I like monkeys.

The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece. I thought this was odd since they were normally a couple thousand. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth so I bought 200 of them. I like monkeys.

I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one of drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in the genitals. I laughed.

They punched me in the genitals. I stopped laughing.

I herded them into my room. They didn’t adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech and hurl themselves off the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into it’s third hour.

Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive; they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sort of dropped dead. Kinda like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. God damn cheap monkeys.

I didn’t know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room; on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked like I had 200 throw rugs. I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn’t work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and one hundred ninety-nine dead, dry monkeys.

I tried to pretend that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for awhile, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad.

I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in my toilet and I didn’t want to call a plumber. I was embarrassed.

I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortuantely there was only enough room for two at a time, so I had to change them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn’t go bad.

I tried to burn them, but little did I know that my bed was flammable. I had to extinguish the fire.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and one hundred ninety-seven dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed, The odor wasn’t improving.

I became agitated at my inability to dispose of the dead monkeys and I really had to use the bathroom.  So I went and severely beat one of the monkeys. I felt better.

I tried throwing them away but the garbage man said the city was not allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him I had a wet one. He couldn’t take it either. I didn’t bother asking about the frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts.  My friends didn’t quite know what to say. They pretended to like them, but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.

I like monkeys.

Bill worked in a pickle factory. He had been employed there for a number of years when he came home one day to confess to his wife that he had terrible compulsion. He had an urge to stick his penis into the pickle slicer.

His wife suggested that he should see a sex therapist to talk about it, but Bill said he would be too embarrassed. He vowed to overcome the compulsion on his own.

One day a few weeks later, Bill came home. His wife could see at once that something was seriously wrong. “What’s wrong. Bill?” she asked.

“Do you remember that I told you how I had this tremendous urge to put my penis into the pickle slicer?”

“Oh, Bill, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“My God, Bill, what happened?”

“I got fired.”

“No, Bill. I mean, what happened with the pickle slicer?”

“Oh…she got fired too.”

A Glaswegian girl walks into the local dry cleaners. She places a garment on the counter.

“Ah’ll be back ra morra efternin tae pick up ma dress.” she says.

“Come again?” says the clerk, cupping his ear.

“Naw” she replies. “This time it’s mayonnaise.”

What did one lesbian frog say to the other lesbian frog?

“They’re right, we DO taste like chicken!”

A man walks into the bedroom with a sheep under his arm while his wife is lying in bed reading.

He says, “This is the pig I have sex with when you’ve got a headache.”

His wife replies, “I think you’ll find, that is a sheep.”

“I think you’ll find I was talking to the sheep.”

What’s black and knocks on the window?
A goth in a microwave.

What do you call a goth lying in the road?
A speed bump.

What’s black and sits in the corner?
A dead baby goth.

What do you get if you cross a goth and a toilet?
The cisterns of mercy.

What was unusual about Michael Jackson holding the baby over the balcony?

He usually just tosses them off.