I like monkeys
Posted: Tue Oct 19, 2004 10:51 am
I Like Monkeys,
The pet store was selling them for five cents a
piece. I thought this was odd since they were
normally a couple thousand. I decided not to
look a gift horse in the mouth so I bought 200
of them. I like monkeys.
I took my 200 monkeys home. (I have a big car.)
I let one of them drive. His name was Sigmund. He
was retarded. In fact, none of them were really
bright. They kept punching themselves in the
stomachs. I laughed. They punched me in the
stomach. I stopped laughing.
I herded them into my room. They didnâ??t adapt
very well to their new environment. They would
screech and hurl themselves off the couch at
high speeds and slam into the wall. Although
humorous at first, the spectacle lost its
creativeness halfway into itâ??s third hour.
Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys
were so inexpensive; they all died. No apparent
reason. They all just sort of dropped dead.
Kinda like when you buy a goldfish and it dies
five hours later. Darn cheap monkeys.
I didnâ??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 didnâ??t work. It
got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and
one hundred ninety-nine dead, dry monkeys.
I tried to pretend that they were just stuffed
animals. That worked for awhile, that is until
they began to decompose. It started to smell
real bad.
I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in my
toilet and I didnâ??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 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 didnâ??t go bad.
I tried to burn them, but 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 one
hundred ninety-seven dead, charred monkeys in a
pile on my bed, The odor wasnâ??t improving.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of
the dead monkeys and I really had to use the
bathroom. So I went and severely beat one of
the monkeys. I felt better.
I tried throwing them away, but the garbage man
said the city was not allowed to dispose of
charred primates. I told him I had a wet one.
He couldnâ??t take it either. I didnâ??t bother
asking about the frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them
out as Christmas gifts. My friends didnâ??t quite
know what to say. They pretended to like them,
but I could tell they were lying. Jerks. So I
punched them in the stomachs.
I like monkeys.
The pet store was selling them for five cents a
piece. I thought this was odd since they were
normally a couple thousand. I decided not to
look a gift horse in the mouth so I bought 200
of them. I like monkeys.
I took my 200 monkeys home. (I have a big car.)
I let one of them drive. His name was Sigmund. He
was retarded. In fact, none of them were really
bright. They kept punching themselves in the
stomachs. I laughed. They punched me in the
stomach. I stopped laughing.
I herded them into my room. They didnâ??t adapt
very well to their new environment. They would
screech and hurl themselves off the couch at
high speeds and slam into the wall. Although
humorous at first, the spectacle lost its
creativeness halfway into itâ??s third hour.
Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys
were so inexpensive; they all died. No apparent
reason. They all just sort of dropped dead.
Kinda like when you buy a goldfish and it dies
five hours later. Darn cheap monkeys.
I didnâ??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 didnâ??t work. It
got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and
one hundred ninety-nine dead, dry monkeys.
I tried to pretend that they were just stuffed
animals. That worked for awhile, that is until
they began to decompose. It started to smell
real bad.
I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in my
toilet and I didnâ??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 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 didnâ??t go bad.
I tried to burn them, but 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 one
hundred ninety-seven dead, charred monkeys in a
pile on my bed, The odor wasnâ??t improving.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of
the dead monkeys and I really had to use the
bathroom. So I went and severely beat one of
the monkeys. I felt better.
I tried throwing them away, but the garbage man
said the city was not allowed to dispose of
charred primates. I told him I had a wet one.
He couldnâ??t take it either. I didnâ??t bother
asking about the frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them
out as Christmas gifts. My friends didnâ??t quite
know what to say. They pretended to like them,
but I could tell they were lying. Jerks. So I
punched them in the stomachs.
I like monkeys.
