Vague Insanty 033

The monkeys are sitting there with rolls of cash, easy booze and cheap love from monkey-whores, while I'm a primate with a job, a suit, a tie, and leather shoes. I smile with my face while I wear a lame-ass jacket, and the monkeys are wearing Sex Pistols t-shirts and playing Tetris on their Playstations.

But I can't, have to work, walk around like a jerk, down the alleys and the streets, smelling cookies and pastries. No time to stop and eat; got a meeting at 9 o'clock. And the monkeys eat croissants and laugh at me, hanging in the shop windows, looking at me like a dummy.

They call their hit men on their monkey-cell phones. It only cost five monkey-bucks to waste me but they would rather buy bananas than kill some random corporate slave, and they've got to get home to watch TV and play Grand Theft Auto 3.

I'm busy writing reports, monkey-crime, monkey-incidents on the rise, profit cuts, corporate losses, reporting it to monkey-bosses. The uber-monkeys rule this planet, but I need to balance my spreadsheet. The formulas don't add up, this is monkey-apocalypse.

Time to take my vacation in monkey-italia land.