Carl Denham was miserable.
He had brought King Kong back alive from Skull Island at the cost of fifteen men and untold thousands of dollars. His attempt to exhibit the beast on Broadway was a complete flop, thanks to the kind ministrations of the SPCA, PETA, and the unions. And Ann Darrow was in therapy.
But big as he was, Kong was still a monkey.
Denham dodged as Kong lobbed a Volkswagen-sized turd. Moments later, ten gallons of hot Ape-Spooge spattered the bars of the gargantuan enclosure.
Eighth Wonder of the World, my ass, thought Denham. Still a fucking monkey.
He had brought King Kong back alive from Skull Island at the cost of fifteen men and untold thousands of dollars. His attempt to exhibit the beast on Broadway was a complete flop, thanks to the kind ministrations of the SPCA, PETA, and the unions. And Ann Darrow was in therapy.
But big as he was, Kong was still a monkey.
Denham dodged as Kong lobbed a Volkswagen-sized turd. Moments later, ten gallons of hot Ape-Spooge spattered the bars of the gargantuan enclosure.
Eighth Wonder of the World, my ass, thought Denham. Still a fucking monkey.
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