Monkey’s Got Fletcher’s Back

December 2, 2008

Fletcher and Monkey bust air

Fletcher and Monkey bust air

Primate Side-kick Opens Up About Adult Relationship

Earlier this year, Brobot learned that aerial pioneer Christian Fletcher had obtained a new side-kick during an extended stay on the Indonesian island of Bali. Yet Medusa, as the small monkey is called, has ascended mere companionship, and has taken on the “co-pilot” position in the visionary surfer’s next performance innovation.

According to sources, Fletcher claims that he won’t leave the island until he gets barreled at Padang Padang with Medusa on his back. In a recent conversation with Brobot, the monkey confirmed the goal, and said that the only question now, is whether he or Fletcher will drag hands on the barrel’s face. If he gets the nod, Medusa would prefer the double-handed stall perfected by Tom Curren, but he’d settle for the roof drag made famous by Andy Irons. And if Fletcher insists, the monkey may just flip a finger at the camera.

When Brobot commented on the incredible athleticism and unity between the two knuckle-draggers, Medusa commented, “I think we were the last two looking for a relationship. I know I wasn’t.”

Fletcher and monkey bust more air!

Fletcher and monkey bust more air!

The following is a partial transcript of that conversation:

Brobot: So Monkey, not to be blunt, but what the hell has Christian Fletcher been doing in Bali all these months?

Fletcher’s Monkey: He’s on a spiritual type . . . quest . . . to, um, get to the other side of gnarly. I mean, we all know that Fletcher’s gnarly, but he’s taking it further. Pushing the envelop, so to speak.

Brobot: And you’re with him on this quest.

Monkey: Yeah, we’re roll dogs. We get gnarly together.

Brobot: Can you give me an example?

Monkey: Well sure, like, one time Fletcher’s driving a van full of heads down to Desert Point on Lombok. He’s jammin’, squirlin’ out and getting gnarly. Then, just as we’re coming up on the spot, Fletcher says, “Monkey, take the wheel.” And I do.

Brobot: But monkeys can’t drive.

Monkey: I know. We crashed.

Brobot: And some of the passengers, some of your crew, were injured.

Monkey: Yeah, pussies . . . not gnarly at all. I mean, you could lose more skin on Uluwatu’s “racetrack.” So, we kicked the whiners out of the van—we’re rollin’ with different heads now.

Brobot: If we can be frank for a moment, is Fletcher on the lam from authorities in the U.S.? Is that why Surfer magazine wrote that he’s “in so deep, he’s never coming back?”

Monkey: Hard to say. I haven’t seen anything . . . wasn’t there . . . pleading the 5th on that one, and besides, I don’t know anything more that a monkey should know.

Brobot: Rumor has it, though, that the arrest involved a tranny hooker in Los Angeles.

Monkey: No, no, you must be thinking of RVCA’s last team photo shoot with Mickey Avalon. I mean, that guy’s a fruit cake.

Brobot: So, I suppose there are subjects that can’t be broached even between robot and monkey. But tell me a little about your day-to-day life, you’ve become quite famous as Fletcher’s “roll dog.”

Monkey: Yeah, I mean, it’s like the other day. Chris Ward recognizes me and tries to give me a book as part of his literacy program for the Top 44—that’s when I knew I’d reached another level.

Brobot: What was the book about?

Monkey: Like I told Wardo, “What the fuck? Monkeys can’t read!”

Brobot: What did Chris Ward say to that?

Monkey: He said that Bruce Irons told him the same thing but that Brucey eventually took the book and had someone read it to him.

Brobot: And did Fletcher read your book to you?

Monkey: No, he’s vowed not to read until we achieve our goals . . .  I mean, there’s doing and there’s reading about it—and reading about people doing is just not gnarly.

Monkey rollin' with Fletcher

Monkey rollin' with Fletcher

Monkey rolls with Fletcher

Brobot: So I notice that you and Fletcher look so much alike, you even dress alike sometimes. Is that a conscious kind of decision, or just happenstance from hanging together.

Monkey: Can’t say. I don’t dress myself.

Brobot: Who dresses you?

Monkey: Fletcher.

Brobot: Oh, right, that began to occur after you . . .

Monkey: Shit on his shoulder. It happened at Ocean Beach, the club in Kuta. But we’re past that now. I mean, it’s not as if he never shit himself.

Brobot: And about the quest to get barreled at Padang Padang together?

Monkey: Yeah, we’re still working on that—practicing flipping the bird and grabbing my junk for the cameras.

Brobot: But any chance of nailing the shack soon?

Monkey:  Yeah, um, I gotta go. Fletcher wants to go grab a mushroom shake, but thanks for the chat.

Brobot: Thanks, and best of luck, Monkey.

Monkey: Yeah, stay gnarly, Brobot.

Brobot on his way home from Bali

Brobot on his way home from Bali