had the monkey dream again

this time with a weird ending

dozens of monkeys of all sorts are in a smoke-filled room. as usual. some smoking cigarettes, some with cigars. some circled around hookahs.

some just typing at olde fashioned typers.

you know the ones that ding and you gotta pull the thing over.

a chimp ripped the page out of his old machine pushed his reading glasses up the bride of his nose crossed his legs and inhaled from his cigarrette and exhaled out the corner of his mouth. laughed like monkeys do and without looking reached for his bottle of xxx and took a good swig and kept reading his little masterwork.

“what do you see?” an orangutan asked me and held up a white peice of paper that appeared to have a perfectly symmetrical coffee stain on it.

i see a coffee stain.

the orangutan held up another white peice of paper that appeared to have a different symetrical coffee stain on it.

i see a slightly different coffee stain, this one with an afro.

the orangutan wrote down some notes on his clipboard and held up another peice of stained paper.

what do you see here?

i see a hairy pussy.

he wrote down hairy pussy on his notepad, picked up a cigarette out of a dirty ashtray filled with cigarette butts, inhaled, ashed, and flicked his butt nowhere in particular.

in the distance i heard an ape scream, a bottle shatter and mayhem try to break out until an elephant barked.

now what do you see, the orangutan asked me.

i see the some guy with an afro going down on a hairy pussy.

the orangutan looked at the picture, wrote down some notes while looking at me.

several monkeys had formed a circle around me. one monkey groomed another, but both of their attentions were on my little session.

now what do you see, the orangutan asked me. somehow i didnt notice that he had a stethoscope and a mirror headband thing from the olden times.

he peeled a bananna while he waited for my answer.

i see a sad hairy bush.

he wrote down some notes, handed it to a little spider monkey who jumped to the ceiling and used the pipes above us as monkeybars and hauled ass out of the huge smokey room.

tony, youre sick, the orangutan told me.


yes, you hate president bush. he said.

he was writing a prescription for me.

well, the president is a fucking dumbshit, doc.

doesnt matter, hes the president, and hes a republican.

so? i challenged.

he stopped writing, his mouth wide open. banana peel stuck to some of his chin hair.

so? he asked. earnestly.

yeah, who the fuck cares what political party he says he is. hes a fucking more-anne. hes a faker. hes a fuckup. hes an idiot. hes full of shit. he lies. he cant get anything done right. people leave him and write books saying how bad he sucks and nobody cares. he started a war we didnt need to fight and everyone is all at least hes not getting head in the oval office. he lied about weapons of mass destruction and people are all but at least we dont have saddam. hes a dope and people are all he means well. he bankrupted three of his own companies, and now hes bankrupting the nation and people are all but i’m not bankrupt, i can still afford cable. he makes the world point at america and laugh, and we say, fuck the world, which i agree with, but still… and the gas prices are out of control and people just fill up, top off their super big gulps of coffee and putt away in their explorers as if the president, the oilman president, who is chummy enough with the sauds that he got all the bin ladins out of america on 9/13 and turned his back on Riggs Bank cant get them to do anyting about opec.

my doctor wrote down new notes furiously on the ass of a snoring swine.

for starters, i added.

finally he stopped writing, pushed his glasses up, and said

but he’s republican.

then handed me a prescription on the smooshy side of a bananna peel and pointed to the door.

the prescription said keep your mouth shut, fuckbrain, and vote for kerry like all of us are going to, but do it quietly.

and as i left i saw him shit on his hand, look around, and throw it towards me, only to knock the american flag off its little flag holder.

which, when the room witnessed what happened, stopped for a second, only to errupt back into monkey caccophony accented with strains of the latest teen whore on the hot hits radio station being piped through the crackely intercom system.

dick shagwell + i cant wait to vote + classless warfare

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