Was that a smile on Jeremy’s face, or was the photographer from Interstellar Geographic just anthropomorphizing?
He couldn’t even say why he’d named it Jeremy. It just seemed right. Could the simian before him actually feel the way that he did, think philosophical thoughts? Did the Hyper-Baboon have hopes, dreams? Was it possible that the creature even had a conception of time and space?
Then the other monkey triggered the landmine; pieces of baboon flesh scattered in all directions.
Jeremy grinned, walked up to the photographer and said: “Actually, I prefer Jerome, and that fucker was sleeping with my wife.”