Susan's Place Transgender Resources

I like monkeys.

The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece. I thought that odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys. I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed. Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing. I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour. Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive: they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta dropped dead. Kinda like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn cheap monkeys.

I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked like I had 200 throw rugs. I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys. I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad. I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want to call the plumber. I was embarassed.

I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't all go bad. I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to extinguish the fire. Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odor wasn't improving.

I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better. I tried throwing them away but the garbage man said that the city wasn't allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution. I have them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they liked them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals. I like monkeys.










Of course, since we go to Swarthmore, Wayne just had to write a literary critique of the story (n.b. I didn't write the damn story in the first place).

"I Like Monkeys" is a short story of daring insight and wit written by one of this generation's most brilliant authors, Charles Groom. Groom possesses a verve and and a passion that are seldom seen in today's too often jaded and self-satisfied 'literature.' He is not afraid to mire about in the lower levels of the human subconscious; indeed, he seems to go on a psychological striptease, ripping off the clothing of his ego while gleefully rolling about in the rancid quagmire of his deep and intensive sexual repression.

:)

What can I say,that is priceless.

Steph

Wow! That is hilarious.

So I punched them in the genitals... ( I am laughing so hard right now!)

My only disappointment was in learning that you didn't write it Kelli. However, it is still pleasing to know that there are others out there with a sense of humor. I will be looking up more stories from Charles Groom.

So long and thanks for all the posts.

 :D :D :D

great story Kelli I really enjoyed when I read it. Thank you!

Michelle