So you want to see what Monkeygeddon is all about eh? Ok. Below is a selection of sample chapters taken from my first unedited draft.

 

You might wonder why I would show you an unedited sample. Well, it’s like this; writers are always told to write first and get it right later. Easy to say, hard to do. Your first draft often looks terrible and when compared to your favourite writers it’s hard to imagine how your shitty first draft can ever compete with the likes of Douglas Adams, Stephen King or even Dan Brown. With that in mind I decided to post this unedited first draft to show you how awful a shitty first draft can be.

Read it and compare it with your own work. Understand that every piece of writing ever committed to paper was once as shitty as this. It’s not the end of the world. You are still a writer. Knowing your first draft is shit is part of what makes you a writer, so stop worrying and realise that a first draft is just that. There will be other drafts, maybe just one, more likely three or four, but there will be other drafts. Draft one is simply where it all begins.

So here we go, three rough chapters from the shitty first draft. Oh and it’s a bit sweary and there may be some violence.

Monkeygeddon!

CHAPTER 1

There was nothing gentle about it. He grabbed her roughly and she yelped in surprise as he pulled at the fur of her thighs. Before she could object, he was in her, thrusting and thrusting like a tiny steam powered Tom Jones. He screamed at her; she at him. And then with a laugh he withdrew. The deed done, he went back to his banana and she wiped her arse on a tree branch.

“And that special moment, was brought to you by the Javan Langur,” said Alan Quartermaine giving the evil eye to the golden lothario of the trees.

The trouble with monkeys is that they never do what you want them to do. Everyone thinks they’re going to be cute and cheeky and wearing little hats. But they’re not.

“What was those monkeys doing, mummy?” said a little girl who was trying to remove her mother’s hand from her eyes.

“Disgusting,” the mother said, almost spitting the words.

Alan was trying to escape backwards into the wheel room of the Paloma only to be smacked on the back of his head by a monkey in a sailors outfit. It was Chico and he belonged to the pilot, Big Chris.

“No chance,” smirked Big Chris, “Go and explain to the nice people about monkey fun time.”

“Bastard,” said Quartermaine through the gritted teeth of a forced smile.

“I shall be having a word with your manager when we get back,” Spouted the little girl’s mother, “This tour is simply not suitable for precious little eyes.”

And with that, the monkey turds began to rain down.

“Not again,” said Quartermaine as the first lump of monkey shit hit the women on the back of the head.

There was no escape. The wheel house was too small to contain any but Big Chris, Chico and Quartermaine, who were now cowering and trying hard not to laugh. Passengers ran left and right, the small cruiser lurching dangerously as they did so. Monkey shit covered the deck causing one man to slip backwards and over the rail.

“Man overboard! Man overboard…” a young man tried to shout before being hit square in the mouth by a rather nutty turd.

Quartermaine grabbed a ring from the side of the wheel house and ran out onto the deck. The shit was really flying this time and, as usual, he was grateful for the fedora hat they made him wear. He’d never quite figured out why he was dressed to look like Indiana Jones, but at least it wasn’t his own clothes that were getting covered in turds each day.

He pushed his way through the screaming crowd toward where the young man was spitting out monkey crap and throwing up over the rail. Quartermaine knocked him out of the way and threw the ring at the flailing man in the water. The ring was soon grabbed and Quartermaine quickly pulled on the rope dragging the distraught fellow through the stomach contents and shit that were floating alongside the boat. When he was close enough, Alan reached down and took the man’s hand, pulling him aboard as quickly as he could.

Given the choice between being covered in shit or half drowning and being pulled through his friends floating puke, the man looked less relieved than you might have imagined and would have been happier at home. But finally, Big Chris got the pleasure cruiser Paloma out of the mangroves and headed for dry land.

Alan Quartermaine sat amongst the passengers, monkey shit dripping off his hat and down the back of his shirt. The disgusted mother stared at him as she plucked digested monkey matter from her child’s precious little ears. The rest of the tour group hadn’t fared any better. The puking man was pale and had thrown up twice more. The man who’d gone overboard was dripping water and really didn’t look happy at all. Women were crying; men were looking threateningly at Alan.

In the wheel house, Big Chris was whistling a happy tune while Chico danced. The whistling soon stopped as the Paloma pulled into the dock. Stood there, open mouthed, was the park manager Rita Golightly.

Big Chris brought the Paloma in and Alan removed the chain on the boat’s railing to let his passengers off…

“That concludes the tour of Monkey Island,” the words were now involuntary, “We hope you enjoyed seeing the monkeys in their natural habitat and that you have learned to appreciate our simian friends”

The passengers disembarked with a flurry of helpful comments.

“Idiot.”

