Nothing Says Peace Like a Sleeping Monkey (or Hound)
Well. I was not going to write today, and I was definitely NOT going to mention PsychoHound, but SOMEONE who shall not be named interrupted me with incessant, high-pitched whinging while I was trying to make dope techno jams with kazoo, finger cymbals, and beat-looping software at 6:30 this morning. (This is all true.) I took off my hip DJ hat, put on my old sneakers, pre-opened a little green bag, and hit the pavement for a quick walk. To shut him the heck up, actually (in the nicest possible way). And that's all I'm going to say about Fuzzbutt.
Let's talk about monkeys.
You may have read all about the hilarious, uproarious first-shift monkeys yesterday. They had a ball chattering in my mind. (Possibly it was only me who found them all that funny, but that's for the second-shift monkeys to worry about.) In the afternoon, first-shifters took a post-walk siesta with Fuzzbutt, and the second-shift took over. Second-shift monkeys, as it turns out, are a-holes. Among other…
Let's talk about monkeys.
You may have read all about the hilarious, uproarious first-shift monkeys yesterday. They had a ball chattering in my mind. (Possibly it was only me who found them all that funny, but that's for the second-shift monkeys to worry about.) In the afternoon, first-shifters took a post-walk siesta with Fuzzbutt, and the second-shift took over. Second-shift monkeys, as it turns out, are a-holes. Among other…
