Shameless self indulgence

If You Worried This Much, You’d be a Grumpy Monkey, too

The following events took place in and around Grumpy Monkey headquarters on Thursday, July 23.

♦ Wake up exceedingly early (5:20 a.m.!) and walk the dog in the early-morning humidity, smelling the fetid garbage piled in cans on the side of the road and feeling ashamed to be human and to have played some small role in generating this filth.

You can’t wait for the garbage truck to come and make it all disappear like magic. If your Humble Monkey was captured by enemy agents, all they would have to do is stick his head near a heat-rancid garbage can an all state secrets would be spilled in a mater of moments

♦ Sit at computer to type a writing sample for, only to be befuddled by the unclear data entry field boxes on their website. Your Monkey tried to submit his sample in good faith, only to have it rejected for being incomplete. Maybe can hire him to write some f–king directions for their site if he does get approved.

♦ Half-start a couple of other writing projects, only to be distracted by stupid Facebook and stupid and their never-ending supply of easy to digest non-news. Your Monkey may be inadvertently responsible for someone’s demise this morning after refusing to repost a chain message about the importance of suicide prevention. Turns out your Monkey is part of the 99% who “won’t repost,” but then again he doesn’t believe that major social issues can be solved by stupid platitudes that are written in large type, turned into an image and posted on someone’s wall.

♦ Walk to work in increasingly oppressive swamp of humanity, noting with perverse self interest the different places that sweat is accumulating in your body as you travel. Really, the crooks of the elbows?

♦ Arrive at your desk to eat the same breakfast and drink the same iced coffee as every other day this week. Note a general malaise in your stomach.

♦ Worry about money.

♦ Worry about sexual desirability.

♦ Worry about money again.

♦ Obsess over lack of sexual desirability.

♦ Wonder if everyone at work actually hates you, or just seems to.

♦ Worry that you can’t think of one single solitary thing that will lift you out of this gray malaise.

♦ Worry that you are worrying too much, and not concentrating on work.

♦ Concentrate on work for five minutes.

♦ Worry you are missing an important news story on

♦ Worry that you are becoming increasingly easy to distract in the age of smart phones and the internet. Fret about what this means for your productivity, and for the productivity potential of your future children.

♦ Eat lunch. Worry that lunch will not be good, will give you heartburn, will make you tired.

♦ Worry that you spent to long on your lunch break.

♦ Return to office. Concentrate on work for five minutes.

♦ Realize that the end of the day is coming.

♦ Worry about what will happen when you get out of work at the end of the day. Will you be able to accomplish anything of importance? Go running? Do burpees? Work on writing projects? Or will you feel fat and lazy and stupid and sit there drinking beers and flipping through Tumblr?

♦ Worry that every day is going to be like this, and you have no way of getting your brain to stop eating itself.

Shameless self indulgence, Writing

Writers Block and Bad Jokes About Girls I Used to Date

Regular readers of this blog (of which, sadly, there are still none) will no doubt realize that it has been a while since your Humble Monkey has posted one of his pithy pieces of prose.

The reason for this dearth of production, dear readers, is as old as time itself. Writer’s block.

That’s right, the dreaded writer’s block has hit your Monkey like a sledgehammer, leaving him awash in a sea of self doubt, marooned in the dunes of despair, and stranded on the shores of “can’t write no more.”

So in an attempt to get the juices flowing, here are a series of bad jokes about girls I used to date:

  • I dated a girl who worked in a bakery once, but we had to break up because she was too kneady.
  • I dated a girl who worked for the IRS once, but we had to break up because she was too withholding.
  • I dated a Pigmy girl once, but we had to break up because she was always being short with me.
  • I dated a girl who worked at a hotel once, but we had to break up because I caught her checking out other people.
  • I dated an Eskimo girl once, but we had to break up because she just wasn’t Inuit.