Embedded Files
DMT APE
DMT APE
The Cosmic Banquet was the grandest event Banarama had ever seen, which wasn’t saying much since it was also the only banquet ever held for a celestial object. The Golden Ape King, resplendent in his shimmering fur and pasta-and-meatball crown, had ordered the entire kingdom to contribute to the celebration. Towers of spaghetti spiraled to the skies, rivers of marinara flowed freely, and the air was thick with the aroma of garlic bread (despite no one knowing where the garlic came from).
Apes of every hue were gathered, dancing, feasting, laughing. The Cosmic Thingy in the sky shimmered in approval—or at least that’s what everyone assumed. The Golden Ape King stood on his ceremonial banana throne, raising a fork as if to toast the heavens.
“Behold, my subjects!” he declared. “No one throws a party like Banarama! Even the stars themselves are jealous of our pasta prowess!” A loud cheer erupted, followed by a few meatballs being flung for emphasis.
Just as the revelry hit its peak, the jungle went eerily silent. The Cosmic Thingy pulsed once, then twice, before a glowing figure began descending from its radiant center. As it drew closer, gasps spread through the crowd.
It was a monkey, but not like any they had ever seen before. Its fur shimmered in swirling shades of pink, brighter and more vivid than even the flashiest of the pink apes. Covering its entire body were countless eyes—blinking, darting, and staring in every direction at once.
On its head lay an elaborate arrangement of fancy spaghetti, woven delicately yet somehow draped around and between its myriad eyes, as though even the noodles had a mind of their own. The creature moved with an eerie, dreamlike fluidity, its body appearing to float and swing on invisible vines, defying gravity and logic alike.
A collective shiver rippled through the apes as the figure landed softly in the center of the banquet, its many eyes focusing on each ape in turn. The banquet, once filled with the clinking of cutlery and chatter of apes, fell into a deep and uneasy silence. Whatever this being was, it was nothing they could understand—and nothing they were ready for.
“I AM THE DMT APE,” it announced in a voice that sounded like it was echoing from every corner of the universe. “I BRING WISDOM, THOUGH YOU MAY NOT RECOGNIZE IT.”
The Golden Ape King, never one to be outdone, stepped forward and bowed with exaggerated flourish. “Welcome, oh many-eyed one! Please, enjoy the spaghetti tower.”
The DMT Monkey paid him no mind and raised an otherworldly paw. “HEAR ME, MORTALS! THE SECRET TO YOUR FUTURE WOES IS HIDDEN... IN YOUR PASTA. TO UNTANGLE THE CRYSTAL CHAOS, YOU MUST... UNTWIST THE NOODLE OF LIFE, WHETHER IT’S ON YOUR HEAD, YOUR SHOULDERS, OR WHEREVER IT’S HANGING OUT!”
And with that cryptic wisdom, the figure dramatically vanished into another dimension, leaving behind a massive explosion that reduced one of the spaghetti towers to nothing. Spaghetti noodles rocketed through the air like edible missiles, landing squarely on the heads of some very confused apes.
The apes stared at the empty spot where the DMT Ape had vanished, their brains doing Olympic-level mental gymnastics.
One particularly sauce-drenched ape that now looked like trippy fur finally whispered, “Uh… did he just tell us to… eat pasta?”
Before the accident, this ape had cream fur, but the multiple sauces now coating him made his fur look like a tie-dye experiment gone horribly wrong.
“No, no!” a red ape shouted, flailing their arms dramatically. “It’s not about eating pasta! It’s about untangling it. Like… unboiling spaghetti or something.”
“Unboil spaghetti?!” a white ape, now completely slathered in tomato sauce, snorted. “That’s impossible! Clearly, he meant we should uneat spaghetti. Like, you know... reverse digestion.”
“I think it’s a metaphor,” a golden-brown ape chimed in, striking what they probably thought was a wise, philosophical pose. “The noodle of life is, like, your brain, right? So we’re supposed to untangle our thoughts… or maybe, uh, spin around in circles?”
“What if it’s literal?” squeaked a tiny ape wearing rainbow suspenders, pointing dramatically at the remains of the spaghetti tower. “We’re supposed to untangle those noodles. You know, the ones he just exploded all over us.”
“No way,” the red ape huffed, crossing their arms. “He said ‘head or shoulders,’ so maybe it’s about… Head & Shoulders shampoo? Is this some kind of weird cosmic marketing gimmick?”
The apes fell silent, furrowing their sauce-slathered brows as if collectively willing their noodles of life to work harder. Finally, the newly ‘trippy’ fur ape broke the silence with a sigh. “Guys, what if… we’re just really bad at riddles?”
Instead of resolving anything, this comment opened the floodgates to an entirely new and completely absurd debate.
“Okay, but what if we’re the pasta?” someone ventured, eyes wide.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed another ape. “But if we were pasta, I’d definitely be a rigatoni. Tough, durable, and hollow.”
“Oh please,” said the white ape, rolling their eyes. “I’d be a lasagna. Obviously. Layers, depth, complexity.”
“Complexity? You’re literally covered in tomato sauce,” muttered the golden-brown ape.
“Guys!” shouted the rainbow-suspender ape, waving their arms. “Focus! The real question is whether ravioli is a sandwich or a dumpling!”
And that, unfortunately, derailed the entire conversation for hours. Heated arguments erupted about the nature of ravioli, whether spaghetti could be considered a rope, and if anyone here had actually ever tried unboiling pasta (spoiler: they hadn’t). By the time the sun dipped low in the sky, not a single noodle of the original riddle had been untangled.
Before anyone could make sense of the "cryptic" noodle prophecy, the Cosmic Thingy in the sky let out a deafening BOOM. Suddenly, a colossal space ravioli burst apart like a cosmic piñata, ripping open a glowing, swirling hole in the fabric of space itself.
The pulsating void wasted no time, sucking up a massive chunk of Banarama’s jungle like a galactic vacuum cleaner gone rogue. Waves of shimmering energy rippled outward from the hole, transforming everything they touched into crystals. Trees froze mid-sway, their leaves now glinting like a thousand tiny diamonds. Vines stiffened into glistening, glass-like ropes, and the ground began to sprout clusters of shimmering crystals.
It was dazzling. It was utterly terrifying. And amidst the chaos, a few confused apes couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—they should’ve taken that noodle riddle a little more seriously.
Then chaos erupted. “WHAT DO WE DO?!” screamed a black-and-white ape, dodging a wave of crystalline energy.
The Golden Ape King, in his infinite lack of wisdom, struck a dramatic pose. “RUN TOWARD THE WAVE! IF WE PRETEND TO BE STATUES, IT WILL BE FOOLED!” He flung his pasta crown at a guard to emphasize his point, but quickly snatched it back, muttering, “Actually, I need this.”
The apes, too panicked to think for themselves, followed his ridiculous order and sprinted directly into the crystalizing wave. One by one, they froze mid-sprint, glittering like frozen fireworks. Yet somehow, the king was unaffected. He stood amid the chaos, scratching his head. It was only then he realized that his pasta crown glowed faintly, deflecting the crystalizing energy.
“Well, that worked!” he declared triumphantly, having no clue why it worked. But as he looked around at the glittering crystal statues of his subjects, his confident grin faltered. “Wait… maybe it didn’t.”
One of the remaining apes, still thoroughly coated in pasta from the spaghetti tower’s explosive demise, shouted, “The DMT Monkey said pasta! Maybe that’s why you’re okay!”
The Golden Ape King’s face lit up with pride. “Ah, of course! That was MY brilliant idea all along! Pasta protection! Everyone needs pasta not to be turned into crystal statues!” He paused, scratching his golden head. “QUICK—uh, wait, they’re all statues now.”
He frowned, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. Well… I guess fixing that will be the next problem.”
As the crystal wave finally slowed, the glowing tear in space continued to expand, pulsating ominously. Chunks of land, trees, and sparkly jungle real estate floated into the unknown, seemingly traveling through space—and maybe even time—to an entirely new world.
The king, now bolstered by his newfound “knowledge” (that someone else had pointed out), tightened his pasta crown with regal flair. “To undo this mess, we’ll need MORE pasta! And, of course, more of my genius.” Puffing out his chest and striking a heroic pose, he declared, “Onward—to adventure!”
Behind him, the glowing tear in space continued to pulse ominously, as if unimpressed.
“I know just the right person to help us!” the Golden Ape King announced, raising a golden finger with dramatic flair. “Someone who truly understands my brilliance—and can explain it to you… less geniusly apes. We must consult… the ghost of the Silver Monkey!”
The remaining apes—those fortunate enough to have had pasta on their heads when the spaghetti tower exploded—exchanged uneasy glances. The name of the Silver Ghost Monkey hung in the air like a heavy, mysterious fog. A legendary figure in Banarama’s history, the Silver Ghost Monkey was hailed as a great philosopher, inventor, and prankster extraordinaire. His ghost was rumored to haunt the deepest parts of the jungle, surrounded by puzzles no one could solve and traps that left even the bravest apes bruised, banana-smeared, and embarrassed.
“Uh, Your Majesty,” ventured a nervous gray ape, shuffling forward cautiously. “Are we sure this is a good idea? I mean, the ghost of the Silver Monkey is, uh, kind of…”
“Brilliant?” the king interrupted with a smug grin. “Wise? A perfect match for my peerless intellect?”
“I was going to say dangerously unpredictable,” muttered the gray ape under his breath.
KNIGHTS OF PASTA APES
KNIGHTS OF PASTA APES
Before venturing into the Crystal Jungle, the Golden Ape King gathered the surviving apes and declared with exaggerated gravitas, “This is no ordinary journey! We face cosmic peril, crystalline chaos, and a riddle that only I—the greatest mind in Banarama—can decipher. Such a monumental task demands heroes. No, it demands... knights!”
And thus, the Knights of Pasta Ape were born. A grand total of nine apes, chosen not for their bravery, strength, or skill, but simply because they hadn’t been quick enough to hide when the king started assigning roles for this absurd adventure. Each knight was decked out in scavenged royal armor—gleaming breastplates, clunky gauntlets, and greaves that clinked with every step. But the pièce de résistance? Elaborate headgear made entirely of pasta, intended to shield them from the dreaded crystal beans. The pasta creations ranged from piles of tangled spaghetti to delicate Fettuccine berets.
“Behold!” proclaimed the king, sweeping his golden hand toward his bizarrely dressed squad of nine apes. “The most majestic knights ever assembled in the history of Banarama!”
The gray ape adjusted their precarious spaghetti heap and muttered under their breath, “I’m not sure ‘majestic’ is the word I’d use.”
But the king was already striding forward, his pasta crown wobbling like it, too, was questioning his plan. With a puffed chest and a dramatic march, he led his clinking, clattering knights straight into the unknown, blissfully ignoring the absurdity of their situation.
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