Thursday, December 20, 2012
The Ikea Monkey and the Harper Kong
Gawd. If my protest calendar for December wasn't booked solid.
And if I hadn't got plastered at the office Christmas party.
I might have been walking around today with a sign reading "Free Darwin Now."
"Unless you have owned a primate, you can’t really understand my relationship with Darwin," Nakhuda said Wednesday, during a rally held outside Toronto Animal Services. "He was not a dog, he was not a cat, he was a little person."
Because for starters I'm feeling sorry for the little guy. It seems terribly wrong to put him in a cage, when he's Canada's most successful ambassador.
I mean after the Butcher from Montreal, the Bieber castration plot, and the Harper government, we need all the good publicity we can get eh?
Secondly, I wanted to let Darwin's owner know that I firmly believe that the family that brushes together stays together...
And thirdly, and most importantly, I wanted to ask her if she wouldn't mind adopting MY monkey.
Because although he was really cute when he was little, wandering around in a tiny cowboy hat screaming Yee Haw !!!
Now he's big, he's ugly, and he's out of control !!!!
He's trying to sabotage our health care system !!! Pull it apart with his furry fingers. He claims he can drive a Camaro all the way to Michigan !!! He's raiding the fridge AND union pension plans !!! He's going to allow the gun lobby to sell dangerous weapons off the back of a pick up truck !!!
And if you think that's bad enough, after reading this tragic story, I'm desperately afraid it could get WORSE !!!!
The monkey taught himself a few on his own, the most annoying, though briefly hilarious, being his ability to shit in his hand and then fling it through his bars at my family and me. He also masturbated. A lot.
Because that would be the limit eh?
Damn those animal smugglers !!! They told me I was getting a miniature Kenney baboon !!!
If I had known it was a Harper Kong, I never would have bought the hairy beast !!@#!!@
And now of course, I'm going to have to put him up for adoption.
Or sell him to a zoo...
Before he embarrasses me further, wanks himself silly, or bites someone.
Oh boy. I admit I totally screwed up.
But nobody better blame me for the Christmas party eh?
I didn't ask to be the bartender.
So I blame party-holic...
P.S. I'd like to think that things will improve, and that I'll be able to stay sober. But living in the shabby darkness of Harperland, our Planet of the Con Apes, with only four days to go before Christmas, I fear that might be difficult...
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