Say Hello to the Monkey

Have you ever had the experience of letting curiosity cloud your better judgment and just walk into an oddly threatening room? One that was just a bit too dim to allow you to make out fine shapes and details, and which had a thin, but vaguely obscene odor? Yet, even when it became frightfully obvious that you had made a mistake by ever crossing the transom, you stayed, and continued your exploration?

Welcome to my world. That's exactly the situation I face every stinking morning when I wake up. My daytime life is that poorly-lit, smelly room, and like a masochist who simply can not get enough of his controller's sweet, sweet pain, I continue to get out of bed every morning and stoke the flames of my consciousness with caffeine. Mmmmm ... caffeine.

No, that metaphor isn't entirely accurate. I'm not some disgusting masochist craving more agony at the hand of my sadistic partner. I'm more like an idiot who keeps sticking his hand into flame well after it's little more than a charred stump.

Yeah, charred stump. Now that's real good writing. Mighty good. Bet you wish you'd come up with that, dontcha, Spanky?

Excuse me while I pat myself on the back.

So, I asks myself, I asks: "Self, why start a blog? I mean, everyone and their grandma has one by now. It is so freaking passe. And since when are you a joiner? You're a rebel, Monkey, you take no prisoners and never have. You mock the poseurs and dilletantes who blog. They are your inferiors."

I gotta admit, I ask some pretty damn good questions. And there's some serious truth in that, too. You are inferior to me. Accept it, I have.

But I digress.

So, I sits back and contemplate this, scratching myself, as my distinct musky scent settles about me in an aerosolized, lime-green mist.

Like a coroner engaged in fine dissection of pancreatic tissue searching for subtle abnormalities, I needed to gently tease apart the fibrous cohesion of why I should start a blog. There needs to be a reason, something that can justify my doing this.

"To point out the obvious absurdities of modern life!" I offer. But no, others do that much better than I can ever hope to.

"As a means of expressing my innermost thoughts, and giving life to my muse." Not hardly -- my muse died long ago from starvation and abuse.

Then the answer hits me, like a shovel in the back of the head. Why start a blog? Because like most every other fuckwit, my ego is grand enough to make me believe that people will actually want to read what I write.

There is my justification! I mean, if semi-literate NASCAR fans can blog, then surely an almost housebroken monkey can as well.

So, here I am.

Hide the women and send the kids to grandma's: the Monkey is here to pollute your drinking water.

Ook ook, bitches.