monkey dust

Ok.. There is this woman at my work (another woman) that was apparently bit by a monkey on the back of the head when she was nine or so. Now I know what you’re saying; that's tragic... well no, it's kind of funny.

As some of you may know I like monkeys. I once bought 100 of them for ¢10 a monkey. They were neat, I let one drive home even though he sucked at it. They tossed shit all over the house and then died in there sleep 12 hours later. Man, this city really frowns upon throwing out 100 stinky primates in the trash. Cheep fuckin’ monkeys…. Anyway.

This all happened when she was on vacation with her family in a different country then their own and at a zoo... a zoo!!! Ya know where the animals are locked up behind inhumane bars. Ya, that kind of zoo.

So I had to ask her all she could remember about the monkey attack, and she can remember nothing…. Nothing. I mean holy shit if I were bit by a primate I would fuckin’ remember. When I was five I was bit by the dog next-door and I remember every detail. She was nine and it was a monkey… fuck. Ok maybe the monkey bit so hard and deep that its fang puncher the poor girl’s brain and vital fluids leaked out causing slight memory loss and a complete inability to not-be-fucking-annoying. Also how could a monkey resist, I mean her head does kinda look like a mango and her voice reminds me of screaming ticks, so ya know….

Ok, so what’s my problem you may ask? Well aside from the obvious mental condition I am in a constant state of, it is this;

Why begin a great story like “I was bit by a monkey when I was nine.” When that is all there is to tell!! Shit.

“I was bit by a monkey when I was nine.”

“Wow! What happened?”

“I don-no.”

Great fuckin’ story. I mean, at least make shit up for christ’s sake.

If I was ever bit by a monkey and I could not remember a thing this story would go as follows;

“I was bit by a monkey when I was nine.”

“Wow! What happened?”

“Well ya see, me and the family were at a zoo. Ya know, just lookin’ at animals and shit. The entire day my mom said she had an un-easy feeling about the place. She said that the animals were looking at her funny. My dad just told her to stop being such a retard and shut up. Fucker. Anyway, when we got to the monkeys she was nervous as hell and I was just as tired cause we had spent the entire day there and it was near closing. So as any good child would do I dragged my feet and complained enough that my mom decided to carry me. Ya I’m a shit. Any-hoo, just as we were going to leave, a propane tank that was heating the hot-dogs on a nearby hot-dog vending booth took that moment to explode in a thunderous BOOM. Such was the boom that the ground shook and killed not only the vender of delicious hot-dogs but several passers-by. (But were talking about me now.) As a result of the boom my mother was so frightened she flung me into the air and the gush of wind from said weenie explosion, pushed me into the primate exhibit. Fuck were these monkeys scared, that even stopped tossing shit and masturbating. (That’s scared, I mead I’ve never been scared enough to stop tossing shit and masturbating.) Well, one monkey took great offence that I landed on his fav pile of flingin’ crap and decided to teach me a lesson in monkey etiquette. The fucker bit me. Right on the head… fucker.”

“Holy shit! What ever happened to the people hurt by the explosion, or the monkey for that matter?”

“How the fuck should I know I was only nine."

Fuckers.

My butt hurts.