“Dude, I think you’re being hasty. I don’t think I like the sound of ...”

Scree-aaa--ooooh

“No, dude. That's the sound I really don’t like. Can we go back to your fascinating lesson on the history of hierarchy?

“This is the lab-portion of the class”

I’m looking around for what I can defend myself with. I’ve got drumsticks. I’ve got tympani mallets. I’ve got wire brushes. I’ve got glock and marimba mallets.

“Can you tell me anything else about the assignment, professor plant? How big is it? What is it? What are grading criteria?”

“It’s a 20 pound monkey. Pass-fail. You pass if you survive. It may have been whipped up into a frenzy, and coming in ready to fight. I doubt hiding will work.

SCREE-aaa--ooooh

Ok. Kevin. Think. What can I use. Escrima. That’s fighting with sticks, right. So my drumsticks should be good? Maybe something heavier. What’s the heaviest thing I’ve got? Cowbell. I can drive it off with drumsticks. Ain’t no one faster than me.

SCREE-EEE--EEEEE

The scary black monkey barreling out of the jungle towards me looks like a spider. On all fours, it’s dog-tall, with long legs, and looks like it can stand up and hit my stomach. I don’t like the look of the teeth. And it’s running straight across the lawn at me.

The monkey crosses into the hut area. I throw a mallet at it. Miss. Monkey swerves, but didn't need to. Keeps charging. Jumps up onto the drum set. Perfect setup for me. I swing hard. And the damn monkey uses its tail to turn. Completely redirects direction, pulls my kit hard, and is going under the drum now.

FUUUCK! The claws on that monkey just tore a hole in my thigh. Is it a monkey or a fucking cougar? I start swinging like crazy. Sticks in two hands. Swinging like a crazy man. It jumps towards me. I kick. It grabs my kit with it's tail again, turns around fucking midair, and leaves two more gashes in my calf. Goddamn tail.

Screeee!

“Dickwad monkey! You want some?”

Its arms are like 2 feet long, and its tail is longer. Serious reach on this little bastard.

I back up out of the hut towards open ground, so the damn thing can’t change directions so fast. At least the fight’ll be more even. I might lose slower.

“SHIIIT!” as I trip over my drumstool, and fall backwards. Ow. Bruised my elbow too. And the fucking monkey is jumping at me, this time with fangs out.

Smack. “Fastest sticks in the west, bitch!” I hit it in the face, as it’s coming towards me, and that stuns it enough that I can roll away, all tangled up in my stool.

It jumps again, but this time, I’ve got both sticks ready and I RRLR all over its ugly little monkey face. I get a couple nasty scratches from its feet on my stomach, but it drops back to the ground actually stunned this time.

The sticks aren’t doing anything but slowing it down. What choices do I have? Grappling! I outweigh it 8:1, and I can go all Gracie on his ass. I jump at the monkey and grab it’s two arms while it’s still stunned. “Hah, little fucker. Now what you gonna do.”

It’s leg claws come up and dig trenches in my chest while it bites my forearm and sinks it’s fangs in. coulda bit off my finger, but since it’s only my forearm it just hurts like getting stabbed with a kitchen knife. I scream and push/throw it off as it uses it’s 3 lower limbs to push away as well. Half a second later, it’s bouncing off my hut’s corner post and flying back at me.

Adrenaline is some good shit, man. I don’t even know how it happened. No way if I wasn’t scared shitless I would have successfully grabbed the drumstool, and been all Mike Trout on his monkey ass. Fucking monkey got clocked with the sharp end of a drumstool. Now, I ain’t heavy or strong, but I know how to swing a stick. And a drumstool is just a funny-shaped stick with a sharp metal end. By the time I could think again, the monkey had a mashed in head with icky parts all over the bottom of the drumstool.

Now I just have to deal with the FUCKING SCRATCHES. OWWWWWWW!

“You sadistic fucking corpseflower. Murderweed. Your mother was a hampster and your father WAS a fucking elderberry. I pass your fucking test. OWWWWWW!”

The pain starts to catch up as I curl up into a ball.

“Well done, Kevin. You are apparently not hopeless. If you were to crawl over to the monkey and grab it, you would take a step towards feeling better.”

“Fuck you, you fucking shop of horrors. Do you sing too? Green and calming, but trying to kill me. Goddamn Tobacco plant!” I stagger over to the dead monkey, touch it, and the ghost split thing happens again. This time there’s 3 red 10 coins in my pocket.

“That’s money, you giant flytrap. It’s not fucking stopping the bleeding. Do you have bandages, you green bag of dicks?”

“If you would like, I have a thaumic first aid kit for 1 red thaum.

“Done. Sold. Give!”

A standard first aid kit drops in front of me … with bandages, gauze, and a tube of something. Disinfectant? This sucks, but I’ve had as bad a couple times on motorcycle spills. I start dropping disinfectant on the wounds. In seconds, they not only stop hurting but start closing. In 5 minutes, the only indication I was ever in a fight is my torn bloody clothes, the dead monkey in the corner, and the monkeybrains on my stool. And the dreams I’m gonna have.