TELEVISION / American Horror Story’s Red Tide is Every Creative's Worst Nightmare / Lauren Cassel Brownell

Drunk Monkeys
Television

But alone, at night, in the dark, when nightmares come out to play, even I have to wonder “Would it be such a high price to pay?” In my waking hours I know that I would never do it. And yet, look at the characters who through various influences and for a variety of reasons also insisted the black pill was not an option and eventually succumbed. It’s easy to sit on my high horse in the comfort of my home with no pill waiting for me at the pharmacy drive-thru. What if this really were a possibility?

FICTION / Sea Monkeys / Kevin Joseph Reigle

Drunk Monkeys
Fiction

Johnny ignored her tone and knelt down, eye level with the water. “They’re microscopic. You have to use a magnifying glass to see them. At least that’s what it says.” Johnny stood from his crouched position. He pointed at the magnifying glass he left on the kitchen counter. “It’s over there. You can look if you want.”

ESSAY / River Road Rides / Mark Bergen

Drunk Monkeys
Non-Fiction

I just like to ride by the Summit Avenue rowhouse where Fitzgerald wrote This Side of Paradise, his first novel, and ran out into the street to stop traffic and spread the news that Scribner’s had agreed to publish his book. Fitzgerald’s exuberance is now offset by a plaque mounted outside the rowhouse listing it as a National Historic Landmark but not saying why, a more modest, Minnesota-like approach for sure.

FICTION / The Quality of Mercy / Edward Belfar

Drunk Monkeys
Fiction

What’s that, Your Honor? No, I would not like it if you were to hit me over the head with a fire extinguisher. But, surely, the situations are not analogous. On the one hand, that would be an unprovoked attack on your part. You don’t think so? I see. Let’s put the fire extinguisher aside for the moment then. Admittedly, my client would have been better off if he had done so.

FICTION / The Melting World / Dylan Boyer

Drunk Monkeys
Fiction

But now…now…now there was no denying that something in his life was horribly, deeply wrong. A structure that he did not understand but had always been faintly aware of had made itself violently apparent, and he felt as though he’d discovered an extra limb; for how long had it been there? Was it removable? Who had noticed, who had been too polite to say anything about it to his face? everybody? Who’s in on this?

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