I closed that boquet of messages that greeted me from the last few days.
bouquet you ff-f-f-f-unctional illitereate!
It’s the alternate, uh, colloquial, uh, vernacular…
your mom’s the alternate colloquial vernacular
A hush fell over the assembly and all the apes turned to stare. What were these noises he was making with his mouth? And why was he standing upright, on two legs, as if reaching for a banana that wasn’t there? Kinja bared her teeth nervously. Overhead the canopy shifted and through its branches she saw clouds forming.
The oblivious missionary pushed his cork helmet back on his sweating bald pate. His portly wife, her tan pseudo-military shirt sticking to her plump figure, whispered hoarsely “Edward, don’t.”
One of the apes crawled up behind the woman and reached out a tentative finger, pressing it into her prodigous bottom before making a hasty retreat in a flurry of shrieks and somersaults.
Another shuffled up to their side, tugging at her camera strap, first curious, then demanding, growing angry at her clenched, frightened determination.
“Edward,” she quavered, “Edward, the monkey… Edward, it has my camera, Edward!” Edward chewed his lip and examined the group through narrowed eyes. A smile whispered at the corner of his mouth. No dominant male, he thought.
“Let the monkey have it, Rose. Let the monkey have the camera.”
The ape hissed and swatted a warning at Rose as the strap caught on her canteen. “Oh Edward, it’s stuck…”
Edward whirled around and struck her theatrically. “LET THE MONKEY HAVE IT, ROSE!” he roared, a cunning eye on the assembly.
No dominant male… yet.