On Space Monkeys.

Do the Monkey.

I guess in general I can’t find much to really complain about.  Nothing especially interesting anyway.  Sometimes I’m a little hungrier then I’d like to be, sometimes a little lonelier but it all passes pretty quickly.  It’s just these goddamn space monkeys. I don’t know.  They get to me.  I try to be tolerant I really do.  I find myself getting upset and I remind myself that they’re monkeys.  They act like people and talk like people – except for that weird speech impediment they’ve all got – but they’re monkeys.  We’re not even the same species, we’re going to have some different viewpoints.  There’s just certain things that no matter how hard I try, they get right up under my skin.  I once made the mistake of moving in with a space monkey.  It must have been early summer the way the banana peels began to smell in the heat.  It’s a smell permanently trapped in my nose, one that makes its presence known at unpredictable intervals with uncontrollable intensity.  I’ll be eating dinner with a friend and all of a sudden all I can smell is rotten banana and dinner is over.  It’s really an unfortunate affliction.  Trying to sue a space monkey for emotional distress is seriously challenging.  The Space Monkey Civil Rights and Liberties Union (or SMCRLU) retains some of the best and most aggressive attorneys available and with the ambiguous nature of legal precedents involving space monkeys, it can be a real mess in a courtroom.

Now I mostly steer clear of the space monkeys as best I can but every once in a while there is the unavoidable encounter and I just get so frustrated.  I know I’m not supposed to feel that way, it’s wrong to dislike a space monkey for being a space monkey and I hate myself for it sometimes but Jesus Christ these fuckers get on my nerves.

It started on a Sunday, I remember.  I was sitting at a bar around noon having a brunch of Screwdrivers and Pabst blue ribbon beers when a crew of space monkeys walked in and started making a ruckus.  They were the rudest bunch of… I want to say people but sentients is the currently accepted PC term to describe both the human and monkey population.  In any case they were rude.  They screamed orders at the bartenders they were overly loud in a room that before their arrival had been semi-filled with quiet alcoholics nursing their drinks like medicine, they were mean and derisive towards everyone who even so much as tossed a look their way.  They felt invincible, above reproach.  They were taking advantage of the kindness that had been shown them by the community and abusing it badly and I told them so.  I was nearly booed out of the room, I was told to be more understanding and tolerant by drunks that didn’t like these monkeys anymore than I did.  They were just too afraid and guilty to say so.  I immediately began to see a problem.  Sometimes you have to draw a line in the sand and say, “a douche-bag is a douche-bag”, regardless or race, creed, color or species.