Son of
Son of Kong
The wave of emails has been astounding since I revealed I was separated from King Kong at birth.Son of Kong
Well, not exactly.
That would be silly.
I'm too young.
I'm his grandson, or so Grandmama Darrow jotted.
Adventurers abducted my infant body from the wild, The Kong Family homeland, a primitive oasis far off the coast of Sumatra. I was caged on a tramp steamer and forwarded postage due to America, where a young family adopted me. They raised this child as their own on a stringent diet of bananas stewed in a dipilatory sauce.
I earned my keep by shedding. The fur sweatered the entire family, assorted cousins, bag boys, and beboppers for nearly two decades.
During the college years, I paid tuition by growing and shaving a customized line of shaggy seat covers for aficionados of the Dodge Dart Swinger.
Currently, my body has lost much of its luxurious hair from maturity and traditional Alpha Male Pattern Baldness, but I continue vain enough to do the comb-up-and-over from my hips to the pectorals.
I sell more than a few assorted locks of pelt on eBay, which is my pleasure, as collectors bid handsomely to fashion Eugene Levy eyebrows. It's a big cosplay fad in Japan.
I'm coming to merchandising terms with Wilfred Brimley -- maybe announce something next molt.
Unlike Pater and Grandpapa, I am anatomically correct, albeit some areas are in human dimensions, darn the luck.
I'm grateful for my life in America, but I'm a firm believer in giving back to the community. Each summer, I revisit my roots to help in the Habitat for Gorilla/T (Rex) program, building affordable housing for the locals.
In fact, here's a 2003 photo of me erecting the first McDonald's on Skull Island....
No comments:
Post a Comment