Our story begins as such. Around Thanksgiving

Our story begins as such. Around Thanksgiving I was to supply the turkey for my family. It was of large stature to be honest. Hell I don't how I got it in the house to begin with.

Yet that doesn't matter. As I was saying, it's Thanksgiving. That means one thing: in-laws. Oh why did I marry that

gorilla in a human suit? He showed his true self to me on our honeymoon and then bludgeoned me with a banana so when I woke up

when he fell through my bedroom window with a trunk full of money and a finger monkey in a tiny cage. "Did I say I'd deliver?" he asked. The monkey was perfect, and just in time

to administer my neck massage. Now, if you've never had a neck massage from a tiny finger monkey, you just haven't lived. I didn't even care about the money at this point.

No, I coveted the finger monkey. Monica, that tramp, would have to find her own finger monkey to do her evil bidding. This sapien-to-sapien connection had become indestructible.

Until they started that damn birthday song. Then he flung himself out of the cage and ripped the old man's nostril off and ripped his anus out he. He screamed, they'd kill him but

for the fragrance of orange blossoms suddenly infusing the air. The old man lay dripping blood from both ends yet smiling serenely, as if this moment were the culmination of some

archetype or ancient pattern, created and fulfilled. Back to "the garden" only to die in its sweet - Argh! Orange juice squirted in his eyes, cuts and the ragged hole above his rib