Post by edelric on Mar 14, 2010 0:32:43 GMT 10
damn cheap monkeys
I like monkeys.
The pet store was selling them for five cents a peice. I thought that
odd since they were normally a couple thousand. I decided not to look a
gifthorse 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 the couch at high
speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle
lost it's novelty halfway into it'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 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 laying all over
my room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked
like I had two hundred throw rugs.
I tried to flush one down my 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 embarassed.
I tried to slow 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 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 severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.
I tried throwing them away but the garbageman said that the city was
not 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 my solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts.
My friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they liked
them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in
their genitals.
I like monkeys.
-- Anonymous
I like monkeys.
The pet store was selling them for five cents a peice. I thought that
odd since they were normally a couple thousand. I decided not to look a
gifthorse 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 the couch at high
speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle
lost it's novelty halfway into it'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 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 laying all over
my room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked
like I had two hundred throw rugs.
I tried to flush one down my 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 embarassed.
I tried to slow 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 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 severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.
I tried throwing them away but the garbageman said that the city was
not 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 my solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts.
My friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they liked
them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in
their genitals.
I like monkeys.
-- Anonymous
