Facebook Status Updates I’d Like to Make

Due to the rules of so-called “polite society,” your humble Monkey can’t always say what’s on his mind when it comes to updating his real-world Facebook status.

People might complain if they knew what really lurked in the dark recesses of his Monkey mind.

So rather than posting these updates on a social network for the world to see (and pass judgment on), your Monkey will instead use this humble forum to get these statuses off of his fuzzy monkey chest.

The Grumpiest Monkey….

• Would rather be drunk
• Is drunk
• Is pretending not to be drunk at work
• Thinks your breasts are looking first-class today
• Would like to dress the entire female population in yoga pants
• Must have angered the turd gods
• Thinks cannibalism is unfairly stigmatized
• Is craving some delicious monkey meatballs
• Wouldn’t mind some baboon baloney
• Would have a hard time saying no to a chimpanzee cupcake
• Stumbled across a pagan sacrifice in the park
• Participated in that pagan sacrifice
• Now owes a goat a serious apology

Grumpiest Monkey Fiction: The Orange Julius Caesar Assassination Plot (Part 1)

A juice stand in the middle of a suburban mall might seem like a funny place to plan an assassination, but goddamn if the place didn’t have smoothies to die for.

Plus, talking about the dirty business of planting pipe bombs and cutting brake lines over a couple of frosty orange sherbet blasts makes the whole thing seem more like a backyard game of tag than high stakes political intrigue.

But we both knew that Carl was serious. Deadly serious.

Carl leaned in close. There was a gleam in his eye and a smattering of sherbet on his lips. When he spoke, his breath was cool and tinged with citrus.

“Look,” he said. “There’s just no other way around it. The presidency is too important to leave to a vote. There’s just too much at stake.”

I took a long suck out of my straw and coughed when the shake hit the sweet spot at the back of my throat. Unable to speak, I waved at him to continue.

“I’d love to sit here and tell you that I trust the people,’” he hissed. “That they’ll see through Dave’s–uh…my opponent’s–campaign of bullshit and misinformation. But we can’t take that chance. Not after what happened four years ago. And not with what’s at stake at the national level.”

“So what do we do?” I finally croaked.

Carl took a sideways glance at the hapless adolescent boy manning the smoothie stand.

The boy was barely able to stand under the weight of his own teen awkwardness, let alone worry about what we were up to.

“We’ve got to get rid of Dave,” he said.

“But…murder?” I shrugged. “There’s got to be a better way. Blackmail? Sabotage? Can’t we plant some drugs in his car, or sign him up for a man-boy love association or something?”

Carl slammed his fist on the table, sending smooth ripples across the surface of my smoothie.

I glared at him.

Rubbing somebody out was one thing, but messing with another man’s frozen drink was going a step too far.

(To be continued…)

10 Minutes of Grumpy Monkey Fiction

(In which your monkey writes something for 10 minutes and then posts it, for no reason other than just to do it)

Jack ran across the room and punched Bert square in the eye, dropping him to the ground with a resounding thud.

“That’s for taking the Lord’s name in vain,” Jack bellowed, his voice hoarse and straining.

Bert rolled over on his stomach and slowly drew himself back up on his knees. He massaged his swollen eye with his fingertips. “Fuck, man. Fuck. You don’t have to punch me. All I said was that we’re never going to get out of this goddamn elevator.”

And like a flash Jack was on him again, wrapping his right arm around Bert’s neck and punching wildly with his left hand. “No. No. No. No. No. We don’t say that here.”

Bert let his knees give out and dropped back to the floor. He wriggled backwards and out of Jack’s grasp. Jack turned back around to face him, but held his ground.

Bert, now panting but no worse for wear, staggered back up on his feet.

Christ, he thought. He smiled faintly at the realization that even his thoughts were blasphemous right now. Of all the fucking nutjobs in the world to be stuck with during a blackout.

It had to be Jack-y Jesus and the punchy bunch.