Oh Monkey Butler, you eely l’il rascal you. You’ve escaped from your cage again, have you? And here I am with about a dozen different chores for you to do… Monkey Butler-less. You little sneak. You learned a thing or two from “Link”, did you? OK, well now you’ve got about four hours to remedy this situation before I lapse into a Snackwells & spritzer coma during my “Will & Grace”. Oooh yeah, “Friends” is on too. That means KIT KATS!!!
Hark, I hear the call of the corpulent Master Chris! Master Chris, forgive me for I have been lying in a fetal position in my “chambers” (read: cage w/ the NY Post shredded on the bottom) shaking with fright after witnessing the Cookiepuss commercial mostrosity which I posted of earlier.
I am sure you enjoyed the advertisement immensely and are now quite set on having me fetch you several of these cakes made of ice cream for your own personal binge carnival. Has Ms. Blomquist left or are you simply blocking her, along with much of the Western Hemisphere by standing in that doorway? you haven’t consumed her have you? I do hope that was not the purpose of the tailgate-sized laof of French bread you had me purchase.
I’ve not had the time to view your film choice yet as I’ve been quite consumed with the chore of removing pie stains out of your satin sheets. If any more is needed I shall be in my cage writing a polite but urgent letter to the ASPCA. Very good sir, you catastrophic hybrid of brain and blubber.
MBE: “Primate Patent Pending. Since 1905.”
Whoa!!! How did I get into this…this…thing here. Where do I fit in?
Would that be a reference to Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp? And if so, what do I win?!?
Quite. What is this thing, here, exactly?
To my Monkey Butler E: Do you remember last night’s game of “Hide The Mango”? Well, this morning while roller-blading about the facilities and munching on my third stick of butter, I slipped on one of your oh-so callously discarded banana peels. Your punishment shall be severe.
To Demo Dick- “Link” is a very obscure must-see movie. Check it out. It’s all about monkey butlers gone bad.
I hid nothing of the sort! YOu simply tricked me into handing over the last of my oh-so-ripe bounty. Curse you Master Merrow and your perpetual paunch! Oh how I loathe these “games” which you seem to serendipidously unleash whenever I have the most meager of foodstuffs in my posession.
Oh I do rue the day upon which your father invented a new formula which would allow already battered and fried chicken to be double coated with a butter glaze. Pure cullinary lunacy, I say. Yet you reap the benefits everday while sitting upon your quadruple reinforced bed, reading take-out menues as though they were great literary classics. If needed I shall be in my chambers where you have sent the K-9 unit to hunt for scraps of food I may have taken from the pantry in attempt to survive so that I may serve your rotund carapice yet another 24 hour breakfast in bed. Very good, sir.
MBE: “He ain’t gonna work on Master Merrow’s far no more…”
Monkey Butler, I… oh forget it, I’m laughing too hard right now!
Yes, I came to the conclusion that you were laughing when the house began to quake under my feet. I’ll wager you’ve just given flashbacks to all the participants of the 1988 World Series. Furthermore, if I may have a word in, I resent your “have a chuckle, have a Chuckle” policy wherein I am forced to trudge through the snow at ungodly hours of the night to 7-11 so as to satisfy your lust for fruit-enhanced geletin. I’d request galoshes, though the last time I wore such apparel you proclaimed them “licorice boots” and I barely retained my feet in the carnage.
Again, sir, once I have filled oyur bathtub with the proscribed amount of malted milk balls I shall retire to my quarters and make haste in determining whether or not my wallpaper is edible. Though I’m sure you’ve made attempts. Good 'eve to you, Master Chris, you who reduce the Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man to a heroin model.
MBE: “Made to toil while Master Chris soils since 1902.”
Sir, I’ve no intention of prying you out the chimney again this year. I knwo yu are excited about the possibility of santa delivering to you a, and I quote, “chocolate covered partridge in a chocolate covered tree”. Sir, I must reiterate that the festivities are over. And you are quite intoxicated on your own patented shuddering “Egg-salad nog>”
Sir, I nearly beg you to go no further into that dark void from which you will not be released without ceremonies that include vegetable oil and a titanium crow bar. As usual you’ve managed to disgrace yourself by wrapping a single sock (used) in pages of a phone book for my “present.” But no, I shant protest, despite the fact that you used my family mennorah to roast marshmallows. If you so decide to make your way into the “tunnel of shove” feel free to summon me from my chambers. I guarantee I shant arrive until late morn.
MBE: “Servitude dude. Since 1904.”
Groan I’ve finally recovered from my 3-week brown sugar/lard coma. This maple syrup IV seems to be helping a bit… all around me I see pie-stained paper plates… chocolate-soiled Elmo party napkins… plastic forks coated in frosting long since hardened like sweet sweet cement.
It seems my l'il simian buddy, my primitive pride and joy, my Vanilla Gorilla... it seems my humble hairy servant has taken good care of me after all. A bologna-flavored tear forms in my eye. Happy Holidays to you, little one. NOW GET BACK N YOUR CAGE!!!
Chris Merrow -"Taking charge of helpless chimps since he awoke from his slovenly slumber in 2002"