by Daniel S. Irwin
In far away, mysterious India, there is a holy temple filled with sacred monkeys. The caretaker said that the monkeys are the reincarnation of the dead and those monkeys with the souls of your relatives will seek you out. Sounds like hooey but if that's true, then it was probably Uncle George, the thief, that scurried off into the trees with my camera when, dang it, crazy Aunt Doris, playing coy, suddenly bit the heck outta my finger. Yeah, and that sorry-ass Cousin Bill was his usual obnoxious self splattering me with his shit and dancing around shaking his weezer at everybody. The afterlife sure hasn't changed these characters. I always thought they were a buncha damn monkeys.
Daniel S. Irwin, author of My Man Stormy and a 1980 "Write-In" Presidential Candidate, was abandoned by gypsies and raised in a capitalist commune. His work has been published in Krax, Moodswing, Zygote in My Coffee, Spin, and several other places.