clifford’s birthday party, the review of ignorance

clifford’s friends are assholes

CliffordsBday-CoverRead the story.  I’ve read it 217 times to my son.  I get angrier every time.  This is what I take from this story and then I’ll tell you how I arrive at this point.  Don’t be a prick and don’t be friends with ignorant assholes. 

I’ve read a ton of children’s books over the last few years, but this one plays on my deepest fears and anxieties more than any other.  But that fucking dog and, more importantly, his owner Emily Elizabeth have some seriously rude “friends”.

So here is how the story plays out.  This terrifying, deformed, freakishly massive red dog is having a birthday party.  I mean this fucking thing is planned.  Invitations sent out, decorations up, ice cream and cookies ready to go, the asinine dog has a ridiculous party hat on and his owner Emily has her head in the clouds.

So then the time comes for the party to start and who shows up?  No one.  Not a soul.  Zero people show up and Emily is the calmest 8 year old in the world who literally didn’t have one person show up to the damn birthday party, even for a dog.  She just “wonders” where everyone is.  She’s a moron too by the way, but we’ll get to that later.

So, they handle it in an incredibly humbling and embarrassing way.  But also a way only someone with serious balls would deal with it.  So they go to the park looking for these “friends” to find out why they aren’t at the party.  They head to the playground and everyone is there.  Together.  NOT at the party.  I imagine this scene in reality and it’s the most awkward, gut wrenchingly sad thing I can even imagine.  These pricks are playing baseball and when confronted by Emily and the gigantic red monster behind her the best thing they come up with is that ‘they didn’t have good enough presents, not good enough for such a special friend’.  You have got to be fucking kidding me.  I’ve heard bad excuses before, but that is the worst one of all time.  And please don’t throw that crap back on Emily with the “special friend” bologna.  You are mean kids being mean and Emily and the nuclear fallout K9 could do a lot better than you when it comes to friends.  But…. she tells them to stop being silly and he’d like whatever they got for him.  THEY DIDN’T ACTUALLY GET HIM ANYTHING, EMILY!

This scene gets sadder and sadder and you can’t stop the train wreck if you tried.  At this point I’m begging the dog to mass murder all these jerks to stop this nonsense.  So now, these shit for brains are not only completely caught in a lie, they now need to somehow produce these inferior, made-up gifts and actually attend the party they blew off in the first place.  So they go home (probably rush home) to find anything in their houses they can pawn off as a gift for a dog the size of a house.  These “friends” are pathetic and lower than the dirt they were playing baseball on at the park…

Except…..maybe, just maybe, I am wrong here.  Maybe it is possible there is something behind this animosity towards Emily and her pet that fuels nightmares….


 clifford and emily are assholes?

So the so called friends show up at what must be hours after the original start time of the party.  The ice cream is ruined for sure, the cookies stale.  I can’t imagine what this poor mother is thinking.  She must  work 3 jobs already to pay for enough food to feed this beast that she has allowed her daughter to own.  Now, no one shows up to this party?  She must be halfway into a bottle of wine at this point.


the gifts

Scott’s gift is a large ball.  Not too bad.  Everyone plays with it until Clifford pulls out the fucking stopper and ends the game immediately.  Ok, not a big deal, maybe he didn’t know that would happen, he;s just a dog.

The next kid brings a piñata.  Not an ideal present for a 10 ton dog, but they decide to let him take some swings.  It goes poorly.  He knocks down trees, a shed, the fence and so on.  Horrific fucking scene.  Luckily no one was hurt or killed, but the 8 year olds are probably mortified and scarred for the rest of their life seeing such a massive force destroy the yard around them.  Yet time for the next gift!

Jenny didn’t even try.  She gave Clifford one of her yellow sweaters.  An 8 year old girl gave a dog as tall as a high school football stadium one of her own sweaters.  Yet the infinite optimist Emily Elizabeth, says ‘it’s perfect for his nose’!  Gigantic backfire, Jenny, ya dumb idiot.  I’m sure she hoped this would be the final straw to end the relationship.  Not today.

Why the next kid would give Clifford a robot dog is beyond me.  Perhaps she figured a robot dog can’t judge or be terrified by a 3 story tall red dog or maybe she’s just a fucking idiot.  Clifford broke it immediately.  Shocking.  Assuming the narrator IS Emily Elizabeth, the line after he breaks the robot is ‘they don’t make toys the way they used to’.  So, to follow this logic, “they” used to make toys that were so indestructible that you could literally drop a house on them and they would not break.  No they didn’t.  They did NOT used to make toys like that.

