The monkey story
Created | Updated Jan 28, 2002
This is right up there with the great monkeys like Curious George.
I like monkeys.
The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece.
I thought that was odd since they were normally a couple thousand each.
I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200.
I like monkeys. I took my 200 monkeys home.
I have a big car. I let one drive. His name was Sigmund.
He was retarded.
In fact, none of them were really bright.
They kept punching themselves in the genitals. I laughed.
Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.
I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new
environment.
They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at high speeds and
slam into the wall.
Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into
its third hour.
Two hours later I found out why the monkeys were so inexpensive: they
all died.
No apparent reason. They all just sorta dropped dead.
Kinda like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later.
Damn cheap monkeys. I didn't know what to do.
There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room, on the bed, in the
dresser, hanging from my bookcase.
It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.
I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work.
It got stuck.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.
I tried pretending they were just stuffed animals.
That worked for a while, that is until they began to decompose.
It started to smell real bad. I had to pee but there was a dead monkey
in the toilet and I didn't want to call a plumber
I was embarrassed. I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing
them.
Unfortunately there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I
had to change them every 30 seconds
I also had to eat all of the food in the freezer so it didn't all go
bad.
I tried burning them.
Little did I know that my bed was flammable.
I had to extinguish the fire.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys
in my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The
odor wasn't improving.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use
the bathroom.
I severly beat one of the monkeys. I felt better.
I tried throwing them away, but the garbage man said that the city
wasn't allowed to dispose of charred primates.
I told him I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one either.
I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts.
My friends didn't know quite what to say.
They pretended to like them but I could tell they were lying.
Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals. I like monkeys.
The End
I like monkeys.
The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece.
I thought that was odd since they were normally a couple thousand each.
I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200.
I like monkeys. I took my 200 monkeys home.
I have a big car. I let one drive. His name was Sigmund.
He was retarded.
In fact, none of them were really bright.
They kept punching themselves in the genitals. I laughed.
Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.
I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new
environment.
They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at high speeds and
slam into the wall.
Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into
its third hour.
Two hours later I found out why the monkeys were so inexpensive: they
all died.
No apparent reason. They all just sorta dropped dead.
Kinda like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later.
Damn cheap monkeys. I didn't know what to do.
There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room, on the bed, in the
dresser, hanging from my bookcase.
It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.
I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work.
It got stuck.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.
I tried pretending they were just stuffed animals.
That worked for a while, that is until they began to decompose.
It started to smell real bad. I had to pee but there was a dead monkey
in the toilet and I didn't want to call a plumber
I was embarrassed. I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing
them.
Unfortunately there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I
had to change them every 30 seconds
I also had to eat all of the food in the freezer so it didn't all go
bad.
I tried burning them.
Little did I know that my bed was flammable.
I had to extinguish the fire.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys
in my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The
odor wasn't improving.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use
the bathroom.
I severly beat one of the monkeys. I felt better.
I tried throwing them away, but the garbage man said that the city
wasn't allowed to dispose of charred primates.
I told him I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one either.
I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts.
My friends didn't know quite what to say.
They pretended to like them but I could tell they were lying.
Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals. I like monkeys.
The End
