I Have No Richard, The Service Monkey

Project: Make a "mix-tape" of short stories for Frijole to read. It may just have to be a list right now, because I'm not sure I have the stamina to illegally scan all those pages, email it in chunks to my work account, and then turn them in to one PDF to print and mail. Am I a bad friend for already being a little distraught at the thought of all that work? Starting with a list should be good. First up is "Paper Lantern," by Stuart Dybek. I first read this in The Best American Short Stories in 1996, and it still holds a bit of me in its fiery hand. I'll post the finish list when I have it together.

Flipping through the channels, I found this wonderful show, Truth Be Told, on Discovery Health. What it has to do with health, I'm not sure; unless they are trying to say these people have mental problems. But, hey, I'm not going to be judgmental. If I had agoraphobia and a service monkey helped me get out of the house, then fuck yes, I would keep Richard around every single minute of my life. I would kill anyone who tried to get between me and Richard. Her monkey is so awesome. I believe he is a macaque:



I can't find anything online about him, so I can only use my own monkey knowledge to go by. That and the most awesome book Wikus gave me for Chicken Day in 2004. You cannot miss out on all the awesomeness in that book, including a blue scrotum! Okay, fine, I know most of you won't be able to get your hands on that book fast enough to see some blue-scrotum action. So, here you go:



Meet the Vervet Monkey: blue scrotum and red penis. Jealous? I know I am.

Wow, the lady and Richard are on vacation, and they are taking one of those "Ye Old Tyme" photos with him, where he is a gun-slinger and the lady and her friends are ye olde whores. Hilarious. The macaque even burnished a gun! Dammit, where's my Richard?

The Boy is on the phone discussing recording (music) and his studio set-up (recording equipment and how this Firewire thingy here was messing up this anus there), microphones, and other such boring shit. He totally missed the monkey and his trollops. Being a musician is totally lame, and this is only further proof of that fact. Lame.

Richard wears diapers and will totally scoot behind you and give your back a hug. He brushes his own teeth, and is a total snuggle-bunny in bed. My squeals of joy are upsetting the cats. Those cats can just suck it. They don't high-five me, and the won't pretend to drive the car when I put them on my lap in the car. I certainly can't take them to the grocery store and let them help me pick out the fruit. Ungrateful bastards. Stop playing with that pen, you dumbass Siamese. Geez. That macaque probably know how to write primitive symbols with that pen indicating a slight obsession with masturbation and Hurricanes.