Your SEO optimized title

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

ESSAYThe Snarl-Smile, or, Dick Cheney vs. RamboPeter Clarke

ESSAYThe Snarl-Smile, or, Dick Cheney vs. RamboPeter Clarke

Drunk Monkeys

Earlier today, Dick Cheney’s face popped up on the news and I thought to myself, “Let’s figure this guy out.” Why not?

I just turned 30 and it’s currently the prime era of Cheney’s irrelevance. Although he served as Vice President of the U.S. during the height of my political-rebellion years, no kidding, I hardly know a single thing about him—except that he’s generally regarded as nothing but pure evil. His characteristic snarl of a smile pretty much gives it away.

In my day job, I hire people to do relatively challenging work. If I had to hire a U.S. President in the same way I hire private sector employees, I would have a hard time. Most people in politics seem so overqualified but at the same time so depressingly underqualified. 

Dick Cheney went to Yale…

But he graduated from the University of Wyoming? Is his Wikipedia article biased somehow? Check out the way the sentence about his academic background is worded. It’s like his Yale thing is thrown in as a side-note to his time in Wyoming—like Yale has nothing on Wyoming. Wyoming: America’s secret crown jewel of academia!

People who ask questions when trying to say something are obviously confused. I’ll be the first to admit, as one of the voting public: I’m obviously confused (about Dick Cheney but also in general). All I know for sure is that it’s the humanity in all of us that matters most. This is true even though people tend to use the word “humanity” as a way of justifying their own personal flaws. 

In terms of humanity, Dick Cheney has a smile that can’t be trusted. Is there a story behind it, I wonder…? 

Just recently I watched First Blood, the movie that kicked off the Rambo franchise. 1) It was amazing and I think police have a propensity to bring out the worst in people—now more than ever. 2) Sylvester Stallone is a true American hero and let’s all agree that actors, like celebrity politicians, can make real contributions to life and culture—especially when they’re good!

Dick Cheney had better have a story about his creepy smile. Because Sylvester Stallone has a story. When Stallone was born, the obstetricians used forceps during the birthing process…and the result caused Stallone to have lifelong paralysis in his lip, tongue, and chin. Ever wonder why Stallone’s smile is more of a snarl? That’s why.

And you, Dick? Do you have a story? What makes you human? Are you an innocent victim like the rest of us—driven by compulsions and unfortunate circumstances to commit questionable acts? Or are you the sheriff in First Blood who sets everyman’s tortured hero, Rambo, on a needless rampage? 

Peter Clarke is a writer native to Port Angeles, Washington currently living in Oakland, California. His short fiction has appeared in 3AM Magazine, Curbside Splendor, Hobart, Drunk Monkeys, and elsewhere. He’s an assistant editor for Fifth Wednesday Journal and founding editor of Jokes Review. See: www.petermclarke.com.  

More Non-Fiction
ESSAYJello
ESSAYJello

I played the message until I couldn’t listen anymore, until the voice was no longer speaking a language I recognized.

Letter From the EditorMatthew Guerruckey
Letter From the EditorMatthew Guerruckey

Founding Editor Matthew Guerruckey introduces our December issue, dedicated to accounts from survivors of sexual assault.

ESSAYSurvivor
ESSAYSurvivor

On November 9, 1994 I was sexually assaulted. I still cannot say “rape” and I really do not know why – it’s hard for me to even type the word, forget about saying it. The word “Rape” feels so victimizing – that life happened to me, that I was powerless to avoid it – that I was at the mercy of someone else’s desire – that I did not have a voice.

ESSAYHe's in the Basement
ESSAYHe's in the Basement

The house appeared to be empty. No one was in the living room, no one was in the kitchen, and no one was the bathroom. The upstairs bedrooms were completely deserted. Not a single soul could be found. Unless, it didn’t want to be found. 

ESSAYIt Seems Like Any Other Night
ESSAYIt Seems Like Any Other Night

It seems like any other night. My mother helps me put on my nightgown and tells me to brush my teeth and wash my face. I go into the beige bathroom with turquoise tiles and stand on a small chrome step covered in black ribbed plastic, rough on my soft bare toddler feet. I wash my face over the beige ceramic sink. I squeeze a glob of pale turquoise Crest from the aluminum tube onto my toothbrush and brush all my teeth back and forth until the foam builds up to overflowing. 

ESSAYBrutal
ESSAYBrutal

"Let's have a gay night," he said.

"A gay night?"

Of course, we didn't know what he meant. I was eight and my cousin, Terry was nine. We were staying the night with our great-aunt and our 19-year-old cousin, Larry, who lived with her. Larry was very handsome, and he could almost dunk a basketball, which went a long way with us. He also seemed to like hanging out with us. Earlier, Terry and I (who grew up in the same house) had been playing Army with him in our back yard. Larry was tall, lean, and dark-skinned. Looking back on it thirty years later, I'm surprised, and a bit upset that I remember him as being so attractive. 

ESSAYNew Identity
ESSAYNew Identity

I changed my name the day after my church confirmation. That Sunday, May 10, 1987, I stood in front of my church and vowed to reject the forces of evil and confessed Jesus Christ as my Savior. As I said, “I do” each time, I wanted to mean the words, but they rang false in my ears. I felt unworthy of God’s love and salvation. I was unclean. I said the words because it was what I was supposed to do. I felt like my entire life was living up to others’ expectations of me: my parents, my family, my teachers, my friends.     

ESSAYDon’t Criticize What You Can’t Understand: Dylan's Nobel PrizeM.G. Poe
ESSAYDon’t Criticize What You Can’t Understand: Dylan's Nobel PrizeM.G. Poe

Given the escalating, bitterly divided and mystifying socio-political climate in the United States right now, it is somehow fitting that rounding out the ambiguous and wholly controversial state of our present reality, the Swedish Academy has chosen to present the 2016 Nobel Prize for Literature to the enigmatic, oft-times reclusive American folk-singer/songwriter, beat poet and novelist (yes, he has published!) Bob Dylan. It is the first time in the history of the award that it has been given to a pop musician for his body of work, begging us all, especially those of us in the literary world, to bend the arc of our moral universe toward redefining the boundaries of what is literature.
ESSAYNaming It: An Essay In Six PartsPart Six: The Postponed Continuation of a Panic AttackNaima Karczmar

A not-quite relative is my aunt Janet, who lived on the South side of Chicago, which automatically made her a black woman in the same way that if you live on the North side, you are automatically a little bit white even if your skin doesn’t match up. 
TRAVELWhy I Do Not Love TravelJennifer Koiter

The first time I got sick in India, I refused to believe that all I had was a case of common Delhi belly. I was certain something in my body had gone horribly wrong. The spasms of vomiting, the diarrhea, the waves of exhaustion that grounded me in my body and made it impossible to hold a thought in my head: how could all that come from a dollop of coconut chutney on my lunchtime dosa, or a plate of cut cucumbers at a five-star hotel, the one place where raw food is supposed to be safe? 

ESSAYBuilding a Wall: Trump and Familial PoliticsMargaret Evelyn

ESSAYBuilding a Wall: Trump and Familial PoliticsMargaret Evelyn

ESSAYDon’t Call Him Drunken Ira HayesDonna Walker-Nixon

0