If you put a group monkeys in a room with a laptop, they could conceivably write a Shakespeare play (so the theory goes).
I hired monkeys to write for me. I thought they would sling crap better than any Super PAC. It would create a media stir, and I could finally make money from the Internet.
All I got was a mucked-up laptop and lame observations. My staff of monkeys were riffing on Santorum’s bland appearance. They said he looked like the typical dad at the zoo.
That was their frame of reference, since they used to work at the zoo. Buffo told me he was sick of being on the low end of “Show Business.” He wanted to be writer in Hollywood. He got a grant from PETA to study writing but it didn’t cover his living expenses. I hired a bunch of monkeys to blow-up my blog, but I found out that was a big mistake.
I fired the lot of them and tried unsuccessfully to get them to clean up my apartment. Mr. Chucko stuck around because he wanted to audition for my band. He overheard me talking on the phone and thought I said: “I need a chimp who can sing and play bass.” But I was saying that I need a chick bass-player, not a chimp.
Ambivalence is all I have for the Primary in my State next week. I might as well have Mr. Chucko vote for me. He knows all the candidate’s names and can tell you ten bad things about each one of them.