and went through her mail. "Delete, delete
hey Corde, Do You Want To Earn $5000 A Day From Home? I didn't
think so. Read later, delete, read later, pretend to read and
fake an answer, delete ooh, I'll send this one to MY account
there! All you have to do is read Shipper mail and you're caught
up for the week. You can do that later. Now come here and open
a Word document. I have a FIC for you!"
Corde, who had fallen asleep
during Bongo's click'n'delete spree, came blearily to attention.
"Do what? Fic? YOU? You're giving me FIC? Who are you and
what have you done with my monkey?!"
Bongo rolled his eyes. "I
am your muse, am I not? Muses help with fic, don't they? QED,
I'm supposed to give you fic. Now c'mere and write it."
"You haven't given me
fic since since golly, I can't remember the last time you gave
me fic! You don't help me write. You sit around and drink like
a drunkymonkey. You're a terrible muse and I LIKE it that way.
Why are you doing this to me?" Corde pulled the covers back
over her head and pretended to fall into a coma.
"You will write what this
monkey tells you to write, and you will LIKE it," came Aeryn's
voice. Corde peeked out from under the covers to see the barrel
of a pulse rifle pointed at her head. Bongo was smirking.
"Friends in high places,
Corderino. Get up and get writing."
Corde groaned and got out of
bed. "Shoot me now," she groaned. "I missed you,
monkey, but not this much." Aeryn gave Corde a menacing
glare and Corde turned to her computer screen. "Okay, Bongo,
what's the scoop? What's this wonderful story you want me to
write? Please tell me, I'm just dying to know."
"Once more without the
sarcasm, please," Bongo called. Corde looked up to see him
hanging upside-down from the ceiling, reading the latest TV Zone.
"This one has an interview with Claudia Black!" he
told her. "If you want to read it, I suggest you start writing."
"Writing WHAT?" Corde
shouted. Aeryn scowled and brandished the pulse rifle. Corde
rolled her eyes. "And where'd you pick up ChickWithGun over
"Garage sale," Bongo
said idly, leafing through the magazine. "Impressive, isn't
Corde snorted derisively. "She
doesn't even look like the real Aeryn." Aeryn scowled some
more and smoothed her black leather vest.
"Sure she does,"
Bongo said, examining her. "How'd you know it wasn't her?"
"For one thing, the real
Aeryn has never pulled a gun on me," Corde told him. "She'd
rather smack me upside the head."
"Good point," Bongo
conceded. "She was a member of the Claud Squad. Must be
why she was so cheap." Aeryn sniffed haughtily and tightened
her grip on her pulse rifle.
The real Aeryn showed up just
at that moment. She unceremoniously smacked Corde upside the
head. "What are you doing?"
Corde held her head. "Quit
HITTING me!" she yelled. "I wasn't doing ANYTHING!"
Aeryn crossed her arms smugly.
"Exactly. You weren't doing anything. What are you SUPPOSED
to be doing?"
Corde thought for a moment,
then shrugged. "Cleaning my room?"
Aeryn looked around and raised
an eyebrow. "Now that you mention it, your room is pretty
messy but that's not what I was talking about. The monkey told
you to WRITE. Why aren't you writing?"
Corde put her face in her hands.
"Because he hasn't told me what to write," she enunciated
Aeryn glared at the monkey.
"Is that true?"
Bongo hid behind the TV Zone
magazine. "Uh yes?"
Aeryn smacked Bongo upside