Memories and Monkeys

In an effort to fill three more pages of my paper up, my best friend suggested I used an old story that our military fraternity once read to pledges while they tried not to laugh. It's not AS funny as I remember it being...maybe because I'm 30, not 19. But, for fear that it will disappear from the internet, I'm reposting it here.

The Monkey Story

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 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 it’s 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. Kindalike when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later.
God damn cheap monkeys.

I didn’t 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 didn’t 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 awhile, 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.Unfortuantely
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 didn’t 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 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 could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the
genitals.

I like monkeys.