Original author: Unknown
Additional text and edited for strangeness: Laurie Kendrick
I like monkeys. Sure do. Yes indeedy.
So much so, that I wanted to get me one…or two. Whatever.
The pet store in the mall, “The Pet-O-File” which usually ONLY sells puppies, was having a special: all monkeys were on sale for just five cents a piece. I thought that was kind of strange since they were normally like several grand each. But what the heck– my momma didn’t raise no chump, so I decided to to break open my MAD Magazine, special personalized Alfred E. Newman, “What? Me Laurie?” bank and shoe shine kit.
I bought 200.
Yeah, I like monkeys.
I took my 200 monkeys home loaded to the gills in my big car. They were a rambunctious lot. Loud, throwing pooh. I thought I’d try to assuage one of the rowdier ones by letting him drive. He sat on a couple of his monkey buddies in order to see over the dashboard. Another monkey friend was adept at manipulating gas and brakes.
I soon learned that letting the rowdy monkey was a mistake. He drove OK, but there were other problems.
“Ah-Ah-Ah-Eee-Eee-Eee” as his friends called him in Monkey, was (I’m pretty sure) mentally challenged. Truth be told, none of them were all that bright. This made me mad. I realized that after all those years of faithful TV watching, I’d been lied to. Oh yeah!! And blatantly, too.
They’re not smart and certainly not cute and cuddly as I’d been lead to believe. OH NO NO!!! I’d been sold a bullshit bill of goods!!
I was lied to by Ellie May on “The Beverly Hillbillies”. Cousin Bessie wasn’t smart.
That monkey/chimp on “Daktari”???? A lie.
“Lancelot Link-Secret Chimp”???? .Total ruse.
“The Hathaways”, a TV sitcom staple from the early 1960’s staring Peggy Cass who in effect, played “Mom” to a bunch of high functioning primates? ALL DAMN LIES!!!
My monkeys did none of that stuff. They weren’t clever, or cute or reacted with ribald and randy facial expressions when asked pertinent questions. They just did the rudimentary stuff like pee on sofa pillows, then they’d crap on the floor and then throw it at each other. I deflected it with my many magazines with Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes on the cover. I keep a few in my car. Wait! What’s that?? Either Tom Cruise has two REALLY blood shot eyes or one of my monkeys has serious colo-rectal issues.
And when bodily functions weren’t enough to fill the thrill quotient, they just screamed at each other and punched themselves in the genitals. Admittedly, I laughed. Then, they punched me in my genitals.
I stopped laughing.
We got home and with and I was able to corral and heard them into my house thanks in part to an old Olsen twins lunch box. Like the magazines in my car, the lunch box came in handy as a shield. I used it to deflect the copious amounts of monkey shit being hurled in my direction. At least my face was spared, but Ashley and Mary Kate’s faces were not. Once we got inside, I was in the process of throwing the shit covered lunch box in the trash when I caught a glimpse of the likeness of the twins on the front.
Wow!! Those two girls look much better with brown eyes and dark brown hair, by the way.
So, I got the monkeys inside, but there were problems right off the bat. They didn’t adapt very well to their new environment because they seemed agitated. Maybe this is what monkeys do as a rule, but mine screeched loudly, then they’d hurl themselves off the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although it was quite funny at first, the spectacle lost all its novelty halfway into the third hour. Though the occasional genital punching was still kinda funny.
Even so, it was turning into debacle. A monkey shit laden debacle. I was experiencing significant monkey buyer’s remorse. And to make matters worse, two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive: they all died. For no apparent reason that I could see. Were they sick? Maybe, but they all just sorta dropped dead and within a few minutes of each other like they had some sort of hard and fast simian expiration date. And I’d just gotten them home, too! Hell, even a goldfish will last five–six hours max.
Damn cheap monkeys!!
I was learning a lot about these critters and I now know for a fact that blond-haired Chimp Pimp, Jane Goodall is wrong about apes and such. They’re total assholes.
I looked around my house. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over the place; on the table, the couch, the on the floor; attached to the ceiling fan and spinning around and around. They were in my bed, on the dresser, in the closet and in the bathtub. It looked like I had 200 little furry blankets and throw rugs scattered everywhere. It resembled downtown Riyadh at evening call to prayer.
Then I thought to myself, “I wonder if they could be used as blankets? I bet so. Hey! I’ll just sell them to the most logical group of people. I’ll contact the still warring Sandinistas in Central America”.
I went to the internet and looked up Sandinistas. Then, after some in depth reading about them, I realized that would be a mistake. Why sell monkey carcasses to a group of spelling challenged illiterates?? The jerk-offs were trying to spell gorillas as “guerrillas”.
GET IT TOGETHER, PEOPLE!!
Anyway, I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn’t work. It’s arm 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 few days, but live monkeys stink as it is; imagine the stench of 200 of them in one small house, all decomposing at once!!!
Yeah, I’m beginning not to like monkeys.
And there was the matter of sanitation. I had to pee real bad, but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn’t want to call the plumber. I was too embarrassed. What was I gonna tell him? “Say Mac, you got dead monkey removal in your plumbing repertoire?”
I tried peeing around the monkey in the toilet, but that made an even bigger mess. My urine just pooled on the dead monkey’s back, then dripped down an arm and on to the floor.
And not only that, my place was starting to stink to high heaven. It had all the markings of being a Loudon Wainwright, III song.
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 out every 10 minutes. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn’t all go bad.
I tried burning them in a little bonfire in my living room. But the floor caught on fire. Three bags of flour later, I extinguished the fire. It was a mess plus, monkeys burn real hot, too. The fire barely scorched their fur.
So, that meant 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.
Neither was my mood.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the bathroom. Our of frustration, I severely beat one of my already dead monkeys. His arm fell off.
But at least, I felt better…plus I now had a unique back scratcher and conversation piece.
I tried throwing them out as trash. I piled them about 12 feet high near the curb, but the garbage man said that the city wasn’t allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I also had a wet monkey. He couldn’t take that one either. By that time, I knew it would be a waste of time to ask about the frozen ones.
So, I thought about it for a minute then finally arrived at a solution. I’d give them out as Christmas gifts, even though it was August.
So, I wrapped them up and told my friends that Santa was coming early this year. I went to each one of their homes with a festively wrapped box full of dead monkey in my arms.
They opened the presents and really didn’t know quite what to say. I told the more pretentious, snooty ones that these were ALL the rage; the latest sensation at “Crate and Barrel–of Monkeys”. My friends pretended that they liked them, but I could tell they were lying.
So, I punched them in the genitals...primate style.
They writhed around on the floor in pain as they clutched themselves. I felt satisfied.
I like monkeys again.
My friends? Not so much.