Another interesting, late night, mouldy tea fuelled chat with Anne, the Talun Chronicle’s hot beverage dealer.
Anne was insistant that her job could be made easier with the help of a simian sidekick, I wasn’t so sure.
Anne:
I’m sick of pushing this fucking urn around for you bunch of reprobates. When am I gonna get the monkey butler I was promised?
Brad:
You’re kidding yourself if you believe that you can have a monkey butler!
You know monkeys have a keen sense of style, right?
They hate the whole dinner suit thing. They will never get over that.
They prefer double denim.
And a monkey butler dressed in double denim just ain’t right.
They look like they are around to look at your plumbing or just about to drop a piano down the stairs.
And there’s a mischievous chimp called Vince in the van.
This dichotomy and the stubbornness of both sides of the argument mean that we’ll be stuck doing our own laundry until mankind invents robots.
Then we’ll all be vapourised by evil terminators and the whole subject will become moot anyway.
As tolerance and acceptance of all people big and small, gay and straight, purple and slightly mauve or Piers Morgan and not Piers Morgan is such a large issue in the world today, we should all learn to accept that monkeys like jeans and treat them the same as any other monkey.
Anne:
I’d be willing to compromise at single denim and some sort of corduroy ensemble? Worth opening negotiations instead of giving up entirely don’t you think?
Oh and since when has Piers Morgan ever been acceptable?
Brad:
I’ve been taking therapy.
I learned that when I despise Piers Morgan, the only person who gets hurt is me.
That moronic, drooling tub of lard won’t care if I hate him or not.
He’s a twat.
Anne:
Maybe your therapist secretly works for him? Or is just crap?
I’ll tell you why.
I found myself agreeing with Piers on a couple of issues one day.
It was horrible.
I started to doubt my sanity, morality and even my whole reason of being.
I even contemplated running away and joining some weird cult to try and salvage my soul.
That was until the very next day when he opened his mouth again.
What a fucking prick!
I felt much, much better when I started hating him again. I cancelled my ticket to God knows where and began to think like a normal person once more.
Brad:
That’s how he gets you though.
Sometimes, just sometimes, he’ll say something which seems almost reasonable.
Sometimes, like once in a blue moon, he’ll say something intelligent.
And then you think;”Hmmm. That’s a good point. Maybe he’s not such a bad guy after all. We can’t all agree on everything.”
And before you know it you’re dressed all in black, maiming small animals and throwing people on a fire for having a slightly different shade of epidermis.
And saying single denim is acceptable is one thing, but what happens when Bubbles turns up for work in a pair of daisy dukes?
Anne:
I’d never thought of that.
Obviously there is a need for clear guidelines.
Then Anne cracked open the biscuit tin and we both descended, once more, into a chocolate chip overdose.
