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 genitals. I laughed. They punched me in the genitals. I stopped laughing.
I herded them into my room. They didnt 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 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 sort of dropped dead. Kinda like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. God damn cheap monkeys.
I didnt 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 didnt 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 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 my toilet and I didnt 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 didnt 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 wasnt improving.
I tired 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 couldnt take it either. I didnt bother asking him about the frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas presents. My friends didnt quite know what to say. They pretended to like them, but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.
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 genitals. I laughed. They punched me in the genitals. I stopped laughing.
I herded them into my room. They didnt 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 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 sort of dropped dead. Kinda like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. God damn cheap monkeys.
I didnt 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 didnt 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 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 my toilet and I didnt 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 didnt 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 wasnt improving.
I tired 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 couldnt take it either. I didnt bother asking him about the frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas presents. My friends didnt quite know what to say. They pretended to like them, but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.
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