Monkeys For Sale is a weird funny story about a boy who buys some cheap monkeys in a pet shop and brings them home.
I saw a sign in the window of the pet store. It read “mONKEYS fOR sALE”. The store was selling them for five cents apiece. I thought that was odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I bought 200. I like monkeys.
I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. He wasn’t very smart. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in the face. I laughed. Then they punched me in the face. I stopped laughing.
I herded them into my room. They didn’t adapt very well to their new home. They screeched and jabbered, they hurled themselves off the couch at high speeds and slamed into the wall, face first. Although humorous at first, it became boring after an hour.
Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were on sale: they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sort of dropped dead. Kind of like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Darn 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 had to get rid of them before my parents came home.
I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn’t work. It got stuck. Now 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 use the bathroom, but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn’t want to call the plumber. I was too embarrassed.
I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately, there was only enough room in the freezer for two monkeys at a time so I had to change them every 30 seconds. This wasn’t very efficient. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn’t go bad.
I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to extinguish the fire. Now 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 smell was getting worse.
I became irritated by my inability to dispose of my monkeys. I was also irritated because I couldn’t use the bathroom. I punched one of my dead monkeys in the face. I felt better.
I tried throwing them away but the garbage man said that he wasn’t allowed to dispose of charred monkeys. I told him that I had a wet one but he said he couldn’t take that either. I didn’t bother asking about the frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn’t know quite what to say. They pretended they liked dead monkeys, but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the face.
I like monkeys.