March 15, 2011

That’s right. Pick your jaw off the floor and behold the glory. Not only can the monkey type, but the monkey has got opinions.

First, let me say that since my return from deep space, the boys and girls at NASA have been really wonderful about kissing my butt. They’re sooooo sorry they shot me into space and then lost track of the module. I don’t even know what happened back then in ’68 — I wasn’t exactly a sentient brainchild at the time. But I guess leaving Earth’s orbit and getting sucked through a wormhole was the best thing that could have happened to me. It made me who I am today. Well, that, and the benevolent alien scientists who found me. The Helorans are sweet guys. Great attitudes for a people that lost their planet and just wander the universe in a floating city. If that was me, I’d be pissed off a lot. And shoot things.

But since the Helorans prize intellect above all else, they saw fit to take me in and… “upgrade” my intelligence. This evolution-boosting reverse-lobotomy was engineered on me, as well as a handful of other NASA animals who never made it back. Now these sentient animal homies roll with ME, as my crew. I’ll let some of them get on the ol’ laptop once in a while and post something here. But this is mainly for me to get my own words out. To set the story straight. Because I don’t care what you read in the press, I’m the victim. I’M THE ONE who was FIRED INTO SPACE!

So my table manners aren’t the best. So I threw a banana at the president. So I tried to bite a kid. BIG DEAL. It’s been a while since I was expected to behave.

You wanna know more about me? Stay tuned. You don’t? Shut your face and go watch TMZ, you neanderthals.

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