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i like monkeys

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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


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

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from a male point of view.....probably not lol

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I can't believe this!! I wrote this joke back in 1996 sitting at my computer seriously bored! This morning I was watching some of the Casey Anthony trial and thought I would look up some info on it. And there it was, in her jail house letters, my monkey story! I yelled out to no one "That's mine". I do tend to yell at no one when no one is around. I had uploaded it on a comment page for Paula Poundstone around the end of '96 just hoping to get a reply from her. I did not get any reply and didn't think much about afterward. The story is a little different from when I wrote it. The end said nothing about punching anyone in the genitals but I had given out the gifts and they pretended they liked them but I knew they were lying. They just looked am me and said "Thanks, I like monkeys". I didn't title it until the end. I have never had anything I wrote really go anywhere but then again I never tried for it to! The sad part is I don't think I have any way to prove I wrote it. I have the original I printed but it doesn't have a date and the e-mail address where I sent it from is long long gone. I guess I am just happy to see it out in the world. It makes me feel all warm and gooey inside, but that could also be the pudding my kids spilled in my shoes!

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