“Moron.”

“Tit.”

“Dickhead”

“Disgusting”

“I don’t like you,” this last, from the little girl who swiftly punched Quartermaine in his lower abdomen, as the boxers call it.

“Thank you,” wheezed Quartermaine as he doubled up in agony.

Chico took pity on the crippled man in the Indiana Jones hat and gave him the usual slap on the back of the head. Quartermaine gave him the evil eye, being in too much agony to do anything more. Chico blew a raspberry and jumped onto Big Chris’ shoulders.

“Jungle Room? I’m starving,” said Big Chris eyeing up the nearby theme restaurant.

Quartermaine hobbled along behind him, his balls still throbbing.

“I need he drink,” he managed to say.

“Where the hell do you two think you’re going?” Rita blocked their way.

“Food,” said Big Chris, “it’s hungry work this you know.”

“Work? All you do is drive that boat and play with that monkey.”

Chico gave a squawk.

“And why is he wearing that sailor’s outfit?” Continued Rita, “He looks ridiculous.”

“He likes it. Makes him feel part of the family.” said Big Chris giving Chico a mysterious grape.

“I want him out of it. This may be a theme park but it’s also a centre for serious research and that monkey”, Rita gestured in the vague direction of Chico before noticing something more important, “What the hell is that smell? Oh, God, that’s…oh god…”

“They did it again,” Said Alan, finally getting his breath back,” Those bloody Langurs started heaving shit all over the boat again.”

They quickly related the whole sorry story to Rita who dry heaved through most of it. She looked at the Paloma and its crap covered deck. She looked at Quartermaine and his shit covered clothes. She looked at Big Chris and Chico who appeared much cleaner than they should.

“You,” she pointed at Alan, “shower and change that uniform. You two, I want that boat sparkling before the next tour starts. You’ve got at an hour.

“But I’m starving,” Chris protested, Chico copying his angry face as best he could.

“One. Hour,” Rita got right in Chris’ face to make sure he understood and Chico gave her a slap, “And I want that monkey out of that sailor suit.”

The park manager stormed off leaving Alan Quartermaine, Big Chris and Chico to get on with cleaning themselves and their boat. It was going to be a long dirty day at World of Monkeys.

CHAPTER 7

Big Chris pulled the Paloma up to the landing stage nice and smooth. He’d been doing this for quite some time now and took great enjoyment in his work. Alan dropped the chain on the rail and jumped onto the stage, rope in hand and tied the boat to the cleat. He turned to the boatload of expectant passengers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Monkey Island.”

The crowd disembarked and made their way to the path on the island. There was a clearing for them all to gather in and Alan waited for them to make their way over. Big Chris was the last off, as usual. He liked to make sure that all was well with the boat and with Chico who would wait there for him to get back. It felt odd not having him there and he gave him a shout. There was no sign of him. With a sigh, Big Chris joined the group.

“Monkey Island is quite large, as you’ll soon see, and was designed to provide a natural environment for our monkeys,” Alan explained.

“Are there gorillas?” asked Jake excitedly, his mum shushed him.

“No, there are no gorillas,” Alan smiled, “We only have monkeys and gorillas are…”

“Apes!” shouted Max, giving his twin brother a nudge.

“Right,” Alan said, giving the boys a wink, “The monkeys on the island are all perfectly safe as long as you don’t annoy them. By that I mean follow me, stick to the paths and don’t touch the wildlife.”

“Perfectly safe?” snorted Phil, “Buggers knocked me out.”

“Not for long enough,” huffed the other half.

“Shut it Davina. You made me come here and all I’ve had so far is backache form the car journey and a face full of nuts.”

“Well now you know how it feels,” Said Davina, arms tightly folded across her chest

Patrick and Gina burst out laughing.

“What are you laughing at? Do you want thumping?” Phil stepped toward the couple.

“Oooh look,” said Big Chris getting between them, “monkeys. Look at the funny monkeys.”

Phil backed off. A couple of teenagers were one thing but Big Chris certainly lived up to his name. If he’d landed a punch on the big boat pilot, he’d have broken his arm.

“Shall we get going then?” shouted Alan, trying to keep a little order. “Follow me.”

The group followed Alan down the trail as he led them through the forest.  The boys pushed to the front, right behind Alan, followed by their mum and dad. The Johnsons kept Phil Stewart separated from the Keith, Patrick and Gina and Big Chris brought up the rear to make sure nobody strayed off the path.

As they made their way along the path the group finally got that jungle feeling. It was a hot summer’s day and the greenery seemed to be steaming. It really did feel like a rainforest. Alan pointed out various monkeys and other wildlife. The twins loved it, their dad less so. Jim Johnson was in his element and could barely contain himself when he spotted a troop of Proboscis monkeys before Alan.

