Friday, April 05, 2002
The Infamous Monkey Email - this stuff fucks my shit right up. it's so damn funny. and it's one of those things everyone thinks is hilarious, and no one can access at a moment's notice. so here it is. for posterity. enjoy. also, read the Donald Trump siting directly below this post. hee hee.
cheers, k.

I like monkeys.
The pet store was selling them for 5ยข a piece. I thought that odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys.
I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed. Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.
I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.
Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive: they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta' dropped dead. Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. 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 199 dead, dry monkeys.
I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad.
I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.
I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately there was only enough room for two monkeys 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 all go bad. I tried burning them. Little did I know 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 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odor wasn't improving.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.
I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city wasn't allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one 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 know quite what to say. They pretended that they like them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.
I like monkeys.


love, krissa .... 7:27 PM ... link!

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The DL on DT...
Well well well. Look who's cool now. The Sultry Victoria Smolkin, The Quirky Genevieve Mercatante, and the, well, and me, went to a chi-chi* Magazine-of-Employment party on wednesday night, and there were gigantic supermodels by the dozen, as well as many, many posers. And there was also, lo and behold, the Great Toupeed One, The Master of His Domain, Donald (freakin'!) Trump. He was there, followed around all night by some snivelling Entertainment Weekly** folk. Also, The Sultry Vika returned from the bathroom to regale us with the tale of two eight-foot-tall supermodels who leaned over each other's stall doors and talked like 15 year old hooligans from Baltimore, despite their million dollar clothes and see-through rib cages..... well, I guess you can take the girl outta Baltimore...
The whole POINT of this story is that the party was, well, ridiculous. It was a cross-section between "eat-something" model-thinnies and too-hip brkln tunnel trash. As the Great Wise Erwin always says, "never trust people that need an extra hour in the morning to put on their attitude." Wisely put, my dear friend.
Thank you, Vika and Viva, for accompanying me on such a remarkably silly escapade.
cheers, k.

* chi-chi: anything remotely chic, trendy, kitschy, frou-frou, Manolo-Blanhik-wearing, or really anything that people on Sex in the City would do.
** the scum of journalism. the lowest of the low. Entertainment Weekly, bow your celebrity-ass-kissing head in shame.



love, krissa .... 7:16 PM ... link!

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Sunday, March 31, 2002
happy sunday
happy easter, i guess. although my easter isn't for a month or so.
let's see, what's new - i have some exciting news i can't talk about just yet, but keep checking back and within the month i promise i'll tell you, one way or another. and school is starting again, drat. just when i had the whole "relaxing" thing perfected to an art form. and i finally found the elusive Macnab. and since he's been SUCH a bad boy, i'm going to post his address here so any of you who want to know what hole he fell into in LA, can email him at: longshotproductions@hotmail.com . so there, macnab. now your email address is on the internet (and don't pester him about the film).
also - everyone tell me their own opinion: if you were a Peanuts character (remember, charlie brown and the like?) which one do you think you'd be? i'm obviously Lucy....
cheers, k.


love, krissa .... 10:37 PM ... link!

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