Alarming Monkey Related Trend in the News

New York Times. Again, I didn’t make this up…

Unemployed To Sterilize Monkeys:
India will use unemployed youths to capture and sterilize monkeys that have been raiding farms and attacking people. The idea, which will involve “laser sterilization”, drew quick condemnation. “It will do nothing to contain the problem and probably make it worse,” said Sujoy Chaudhuri. “Can you imagine what having badly sterilized monkeys running around will do to the levels of aggression?”

But wait. There’s more.

ABC News picks up where the NY Times left off…

“Indian authorities have struggled to deal with the tens of thousands of monkeys. They are drawn to public places such as temples and office buildings. In recent months, the deputy mayor of New Delhi was killed when he fell from his balcony during an attack by wild monkeys.”

Odd. I really didn’t know that monkeys were drawn to office buildings. Or that our Deputy Mayor was recently tossed from a balcony by a swarm of aggressive monkeys with scorched genitals. And the recent laser battles, between gangs of Unemployed Youths and badly sterilized monkeys, also failed to catch my notice. I really need to get out of the condo more.

“Pet Emu Dies In Struggle With Police”

Judging by that September 29th headline from the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, we have an emu problem. Fuck. I just moved here from Seattle like two years ago. Nobody warned me that the terrified residents of Wisconsin lock themselves in at night, while packs of snarling emus roam the streets and jump police officers. You can hear the emus outside after dusk. Singing bawdy songs. Urinating in your Weber grill. Forming vast emu pyramids on your front lawn, then toppling to the ground amid curses and shrieks and thumps.

I don't even know what an emu looks like. Shows my ignorance, huh? My understanding is, they are like a llama crossed with a sasquatch, but two feet tall, and they're birds. They've got beady little eyes, and they steal children's clothes so they can disguise themselves as midgets to move about the city at night. That's why you never accept candy from a midget in Milwaukee, at least after dark. It's probably an emu, luring you close, so it can push you down an abandoned well. Or it might really be a midget. Which is equally bad, because everybody knows YOU SHOULD NEVER EAT MIDGET CANDY.

Speaking of midgets:
There's also a good newspaper story titled British Dwarf's Penis Gets Stuck To Hoover. I won't summarize the article, just to say that it contains the phrases "dwarf performer", "penis", "stuck to a vacuum cleaner", and "gone horribly awry".

I like every story that contains the phrase "gone horribly awry". I plan to have that carved on my tombstone.

Smacked By A Chicken Bucket

Remember, we always do my birthday party at the Waukesha County Demolition Derby, so highlight your calendar. Last year's birthday party was marred by that knife fight between carnival workers at 4:00 a.m. in front of the Llama Tent. So you should tape license plates to your chest, under your shirt, before you come to my party. More to the point: Why is there a llama tent? What on earth was the Waukesha County Fair thinking when they stuffed a canvas tent full of llamas? My birthday parties always degenerate into a grain-alcohol fueled bacchanal of stupid cowboy hats, inappropriate indoor urination, shopping carts, and people getting smacked with a chicken bucket. My friends are people who don't need to stumble face-to-face up to group of llamas in the wee hours of the morning. Frickin' disorienting that is. You're wobbling about, blinking hard to squint away the double vision, pants soaked by that can of warm Strohs I just upended over you while I laughed like a prehistoric flying beast, and some llama licks your nose. I know that "pinwheeling your arms backwards in fright" is how all my birthday parties end, but sweet suffering baby jesus getting unexpectedly mobbed by llamas will make it happen NOW. Where was I going with this? Oh, bring me cake.

