I didnt write this but have kept it around for several years...though you guys may enjoy a good laugh
The Monkey Story
By: Ryan Wensel
I like monkeys.
The pet store was selling them for 5c each. I thought
that was odd since they were normally a couple thousand
dollars 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 of them 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 apartment.
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 sort of dropped dead.
Kinda odd, 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 apartment. 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.
Then 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 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 or 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.
The Monkey Story
By: Ryan Wensel
I like monkeys.
The pet store was selling them for 5c each. I thought
that was odd since they were normally a couple thousand
dollars 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 of them 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 apartment.
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 sort of dropped dead.
Kinda odd, 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 apartment. 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.
Then 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 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 or 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.