“Fantastic,” muttered Jim to himself, “Look at those pot bellies. Hee hee, they look like that fella off the telly… whatshisname… Anyway, him.”

“Surprisingly good swimmers,” Alan contributed in case anyone had forgotten that he was the tour guide, “and their pot belly is a result of their complex diet.”

Big Chris noticed a flash of white in the canopy; white with a blue trim? He couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Chico and was convinced he’d find him before they got back to the boat. But his thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the screaming sound of chaos erupted through the forest.

The noise was spine chilling and the group froze.

“What the bloody hell was that?” said Phil

“Ermm, monkeys,” Gina answered cockily.

Davina pulled Phil’s shirt to remind him that she was still there and that he better not embarrass her any more. Phil gave the evil eye to Gina who curled her lip at him while Patrick laughed. Keith was beginning to wish he hadn’t agreed to come with them. They’d only invited him because he had a car. He and Patrick had been friends since school, but since Patrick discovered girls during sixth form, he’d turn into a bit of an arse.

Big Chris looked at Gina and Patrick. He looked at Keith too and remembered what it was like. His thoughts were broken once more by another scream, accompanied this time by a lot of rustling in the trees. Something was happening, something not good. Alan decided to move on and gave the shout. The group followed on behind.

“We are heading toward the screams, you know,” Davina spoke to Alan quietly so the Twins couldn’t hear.

“There’s only one path around the island. Besides, monkeys do a lot of screaming; it doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”

“But they’ve attacked us once.”

“Oh that sort of thing never happens,” Alan said, not entirely truthfully, “It won’t happen twice that’s for sure.”

Around the corner they came to a bit of a clearing where a tree stood covered in berries and pygmy marmosets. Alan motioned for the group to stop and Big Chris made a shushing motion, finger to his lips.

“Pygmy Marmosets,” Whispered Jim Johnson and seeing Alan’s body language, “Sorry.”

“Thank you. Yes, Pygmy Marmosets. They do seem to like these berries, but they also gnaw at tree branches with their sharp little teeth and suck out the gum.”

The twins sat by Alan, fascinated by the tiny monkeys. The whole group was amazed at them and the marmosets themselves didn’t seem to have noticed the attention they were getting. Until Phil Spoke.

“Is that all they do then?”

“Oh for crying out loud Phil,” Davina was really getting sick of his constant messing around.

“What? They’re just little things and they don’t seem to be doing much of anything. Don’t worry, I’ll liven things up.”

Phil picked a small stone up from the floor and walked toward the Marmoset’s tree. Alan grabbed Phil’s arm as he walked past.

“Can you not do that please?”

“Don’t you grab me,” said Phil twisting Alan’s hand off his arm, “I won’t hurt the precious little things. I just want to liven them up a bit.”

“Phil, no,” shouted Davina.

Phil approached the tree and picked out the nearest Marmoset. He eyed it up and hurled his stone, catching it right on the backside. The marmoset gave out a loud squeak. Phil laughed.

“He’s paying attention now, eh?”

In fact all the marmosets were paying attention. There was a loud series of clicks and chatters and the tiny monkeys rushed their attacker. Phil was startled to find himself suddenly covered in monkeys. They weighed next to nothing but their teeth and claws were sharper than he’d expected. They were scratching at his head and biting his ears and arms; the teeth, usually used for gnawing the bark from trees doing real damage to Phil’s skin. Phil began to spin and scream.

“Ahhhh! Get the little bastards off me.  Get them off.”

The twins ran to their mum, mouths agape.

“Do something,” Davina yelled at Alan.

Alan and Big Chris had been so taken aback by the uncharacteristic attack that they’d simply stood and watched. Big Chris had in fact been laughing to himself. He looked at Alan and shrugged, unsure what they could do to help. After some very brief thought, they did what they could.

Running over to the still screaming Phil, who was now bleeding quite badly, the pair began grabbing Marmosets and flung them into the undergrowth. Sensing they were outnumbered, the marmosets began to retreat. But not before they had done ripped Phil’s ear quite badly and caused some nasty wounds to his arms and legs. His lip was split too and he wasn’t at all happy.

“What the fuck? Vicious little bastards. I’ll sue, you wait.”

“Oh shut up Phil! Just shut up!” Davina was saying what everyone else was thinking, “You brought that on yourself. You’re a bully and an idiot and if you don’t shut up I’ll finish what the monkeys didn’t and knock you on your fat arse.”

Phil looked at her open mouthed. In all the years they had been together, he had never heard her get that angry. He looked around at the rest of the group; open mouthed shock greeted him on every face. Finally Alan broke the silence.

