There’s something inexplicably quaint about watching a television commercial, gentle reader, wherein the announcer expounds upon the “Jew-lie” furniture specials and closes with a mind-blowing deal. What is the deal? I’ll tell you what it is. Customers snag a free watermelon with every furniture purchase. Free watermelon!
So from one CEO to all the CEO’s in the furniture business, take note: y’all better start offering rashers of hog-wild bacon with your furniture to counter this amazing offer.
A few days ago, I chronicled the hair-raising antics of Test Monkey No. 5 and left off with a promise of further explanation. The time for further explanation has arrived, and I ask you to settle down in my Reading Room.
While you’re making yourselves at home, gentle readers, I would like to point out the fine oak paneling I’ve selected for decoration. Also notice the marble busts surrounding the room–and yes, they’re headless because I had to shut them up–as well as the lemur-hair carpet under your most odorous feet. Okay, that’s enough gawking.
So you want to know how Test Monkey No. 5 escaped? For an evening, then, suspend your skepticism and consider the most singular events surrounding the night of the Monkey’s disappearance. As closing time rolled around, most of my employees left for their homes and what have you. Most of them, mind you, except for one woman.
This woman took care of Test Monkey No. 5, and as his perennial caretaker she developed an acute fondness for him. Perhaps it was his hairy charm, his deft manipulation of tree branches and low-hanging ceiling fixtures, or his propensity to fling poop like the best of them, I don’t know.
What I do know, however, is that she grabbed a tranquilizer gun and stunned six of my guards that evening, bribed my Security Administrator to turn off the cameras and sensors, and liberated the Monkey in question. And my requisite annual altruistic act is letting them ride off into the sunset with nary a raised alarm.
Like Test Monkey No. 5, she updates from her secure computer terminal from time to time. One thing that puzzles me is why the “D” in the title is capitalized, and I suppose that mystery must remain unsolved. Besides, whatever floats your Class A Yacht, I say.
The Links have also been updated. w00t!
Yesterday was so bad–so filled with grumpiness and un-requested didacticism–that it didn’t even exist, gentle reader. Quite a feat, don’t you think?