I like monkeys.

The pet store was selling them for five cents apiece. I thought this was odd since they were normally a couple of thousand. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth so I bought two hundred of them. I like monkeys.

I took my two hundred 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 didn'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 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 didn't know what to do. There were two hundred dead monkeys lying 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 the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead wet monkey and one hundred and 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 didn'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 thirty seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't go bad.

I tried to burn them, but 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 one hundred and ninety-seven dead charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odour wasn'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 couldn't take it 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 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.

I like monkeys.

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