Then Cynthia and her dog Basker arrive with an actual gift.  They bring a gift certificate to the groomer to get a free shampoo and haircut.  (Side Note: The Bow Wow Beauty Parlor will be adding a size provision to their future documents after the wash and cut of an entire yacht.)  But wait, the picture becomes a little clearer when we see Emily hand this gift off to Scott.  Emily likes Clifford the way he is.  This girl actually re-gifts the gift certificate right in front of Cynthia ala behind the back style that would be virtually impossible for Cynthia to not see.  That takes some serious balls.  Maybe now I am starting to see why some people didn’t feel compelled to make this party a priority.


the finale

So this whole disaster gets wrapped up when the cake shows up on a truck.  Clifford was surprised, but became even more surprised when his family pops out of the cake.  SO how fucking long were these poor dogs cooped up in this fake cake while all this non sense was going on?  How did they survive?  And how is Clifford smart enough to know his family and feel genuine happiness to see them yet not feel hurt and confused when they aren’t there for the hours of time prior to this moment?  That’s not fair to him.  The poor bastard has already had a rough go of it anyway being that he is a fucking GIGANTIC RED DOG!

I’ll tell you what should have happened.  Emily’s mom, when she immediately sensed no one was showing up to this thing, should have gotten that fucking cake out with Clifford’s family inside and made the best of things.  This mother was nonexistent after making the cookies and ice cream and that’s not right.  The whole party was mishandled from the get-go and it was a nightmare waiting to happen.

So what I am trying to say is that Clifford and Emily’s ‘friends’ are ignorant assholes, granted, and you shouldn’t surround yourself with that type of negativity, even if life has dealt you a bad hand, you still deserve better.  That being said Emily and her disfigured mutant could try a little harder to be nice to people, considering they know what it’s like to be shit on by crappy people.  Surround yourself with positivity and be positive yourself.  Don’t be a prick to people.  Life is just too short.  At least this is what I got out of the story……


if i had my life

normal is………20071204_normalpeopleBig

So.  I am 36 years old.  First of all, how the hell did that happen and second, whatever age you are, don’t tell me that 36 is young, I’m not bitching about the number, that’s not the point.  I am here and it is just another reminder that time is short.  So shut up and listen to me for a second (or don’t), but the ideal me has something to say right now.

Create something.  Resonate with someone.  Mean something to someone.  Have friends, have hobbies, have relationships.  Get happy, get angry, throw a chair once and a while.  Don’t sit back and be quiet, not anymore.  Need someone, need some thing or things, need feelings.  Forget embarrassed, forget uncomfortable unless that is who you are and need to be, let loose or don’t, but be who you are and try to feel pride in it.  Be weird, it’s ok.  Be really weird, a lot, that’s ok too.  Who’s the most normal person you know?  Ok, now see it from the other side.  Do you want anyone that knows you to answer that question with your name as the answer?  Believe that it is ok to be someone completely different from anyone else.  No one you know is the person they play in real life.


the you that you aren’t

If you find someone who is happy all the time, they aren’t, trust me.  I’ve had that title once or twice and while flattering, I guess, it’s laughable, but mostly because, and we’ve covered this before, I’m insane.  One thing I know for sure is that no one you know is the person they play online either.  I’m guilty too.  I share the best me of the day or week and play it off like that’s life… that’s my life……  We keep messing with people’s emotions and feelings when we do that and it IS serious.  Why can’t I be like them, why can’t I be happy all the time, why can’t I only go to great places everyday with all the best people and have the best time ever and always be doing, seeing, acting, feeling…..the best?  What have I done wrong?

But wait, maybe I AM the best?  I look at my accounts, my photos and I think maybe I am the best too.  Maybe even better than the best of all the bests?  Am I winning the competition here to see who can make up the best life?  It’s getting to the point where I have had more interaction with my friends through texting over the last few years than I did in person the ten years before that.

When was the last time you sent a sad photo?  Do you tell the world about the bad days?  You do still have bad days, right?  I have bad days and that’s ok.  Ah, but what would you become if you were honest?  You’d be branded the sad friend.  That all too important number would begin to drop, the ignore buttons, the unfollow clicks would come sooner and more often until there would be nothing left but your honesty and solitary social media account.  Then God help you because a social media account with no friends or followers is the saddest thing society can think of.  So don’t be honest.  Post that family portrait at the beach, wait two weeks until your next happy moment and post that too because I just can’t get enough of how perfect the world is when I get online and look at the people I know…

there is a reason to care

Perhaps every generation says this for whatever the reason is during that time period.  But at age 36 I honestly feel like we were the last people to grow up without full immersion into this other dimension where we can so easily be almost anything we want to be on paper, as long as we don’t have to prove it.  The thing is, this affects human being’s lives.  It affects their mental condition, it affects their ability to be happy, to feel satisfied.  If you are having a good day, you probably tend to disregard small annoyances.  On a really good day, you may even laugh at them.  “Oh look at Sally and Walter, they sure do love to go to the (input a location that, for you, can instantly invoke rage) I guess your kids have to be EXTRA smart or friends have to be EXTRA rich to go there and do that thing….Ha ha ha….go jump off a bridge with your hoosier or yuppie friends or whatever….ha ha.”

