MONKEYS!
I like monkeys.
The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece. I thought that 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 their 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 all 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 that 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 the 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 the food in the freezer
so
it didn't all go bad.
I tried burning them. Little did I know 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 severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.
I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city
wasn't
allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that 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 that they like
them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them
in
the genitals.
I like monkeys.
story from http://www.hal.com/users/barry/Mark/monkey.html
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 all 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 burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had
to
extinguish the fire.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use
the
bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.
