T'was the day of the wedding. The sun had just riz.
And where David had been was no monkey's biz.
When out of the bathroom came noises and stench.
Our Dave in the grips of one mean monkey wrench.
He came out quite pale. He didn't look funky.
The colour was gone from the cheeks of this monkey.
His face was most ghastly. His proboscis was wet.
We all had the same thought: We must find him a vet.
Or at least some fresh air. Perhaps some sea breeze.
This swinger was lost. We must find him some trees.
Not yet out of the forest, he needed some drink.
Perhaps he lacked water? So what did he think?
He wanted no liquid. he wanted no food.
Hw wanted us all to go ... well, ...it was rude.
He sipped at some cola. We stood round his bed.
"Stop monkeying around" was a thought in my head.
In a room full of fella's, surrounded by plebs,
was Monkey unwell, laying pining for Debs?
His illness concerned us. was this sickness love?
Did he miss his prime playmate? Coz, heavens above!
Dave's prime playmate Debbie; and Deb's prime mate, Dave.
Could such loving thoughts cause Monk's guts to behave
as thought he was host to a belly of piranha?
Or was this monkey crook from abusing banana?
Or was it more gastric? Although it sounds rude,
had he been poisoned by grog or by food?
Was Dave next to death, or just being a wimp?
A man or a mouse? A baboon or a chimp?
He had us well worried. Were we being chumps?
If Monkey had chumped us he'd bruise from our bumps.
But Dave was no faker. Our Dave was a champ.
Our worry now clear in our eyes which were damp.
We held a quick meeting. What would he need best?
We gave him some quiet. We left him to rest.
Without ever talking, his eye's spoke of thanks.
We left him in peace, unaware of his pranks.
We gathered downstairs for to wait and to pray.
And what happened next haunts me still to this day ...
(If you are keen to read the bizarre ending to this true story, then simply write a short message in the guestbook, and leave you email address so that I can email the ending to you).