But what about the bad days?  What about the days when “go jump off a bridge” is where you are when your day starts?  When you wake up feeling down and even your one morning joy of coffee doesn’t work out right.  “Well, I can’t start over now!  I’m already at a caffeine level of 6 even though that cup of joe tasted like the inside of a dog’s stomach.  If I have more, even if it tastes good, I’ll probably feel too fast in my head and then feel sick.”  Now it’s 8:04 in the morning and you’re just like all the others waiting for Friday, except Friday right now, for you, could be anything as long as it isn’t this.  So, we already stated, this is a bad day jump started by your own swirling tornado of a mind and jolted into the orange, heightened alert status by Frank, the ‘I try so soft to be good at my job’ and make dog stomach coffee.  So let’s get to work, but probably not.  Where do we turn for comfort?  Where do look for guidance on how to wear a shirt or make a shirt or take a shirt and make it into a better shirt?  Where do we go for advice on making things out of other things and double checking that it’s all gluten free when we just don’t really know what that means?  And finally, for good measure because I could write essays on each of these, where do we go to feel comfort by looking at things we’ll never have, never be able to do, didn’t invent, design or create and see things we usually hate?  Well, you know.  So the bad day hits this moment head on and then we are greeted by Mr. Perfect and perfect doing perfect things and being perfect.  I need not go on as it doesn’t get any better……..

So, in conclusion, I really hope you got something out of my WordPress Blog that I just posted to Facebook and Twitter and REALLY hope you’ll give me a Like or even better, Share it with someone.

the alcoholic monologue

there’s never a good time to realize that you’re f*cked upSay-when

There’s REALLY never a good time to tell people you love that you’re f*cked up.  But there does come a point when it becomes easier to do it.  Then, if you’re lucky, it becomes such a part of you that you tell anyone at any time, and I truly mean you are lucky if you make it to this point, a lot of people never do.

“Oh you have an uncle who is an alcoholic?  That’s really super interesting.  Has that been fun for you?  What’s he like?  Maybe I know him from our club of insane people.  Thanks for trying to relate to me!”

Ok, so we actually DO have a club, but some people don’t quite get that joke.  I’m not sure they should either.  But you don’t have to know me.  You don’t have to relate to me and you don’t have to pretend to understand what it is like.  There might be an outward appearance of slapstick humor and quick one liners about the whole thing, but that’s just because the truth of the situation is sad and painful and hurts people.  It’s not fair in this instance to speak anymore in the plural form because while there is plenty of humor here, I don’t want to speak for anyone else.  I was able to stop drinking years ago, but not everyone is so lucky.


“i should quit drinking too, I drink too much”

If you tell people you are an alcoholic, get ready for this one.  Well how do you like to get drunk?  More importantly, how do you like to drink?  “It’s drinking time, boys!”  “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere” (is there a dumber f*cking phrase in the English language?)  You want to research and answer the drinking questions on yourself?  Go right ahead.  But you telling me you need to quit or cut back or whatever it is, that’s like me walking up to Ted Bundy and saying, “I sure can hurt people sometimes too, perhaps I should cut back.”  Maybe you smile or laugh at that analogy.  Well, I’m not.  (Ok I am AND I giggled when I realized the pun in there about cut back too.  When you think about that it also clearly speaks to my insanity in giggling at a pun inside an analogy comparing my own hurtful ways to one of the worst mass murderers in history.)  Anyway, that sh*t is true though.  You “drink too much” is a problem?  Well then figure it out, pal, but I have my own questions for you.  Lets call this next section:


am I am alcoholic questionnaire – using real life examples – answer true or false

  1. When I drink, I drink to excess on purpose and force people to stay up until 7a and listen to the score of the Shawshank Redemption while I cry and talk about life.
  2. My drinking causes issues at work, usually because I have a hard time by 11A talking normally to clients because I have polished off the bottle of red wine I bought at 8A on the way to work.
  3. I do stupid things when I drink, specifically during blackouts, such as paying a DJ $20 to sing your favorite song before the bar closes, even though it is not a karaoke bar or DJ, then falling backwards off the table you were dancing on and hitting your head.

