WHAT WILL I DO WITH THESE FRUITS?

Collect all the monkeys, we have bananas! Because, of course, you cannot buy just one banana. Well, you can at Trader Joe's, but they deal with white people, who are weird. In multiple gibberant ways. Normally you have to buy a hand of nana. Three, four, or five. From which it logically stands that one should have three, four, or five monkeys.
Especially if one avoids bananas.
They make me itch.

Cooked bananas are safer, but the monkeys do not like them that way, what with being opinionated purists, and stubborn to boot.
They don't even like yoghurt with their bananas.
Or whipped cream.

Actually, I do not know about the whipped cream, because I never asked.
But if I were to offer it once, they might demand it always. And I don't feel like whipping it up every time


Four monkeys:

Urasmus: The one-legged gibbon who was maltreated one Halloween by the evil head of Marketing.
Curious George Jr.: Who decided to perch near my phone at the law office and kick it when it rang.
Arabello Oyster: The control monkey, who has gone all batshit sweet on the senior roomie, Ms. Bruin.
The Sock Monkey: No, I don't remember his name, I just call him "Sock". Nice fellow. Likes the cat.

[The reason why I sometimes can't think of his name is because her boy friend Wheelie Boy is the reason why he's here, whereas the other three live on my side of the apartment. It's a mental block.]


On a whim I bought bananas. Which I don't eat, due to the itchy itchy scratchy scratchy dang 'fudge' aaaarghh! Skin flakes, red welts.
But monkeys do not have that problem.

Sometimes I'm a decent guy.

The monkeys think so.




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