Possible Titles for My Memoirs

From time to time your humble monkey has considered turning his tried and true adventures into an autobiography or series of memoirs that would act as an inspiration to the youth of America.

His humble rise from jungle ape to chimpanzee copywriter is truly the kind of Horatio Alger story that book publishers are clamoring for these days.

Plus, his struggles with depression and adult onset awkward body syndrome will surely generate some good buzz on the talk show circuit. Dr. Oz and Dr. Phil are you listening?

Of course, your Monkey cannot begin to put pen to paper until he has settled on a suitable title for his adventures.

The following are a few of the book titles that are now under consideration.

• Mail Order Monkey
• Monkey by Mail
• From Chimpanzee to Chippendale Dancer: How One Monkey Defied the Odds and Subverted Traditional Male Sterotypes
• I’m Your Private Primate
• How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bananas

Other possible titles (more geared toward the self-help market)

• Life is a Known Depressant
• Things Couldn’t Get Any More Awkwarder
• Who Shit in My Sandwich?
• Each Day is Better Than the Next

Yet more titles (these one geared towards the narrow market of my neighborhood)

• Things That I’ve Stolen From Your Yard
• I’m Sorry Bob, But it’s Time the World Knows You’re Homosexual
• Cul-de-Sac Confessions– How One Suburban Monkey Seduced An Entire Neighborhood with Wit, Charm and Ether Rags

In Case You Don’t Have Any Worries, Here are A Few of Mine

If it just so happens that you woke up this morning without a care in the world, congratulations! It must be nice to have a clear conscience, an enlightened soul, and a positive outlook on life.

Your humble Monkey, on the other hand, produces new worries like the Duggar family produces new babies. (What are we at 22 and counting now?)

And just like those cheeky Duggars, your Monkey sometimes finds himself stretched too thin when it comes to caring for his offspring.

Each worry that he brings into the world needs to be cherished and loved and respected as an individual, not just treated like another mouth to feed.

So if you are one of the enlightened, feel free to approach me about adopting some of these worrisome subjects.

• Global Warming
• Global Cooling
• Global Simmering on a Low Flame for 20 Minutes Until White and Fluffy
• Bureaucratic Infighting
• Bureaucratic Cockfighting
• Mass Hypnosis
• Mass Psychosis
• Mass Cellular Mitosis
• Premature Ejaculation
• Advanced Ejaculation
• Post Modern Ejaculation
• Catholic Pedophilia
• Collegiate Pedophilia
• My Irish friend Pete O’ Philia
• Binge Drinking
• Binge Shrinking
• Binge Submarine Sinking

(With apologies to Bob Ducca, whose does far, far, far funnier lists than this almost every day on his podcast, Affirmation Nation. Check it out!)

The Following Things Betrayed Me Today

• Genetics–Hey umm… RNA and DNA and chromosomes and Gregor Mendel and Charles Darwin—-thanks so much for this unholy mess that passes for my physical appearance. I appreciate this little genetic code that you’ve sussed out. No matter how much I work out I just get skinnier and smaller and paler and more feminized.
• My Computer–all I want to do is apply to one f–king job and the thing keeps freezing up on me. Sure, I have a newer computer, but the old one has the Microsoft Word program that I need to type out the cover letter. Going on hour number two of staring at that cocksucking hourglass already.
• Drivers in the Breakdown Lane– OK, I know that you’re technically allowed to use the breakdown lane during rush hour, but do you have to use it if all the other lanes are working just fine? Driving in it “just because you can” is stupid and shortsighted and  creates a crowded and dangerous driving situation. No one thinks you’re cool because you’re using the outlaw edge.
• Genetics--Again, what is with this body? How can one person be so skinny and weak and spotted and pale, and not be classified as some sort of endangered bird?
• Judas Iscariot– Just kidding, big guy. You’ve never done me wrong and you give the most wonderful kisses on the cheek.

Long Day’s Journey into Naught

It was a long drive home for your Monkey tonight.

But thanks to the post-holiday lull, there was hardly any traffic on the roads.

Much, much better than before the 4th, when the roads were jamming up every second.

Back to the apartment to gather more stuff for the move. A hot and sweaty room with cigarette smoke curling in from underneath.

Have pretty much done all the “neat and clean” packing that can be done. Now it’s going to be a lot of throwing random shit into random bags and hoping that it will somehow fit together again on the other side.

Some thirsty plants got some much needed water, but a plant plan is needed for rescuing those guys from the sweltering studio heat.

The Brita has remained dry for days, and there is a tub of pineapples from Whole Foods slowly decomposing in the fridge. Soon it will be pineapple moosh.

How quickly an apartment goes from a functional (if less than ideal) home to a pile of inconvenient stuff that has to be removed.

Also, how quickly dust bunnies are formed when one is lax about floor upkeep.

While sweeping up tonight, your Monkey was reminded of hollow vows that he made when moving into the place.

That the floors would always be clean.

That dust would never be an issue.

That crime would not have free rein to flourish outside his back window.

Turned out these were the foolish boasts. Delusions of grandeur. The gleeful gigglings of a mad man.

And all of them for naught.