May the Tenth

Today Monkey made a spicy curry for dinner.  Monkey of course made this all from scratch, all organic and without the use of any fancy, over priced kitchen gadgets.  Oh sure, when people visit your decadent kitchen, full of everything Williams Sonoma has that will fit in your Highlander, they are dully impressed.  However, you don’t actually know a thing about cooking.  True you can impress you sycophantic friends with your high end packet mix meals but you lack any ability beyond measuring out a bit a water and bringing it to a boil.  The funny part is you have somehow managed to act smug.  However, you shouldn’t be.  Monkey, who once turned down a Michelin star as too pedestrian, is smug enough for you all.

Monkey is putting in extra pepper.


May the Third

Today Monkey watched a hopeless act of monumental futility.  Do you really need to spend so much time deliberating over which stick to use?  Do you?  Oh not that one, the tip is a bit off.  Hmmm, this one has a small nick in the shaft, might hang up on something.  This one looks good, better roll it on the table, make sure the shaft is true.  These are some of the imagined thoughts Monkey sees bouncing around in your empty head.  Monkey would like to hold out hope that someday, in the not too distant future, you will come to the realization that your shitty ass pool play is not a result of inferior stick selection.  Instead, blame lies fully in your years long meth habit, that has left you more shaky than a jack hammer.  Too, bad for you, and your bowels, Monkey is also aware that said meth habit will keep you from any moments of epiphany.

Monkey is going to show you where to put that stick.

April the Twentysecond

Today Monkey went out for a pint of fresh cask conditioned ale.  And no, a cask ale is not ,”sort a like”, Killian’s.  Anyway, upon entering one of the few bars in all of North America with the level of sophistication needed to hand pour a real ale and was taken aback by the above scene.  There, with commotion, noise and life swirling about him sat a fellow quietly reading a book.  Seriously?  All the liveliness, conversation and general bustle and you are going to sit there like some dissociate sociopath reading?  A book no less.  Well, dear sir, Monkey knows a fellow traveler and gives you a tip of the hat.

Monkey has a few titles for you.

April the Twelfth

Today Monkey went no where in particular.  Waking up at 10am to find a deep azure sky Monkey made the bold decision to lay in, for another few hours.  Rolling out for an early one o’clock brunch at North Star Monkey was perplexed to find the establishment utterly over run with drones.  Faceless, lifeless, Pavlovian constructs busily mucking about in their meaningless, and thankfully short, existence.  Their existence?  Who are we kidding here…  your existence.  Why, you are just on your lunch break, and it is Monday after all, you offer as a weak defense to Monkey’s disdaining gaze.  Too late worker bee.  Monkey’s 25 second interaction with your rat race has broken his mood and while you head back to the office, at the beginning of yet another soul crushing week, it’s Monkey that will be recharging his batteries.

Monkey pooped in your flower bed.

March the Twentyseventh

Today Monkey went to the opening match.  This year the opening was played against the strong Toronto FC side.  Of course by strong Monkey means pathetic, a disgrace, black stain on the already foul milquetoast image that Ontario infects on the rest of the world.  One wonders why anyone would use a Toronto FC kit for anything other than it’s intended purpose, wiping the oily sludge out from under the fingernails of ex-con quickie lube workers.  Yet lo, and be hold Monkey sees you people over in the corner and sure enough, you are wearing the damn things.  Have you escaped a mental institution?  Lose a bet that would have seen you gain peerage had you won?  It can’t be that actually are a Toronto FC supporter.  Does such a thing exist?  Yet, here you are, sullying Monkey’s fine day with your blithering idiocy.  So, go on, cheer for your doomed boys and be sure to enjoy that long dark bus ride home where you will have plenty of time to contemplate yet another lose to the Crew.

Monkey is waiting for you in the parking lot.

March the Twelfth

Today Monkey got you in ever so much trouble.  After weeks of chiding you finally begged the wife for “permission” to go out for, just a few, after work with the boys.  The plan would have worked to, if not for Monkey’s arrival.  When someone of his stature starts buying it’s hard to say no.  And when it’s high end Scotch it’s niegh on impossible.  But, after a few fine wee drams you started to get into the well hootch all by yourself.  11 O’clock rolled up and you called the wife, begged forgiveness and promised to be home by midnight.  Monkey waited until 1am to point out the time and your broken vow.  You however had hit the tipping point, just letting it roll off your drunken back.  “Can’t call now” you said, “she’ll be asleep.”  Next came last call, then a bit of a lock in finishing with you drinking the foulest chocolate stout Monkey keeps for his very best friends.  And what time is it?  4:30am?  Nice.  Good luck with that.  See you next year when you are allowed out again, dog house boy.

Monkey has a honey/lavender porter waiting for you.

February the Twentyfourth

Today Monkey went out to get a piping hot pizza.  Sadly for Monkey at 4am the options for pie are limited to your dirty hole of a shop.  Which, in itself, would not have been a problem only for some, no doubt grand reason, you have stopped delivering after 2am.  This makes you a jackwad and due for a full share of recompense as Monkey did not, in fact, want to venture into the frigid dark.  So, in a foul mood, and trudging though the snow what does Monkey find upon entering your, ever so well plowed and salted, parking lot?  That’s right, the Hound Dog mobile, your pride and joy.  The options for life lessons are almost limitless.  But don’t fret over the lost sales due to a lack of operable vehicle.  Instead think how much better the Earth will feel with you not driving that gas hog for a few days… or weeks.  Or, now that I think about it, ever.

Monkey is saving the planet, one jackwad’s limo at a time.