“We should get you back to the boat. There’s a first aid kit and…”

“No fear. I’m not having you idiots patching me up. It’s just a few scratches.”

“Part of your ear’s missing,” said Gina with a look of disgust.

“I’ll live. Now are we getting on with this so called tour?”

Alan looked over at Big Chris and shrugged. Big Chris shrugged back. The customer was always right thought the big lad and pointed toward the path. Behind him the marmosets seemed to be gathering and Chris motioned to Alan to get a move on.

Just then, overhead, more screaming could be heard and a group of Langurs went rattling through the canopy. They appeared to be chasing something and Big Chris saw it. The white uniform with blue trim he thought he’d saw earlier. It was Chico. And the Langurs were gaining on him.

CHAPTER 11

In the dark of the Ghost Monkey ride, it was difficult for Rita and Terry to tell which noises were being made by the ride’s soundtrack and which were coming from the real life monkey that was hiding somewhere down the track. The automatons that kept jumping out along the way didn’t help either.

Rita, mop in hand, kept close behind Terry who was slowly venturing forward. He was waving his torch about and trying to feel his way ahead with the broom. Being hit in the face by the head of a robotic monkey had unnerved him somewhat and with good reason. Up ahead, he could make out a pair of eyes staring at them from the gloom. Terry froze.

“What is it?” asked Rita, not sure that really wanted to know.

“Eyes,” said Terry, “They’re looking right at us. Got an eerie glow too.”

“Glow? Do you think monkeys eyes glow in the dark?”

“Never really thought about it.”

Rita grabbed hold of Terry’s torch hand and pointed it right at the glowing pair of eyes. A gorilla bot sat making chewing movements with its unrealistic mouth.

“Idiot,” Rita rightly pointed out, “This is getting ridiculous.”

“Well what do you expect down here. And you’re not helping, cowering behind like that.”

“I’m not cowering, I’m keeping an eye on our flank.”

And with that, Rita humphed and took the lead. Immediately regretting it when from nowhere a blast, as if from a pair of fire extinguishers, sent the pair of them running and screaming down the tunnel. They stopped when they reached the gorilla bot which was guarding the start of a series of sharp “S” shaped curves. At the apex of each curve sat an automaton. Up ahead they could see a stuffed tiger ready to pounce as if being flushed out by the spear carrying natives behind it.

Duly noted, they edged cautiously toward it being sure to stick the opposite side of the track. They still jumped when the robotics kicked in and sent the tiger and natives flying toward them with all the accompanying noises of the hunt.

“Christ on bike Terry. People pay to come down here?”

“My ride’s very popular,” said Terry, quite dejectedly, “People love a good scare and your monkeys just sit around eating. At least mine do something.”

Rita humphed again, but was stopped by noises up ahead.

“Is that another robot?” she asked

“Well, there’s a robot down there, cannibals I think, but it shouldn’t be doing anything until we walk past the sensor.”

Terry swung his broom ahead of him, trying to get it around the corner to poke at whatever might be there. It met with no resistance. Rita pushed him forward, tripping the next sensor and activating the cannibal scene.

It was grotesque. There was a witchdoctor who was wielding what should have been a knife over a woman who was being held down by natives. As the witchdoctor made a stabbing motion at the woman, who apparently was destined for the big pot behind them, she screamed long and loud. Another scream came along with it, a more animalistic scream.

“Go on Terry, it must be just ahead,” said Rita still pushing Terry.

Terry tutted and cautiously edged forward, the broom going ahead of him as always. It might have been the scream that caught Terry off guard; it might have been the sight of a Green Monkey wielding a knife stolen from a robotic witchdoctor and riding a rhino. Whatever it was, Terry was definitely caught out. He yelled and pushed Rita to the ground as the automated rhino charged them. The monkey on the rhino’s back was no robot and it came flying at Terry, knife in hand.  The blade went straight into Terry’s back puncturing the old fella’s lung. He gasped as he tried to yell out to Rita who was sitting on the rail open mouthed.

She watched as Terry arched his back in agony, the simian assassin using the knife as a step to climb up onto Terry’s head, forcing him backward. The robotic rhino continued its charge, impaling Terry on its horn and bringing him choking and splutering to meet Rita.

The manageress sat in horror as the monkey tore into Terry’s head, ripping his scalp open, tearing at his mouth and eyes. Terry gurgled, he had no breath and no fight left in him and was soon dead. He hung there on the rhino like just another animated scene as the rhino bot reset itself to await the next Ghost Monkey Car. The monkey continued to bite off Terry’s face as the rhino retreated and Rita saw her chance. She pulled herself up and ran back the way she had come.