browser icon
You are using an insecure version of your web browser. Please update your browser!
Using an outdated browser makes your computer unsafe. For a safer, faster, more enjoyable user experience, please update your browser today or try a newer browser.

100 typewriters and no Shakespeare

Posted by on February 7, 2006

I only started to notice these monkeys over the past couple of weeks. It’s weird that I’ve lived in this city for three years, encountering pigeons, wild parrots, hummingbirds and cats, but had never noticed the monkeys.

I like the little guys. But when they get in the house they’re a problem. They eat my fruit and brown sugar, and I think they’ve learned to use the toaster as well. It bothers me when others use my toaster. So I started laying down poison, nothing inhumane, just enough to put them to sleep but not enough that they crawl off and die in the walls. They are smart though, I mean they are practically us when you think about it, and they won’t touch the stuff. So I had to put it in the brown sugar. I built up a tolerance for myself first of course. Because I like that sugar. In my coffee. And so forth. My body has by now become quite adept at dealing with the unfortunate side effects of this rare and difficult-to-obtain deathless monkey poison.

Then a few days ago I was made aware of this world hunger issue so I made some cookies for everyone in the world, thus conquering the hunger problem. The recipe called for brown sugar. The world liked the cookies pretty well I think except no one but me had built up any tolerance for the poison in the sugar. So now here I am, alert and ordinary, while all around me the human race sleeps the unwakeable sleep of the deathless monkey poison. No one left to play chess with or to take me to the mall. No one to invent a new recipe for omelets. No one to play an indie rock show, make a Hollywood movie, write a new book or repair the elevators. No one to read this entry.

With the sleep of the people, though, the monkeys seem to have perked up a bit. I used up all the poison on the brown sugar world-hunger-ending cookies, so there’s nothing I can do. They pop in and out of the kitchen using the toaster all day long. They test-drive used Toyota Camrys. They tie up the phone lines. They fight over the sleeping Miss America’s crown. I just let them do their thing and resign myself to a life of cold English muffins and no decent conversation. I’ve almost gotten used to their filthy little habits–I’m sure I’d miss them if they suddenly weren’t around. Now if I can just get rid of this ant infestation, life will be pretty good…

3 Responses to 100 typewriters and no Shakespeare

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *