Scene: We open up with a camera shot of the drunken monkey compound, panning across the area toward the large building on the southeast corner. The camera stops and zooms in closer, through the window, down the hall and into the drunken monkey auditorium, where we see...Good God!! Monkeys!! They're everywhere!!! Thousands of monkeys...most of them DRUNK!!! Enter Gunther...

The God of the Drunken Monkeys crossed the stage toward the podium with slow calculated steps, half for effect, half for balance, and just a little extra effort to squash that weird little thing with way too many legs that seems to show up at every important meeting of the monkeys. Upon reaching the podium, Gunther grasped it firmly with both hands and steadied himself, preparing to address the monkey mass before him. As he locked his elbows and gathered his thought, another pesky thought entered his mind. He looked down at the podium and smiled as he locked his elbows again, this time with more force, and yet the podium was still standing proudly. A wave of pride washed over Gunther as he noted that something in the compound actually functioned correctly. This was definitely a good sign.

Gunther looked up at the monkey mass before him and scowled. Thousands of monkeys in one place is never a good thing and when you add the influence of alcohol, then there would definitely be trouble. Gunther raised his hands in an effort to silence his menions, but the mass of rather pungent bipeds had yet to notice their mighty leader. Gunther sighed and his form changed from the general of the Monkey Regiment to that of the drunken diety that the monkeys were trained to respect above all else. Again Gunther raised his hands for silence and again he appeared invisible. He turned behind him and waved at Shawnyboy in an effort to get at least some attention. Shawnyboy merely shook his head and said, "You're a god aren't you? Do something godlike."

Gunther pondered for a second and then an evil grin spread across his face like peanut butter spreads over a nice piece of whole wheat bread, not that pansy white stuff that tears in half as the peanut butter makes its powerful presence known. The simian raised his hands and a dark cloud condensed over his head. Gunther sent the cloud out over the crowd and stopped his new little toy directly over the center of the assembly. He violently began dancing and shouting in an attempt to do the famous lightning trick that had proven so effective in many a past assembly. The cloud spun and pulsated oddly before spewing a blue bolt directly downward, instantly vaporizing the monkey commonly known as extra #7294.

Gunther gasped as he saw the bolt incinerate one of his trusted comrades and a feeling of sadness and loss crept into his soul for just a moment. Gunther looked thoughtful for a second and said, "Memo, self, don't try the attention getting bit after being drunk." As the memo entered his mind, it was immediately recognized as an evil entity and rolled up into a rather ugly little ball before it was molested and set ablaze, the ashes resting next to all the other little memos that Gunther tried to send to himself.

The monkey god, sensing that all was now well in the compound, or as well as it was going to get considering that one of the minions was now a happy happy chunk of cinder, bent toward the microphone that protruded from the podium and began to speak. "My minions, we have a grave situation facing us. As you are all aware, the chickens are out for world domination. Those evil little thingies will stop at nothing in their quest to become the world's perfect mealtime meat. Well, they're back, and they're even stranger than before. The chickens have prepared a dangerous...I dunno, some stuff, it isn't purple and it makes the cows dance or something. I believe that we have a visual aid of some kind prepared."

Gunther turned to the left side of the stage where Twitchy stood, decked out in his favorite '70's bell bottomed pants, half unbuttoned shirt, platform shoes and of course, about 70 pounds of gold chains. Twitchy felt the heat of the spotlight encompass him, and he began to disco as if his life depended on it. Terror gripped the crowd as Twitchy began to sway and gyrate his hips while he seemed to point at damn near anything that grabbed his attention. Twitchy danced and flailed wildly for a good thirteen seconds before one of the monkeys in the front row declared him insane and demanded that he be put out of his misery.

As the crowd began to chant for the death of Twitchy, in his best interest of course, Gunther again welled up another storm cloud and sent it out to the center of the crowd, allowing it to merely thunder and rain a bit instead of zapping another hapless monkey. Silence once again became the order of the day and Gunther resumed his speech. "Yes, well, apparently the chickens plan to force the cows into performing such horrible rituals and well, it just isn't right. In fact, it's damn weird!!! We must act, and act we shall. We have from reliable sources that the chickens plan a strategic strike on the Canadian Mounted Police. We aren't really sure as to why, because at last count, the Mounties owned about zero cows, but that is where they told us they plan to start, so had best be there to put an end to this horrid disco thing."

As the monkeys began to murmur about how the discow must be put to an end, a deranged cackle filled the hall. Hollow and chilling, the laugh entered the soul of the monkey mass and turned the war chants and occasional hiccup to total silence. As the cackle came to a close, a monkey in the very back of the auditorium stood and pointed to Gunther before announcing in a low entrancing moan, "Huh-huh, you said mount." Again the monkey began to cackle, and a second later he disappeared in a flash of light and smoke for no apparent reason.

Gunther looked about the room in childlike amazement, trying to piece any rhyme or reason to this mockery of a meeting, but the meaning was lost, never to be found, or at least not to be found anytime soon. Perhaps in a few years, when Thunderchicken has come and gone, then, when you least expect it, perhaps during a game of pool, or while you knit a sweater for your armadillo, then the meeting will enter your mind and you will find meaning. But for now, you ain't gonna, so stop trying. Gunther himself gave up the struggle and addressed his minions. " Gentlemen, I believe we know what we have to do...STOP THOSE CHICKENS!!!"