Scarlett the Ape

“I hate knitting”, said Algernon the ape, as his needles clicked feverishly at the purple cardigan that was slowly taking form.

“Yes,” said Shiloh his Proboscis cousin. “But as you know, Elvis is on his way.”

“Pah!” Algernon replied. “We’ll never hear the end of that. I’ve heard that since I looked into the halogen bulb.”

“Patience, ape buddy”, soothed Shiloh.

“Patience?! Do you know how difficult it is for an ape to knit? Look around you. All my friends – ALL of them are just busy being naked. Eating, sleeping, copulating and shitting! Not ONE of them has to knit.”

“You’re different”, Shiloh reminded him. “Their bliss is but temporary. When you meet elvis, they admit to the folly of their ways. Their highway is running out of sand.”

“ENOUGH ABOUT ELVIS!” roared Algernon. “He’s never coming. We sing his songs for zero! Enough with this knitting.”

Algernon took his 36% complete cardigan and threw it down his deluxe tree house.

It landed in the pile of puke that Algernon had puked 20 years ago. Slowly, purple turned to chicken-shit green.

“I’ve had it. Elvis is dead.” He turned his back against Shiloh and looked towards the jungle mansion – where rabbits got intoxicated and diamond studs adorned peacocks. “I’m going over there Shiloh, you hear me?”

Silence.

“I said I’m going to the jungle mansion.’

Silence.

“Shiloh?!

Silence

“SHILOH!?” Algernon turned to face his friend – furious that his buddy did not answer. But Shiloh wasn’t there. All that was left were Shiloh’s underwear and modest pagoda cotton t-shirt.

Elvis had come. Shiloh was in the ozone that second. “Piak!” was the sound of realization smacking the ape’s furry head.

“NO-oooooooooooooo”, wailed Algernon as he anticipated his lava dip.