Back Story

My parents were hard working owners of a bible themed go-kart course near Kenosha. That’s where I learned to quote scripture and drive erratically. This led to my many career paths. The “Vengeful Jesus 9 Minute Pizza Delivery”. “God Mobile Rapidly Traveling Poisonous Snake Zoo”. “Drive By Weddings”, which is patterned after drive through weddings, only I drive to you and it’s way faster. Specifically, you wait out on the curb for me and then I blast by shrieking
Pentecostal speaking-in-tongues gibberish through a megaphone. Due to my drinking problems and poor navigation skills, I often married people who were merely taking out the garbage or jogging. I apologize for that. And yes it is both legally binding and permanent in Kentucky. Sorry again.

About me:

Prone to robbing the convenience store to raise rent money, or beer money, or to get you out of jail. Write my number on your leg with a sharpie, then write "lawyer" next to it, that way they'll still call me even if you're drunk and they've taser'd your ass so bad you can't speak.

The entire vegetable drawer of my refrigerator is filled with guns. Quality guns, if you discount the layer of Wal-Mart guns on top. Take the Wal-Mart Raven .25 caliber. That’s a gun that says “I dislike you, but didn’t want to spend more than $39.95 on shooting you.” A gun you’d use on somebody if you couldn’t quite recall their name, or remember why you’re mad at them.

I have hobbies. They include “sending pizza to Fatty McButterPants, the fictitious resident of local nursing homes” and “cutting my neighbor’s garden hose a foot shorter every night”. Further among my interests, you can list pyramid schemes, home invasion, and trying to pay my cable bill at the check cashing place with Chuck E Cheese tokens. Also finding Jesus after waking up on the floor of a strange motel room after my many failed suicide attempts. My great-grandfather attempted suicide by swallowing dozens of pennies. Seriously, I didn’t make that one up. The pennies didn’t kill him. They just made him irritable for another 20 years. My ancestors are freaks.

Where was I? Right. Telling you about how I send out faux pizza orders and then laugh like a prehistoric flying beast. That has really brought my life into focus. Once you have a fleet of Domino’s drivers after your ass, little else matters. These are not people you want to get riled up. They already drive erratically with headlights off and all their turn signals blinking simultaneously, shouting lyrics to the wrong Metallica song, and smell like menthols and their own urine.

monkeys monkeys ted & alice

When I put dad in the nursing home two years ago, gas was $1.50 a gallon. Now when I drive him across town for lunch at Heinemann’s, we pass the $3.49 a gallon sign at the Citgo station and he gets all bug eyed and squirrelly. We drove by the sign yesterday. Dad made little whimpering noises and rubbed his glasses. Until I said “yes pop, things have sure changed, it’s three and a half dollars a gallon now…AND THE WORLD IS RULED BY APES!”. Then I quick stuck on my big gorilla head mask and screamed ooooooga booooga while swerving the car across all four lanes. That’s how the car wound up going through the front window of a wig shop while dad clutched his chest and screamed in Irish that he’d disinherit me and pay Shriners to have me killed.

Brick through the windshield that says I love you…

My dream relationship ends with throwing lamps at each other in a $32 Texas motel, at 4:30 a.m. I’ve never had one of those. Never drank whisky in the bathtub while my girlfriend practices stripper moves and wraps aluminum foil around her ankle monitor before going to work. Have not had to take out multiple restraining orders on each other, including ones for fictitious names, like “Poonflang Dammerung” which is the name I use for ordering pizza. No girlfriend has waited all night behind the dumpster of the Gas ‘n’ Go, so she could run me down with a rusty Camaro while screaming “whooooooore!”. Our children have not had to go to school in plastic garbage bags belted with little extension cords because everything was lost in the meth lab explosion. Googling my name doesn’t bring up news articles about me running naked down the middle of an Arkansas highway shrieking HEP ME JEEBUS while my ex-wife takes wobbly shots at me with a crossbow. My current girlfriend does not keep a prison shank concealed in her wig. This sucks. Lately, I’ve been getting dumped with alacrity. But it always ends with me getting lured to Baker’s Square and told “you’re a really sweet boyfriend, it’s not you, it’s me…”. Just once I want my car torched.