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DRUNK MONKEYS IS A Literary Magazine and Film Blog founded in 2011 featuring short stories, flash fiction, poetry, film articles, movie reviews, and more

Editor-in-chief KOLLEEN CARNEY-HOEPFNEr

managing editor

chris pruitt

founding editor matthew guerrero

FICTION / Luceo Non Uro / Che Flory

Photo by Jez Timms on Unsplash

Kuntz should have stopped at the chandler’s shop this afternoon because, at this rate, he will be stranded in the catacombs in utter darkness far too soon. The issue is he was otherwise engaged, and he did not intend to spoil the moment with practicalities. He doesn’t regret this decision, and he refuses to. This situation is really making it hard to stick to that though. Maybe, a few moments of foresight would have reminded him that some extra candles were directly proportional to his continuing these sorts of activities, but Kuntz was easily diverted by the whims of the flesh, as are many men like him. He prayed to the gods of instant gratification, and unlike most worshippers, his prayers were frequently answered. Unfortunately, these gods didn’t always have the best in mind for him, and he frequently caught himself up in binds such as these.  

Trekking through the catacombs at the darkest part of the night looking for one particular ilium of a poet that will remain unnamed for legal reasons in exchange for entrance to, what will be referred to for the purposes of publication, an exclusive club. While Kuntz knew the broad strokes of what this could mean for him, he will keep those close to his chest in the same manner that the organizers of this so-called club kept crucial details from him. One such detail was where this aforementioned ilium was in the catacombs.  

It can be assumed that you, the reader, have likely not traversed a catacomb by candlelight, but you likely are aware that catacombs tend to wind and are likely to leave you incredibly lost. This is even more true when you don’t know where you are going. Kuntz took turn after turn with nothing to show for it except hands covered in wax burns, which was not the most promising in this situation. Adequately lost yet unwilling to give up, Kuntz kept looking for this illusive ilium, and luckily, this poet believed in excess and his body was prepared in a way to suit that. Nearing the end of his candle and his will to continue, he found the poet’s quarters. He only had the crudest outline of what an ilium looked like, and after some deliberation, he came up with his best guess. He doubted his taskmasters’ ability to determine one as well, so it might not even matter. Holding the remaining stump of his candle in his left hand, he tried to free the bone from its not-so-final resting place. The issue was this particular task was a two-hand task, which was not an asset available to Kuntz at this time.  

Kuntz had not come this far to fail, so he would have to make do. The path of least resistance seemed to be clamping the candle between his feet while he pulled the ilium free at which point he could grab the candle and try to get out of the catacombs as fast as possible. The plan was going quite well. With the use of both of his hands, the ilium was able to be broken free from the grime holding it in place. This issue started when the candle caught Kuntz’s trouser on fire. The good news is that Kuntz has much more wick to work with now, and light does help with catacomb navigation.  

With his trousers cropped to an attractive pair of knickers and flames licking near his waist, Kuntz tried to keep his cool. When the flames were singeing his arm hair and he was in a pair of briefs, he found an exit. In a moment of pure exuberance, he sprinted to the exit, which, in turn, extinguished himself. Grabbling towards the exit in the dark and somehow making his way out, he was greeted with a streetlamp, and it was the greatest streetlamp he had ever seen.  

Outfitted in a charred waistcoat and a cheeky disappearing act of a diaper with a poet’s pelvic bone, he was guaranteed the most iconic entrance that this club had ever seen. Tonight, he’d ravish himself until dawn. He might even miss his shift tomorrow. All he had to do was traverse a few streets without being dragged to the police station for an act of public indecency, and he was sure he could manage that.  


Che Flory (they/them) is primarily an actor and director for the stage, which is their current focus at North Dakota State University. They write across genre with a focus on playwriting. Their plays are all accessible on the New Play Exchange. You can find nearly anything you could want on them at cheflory.com.

POETRY / On Capitalist Art & Aquaculture / Katherine Shehadeh

FICTION / The Long Con / Colton Huelle

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