Okay, I’m working my ass of in a sign shop, supporting the capitalist system I don’t even believe in, but I gotta post the post for the monkey and the promise to the monkey and the silence of the monkey.
Tell me, Clarice, when you lie your head down to go to sleep at night, do you hear him? Do you hear the monkey, softly calling to you, throwing puns at you as if it were his feces? Do you hear him…calling…TWSS…TWSS…TWSS…and all the while all you can dream of is the screaming of the monkey? Well that and signs…
Facebook’s evil, btw. Just saying.
How the hell did she get that job without a degree?! I demand an investigation! (though, legally, she could have killed before she died, too…that seems like a funner bucket list)
So does he. Fucking grocery stores. Speaking of, true story. Before Food for Thought in Sonoma Co. became WF, I dropped a farcical little note in the suggestion box, something to the effect of what’s wrong with steak and Budweiser, you tree-huggers?
Feel, feel, feel…feel my heat…
I have nothing else for you. Now go away. unless you want signs.