that sh*t is funny……

The stories I tell are ones of good times and crazy moments.  I’m f*cked up, but who wants to hear about someone pissing in their own bed at the age of 30?  Well that DID happen, but it’s funnier when you tell the story about pissing the bed at age 22, the “bed” is a bunk bed, you’re on the top bunk and your buddy is on the bottom bunk.  Then the despicable become laughable, yet, the reality of the situation is that they are both actually just sad.  At a birthday party the joke gets more outrageous as each gift is opened and it is another bottle of vodka.  Everyone enjoys the gag and it is actually rather comical that at my birthday party I got 9 bottles of vodka.  The comedy seems to vanish quicker than the week and a half it took me to finish them all, except 1, which made it up to the last day I used it.

Let me be clear that I am not trying to create some sort of environment here that requires sympathy or pity.  I don’t want that at all.  I’ve seen plenty of “those looks”.  I’m just saying there is the surface and there is something underneath.


but when you put it that way, it’s not that funny

I may need to get real here.  I don’t even know if anyone will read this, but maybe someone does.  Even more so, maybe someone who actually questions his or her drinking reads it and I have to at least speak to that person.  I am that person.  I will always be that person.  I am different and I do things differently than other people.  But one day things did change for me.  This is no happy story, my friend.  I didn’t slam a drink down on the bar and say “I have had enough.”  My first moment came with a blood soaked shirt, a psychiatrist and a lot of tears on the faces of the people I love the most.  And that shit ain’t f*cking funny at all.

So if you want to relate, then let’s relate.  Do you know a plumber?  (If not, just play along.)  I don’t know any plumbers personally, but if I did and I happen to be speaking to another plumber, I’d probably say “Oh, my so and so is a plumber.”  Not knowing any plumbers personally I can’t say for certain, but if I did and had this conversation and made this comment I would imagine that plumber would have no more to say to me after the comment in particular than he did before I made the comment.  This is such a funny human trait that I am guilty of myself.  But when we speaking to another human being we do not know we look for relatable material to pass the time while we converse.  For some reason, we naturally relate by telling each other we know someone who does what they do or knows what they know or whatever.  Yet most of the time knowing that person gives us absolutely no more material to discuss with this stranger.  To be clear, I believe support and compassion are two of the greatest things on earth.  I just find us humans funny sometimes how we try to find the ways to do that.  So let me start the conversation by stating that I am an alcoholic, I’m a drug addict.


i have a great life idea!

“It sure is a pretty day outside today,” says no drug addict who isn’t high.  You see, I am a drug addict.  I like to use drugs to get me high.  I use the term drug referring to alcohol as well as other substances.  One I get those substances in my body I can focus on you.  THEN I can tell you it is a nice day out.  If I am high, I can sit here and tell you the f*cking opera is worth the money.  I don’t care about it.

I wouldn’t say I decided at a very young age to grow up and f*ck everything up with alcohol and drugs.  I would not say that.  My son had to fill out a sheet for pre-school about what I want to be when I grow up.  He picked a Ninja Turtle.  I didn’t read all of the class’s entries, but I didn’t see “town drunk”, “pothead” or “deadbeat drug addict” for anyone’s answer.  I guess I should have since I could have possibly at least been the one kid in class to fulfill his self-appointed destiny.  Main problem is, I wouldn’t have cared anyway.  This brings me to my last point……


you still haven’t told us what it’s like

There is a certain kind of pain reserved in life when it comes to aspects of love.  Have you ever loved someone so much before but you couldn’t tell them?  Perhaps they were in love with someone else, perhaps YOU were also in love with someone else at the same time, if you believe that to be possible.  For the point of this section, I’ll ask you to try and follow even if you have not.  When you love someone that much but cannot tell them, ever, it hurts real badly.  You want to be around them SO much and SO often, but you can’t and you need to be careful because if you let on too strongly they may become afraid and retreat.  You’re in a terrible, friend-zone-ish place that you will struggle with every single day and not be able to tell one person about it, because you will be shunned, you will be made to feel like your feelings are wrong or selfish.  But you know you love this person.  There is something about them that makes you smile at the very thought of their being.  You fantasize about a different dimension where you are able to be happy together.  You know that there are a handful of factors that may swoop in and take this person from you at any point in time.  This person is everything you ever thought happiness could be and you can’t understand why fate would play the cruelest joke in the world on you and put them in your life in a capacity where you can never be with them yet you must be around them constantly.  You also thank fate for giving you at least this.  Your insanity grows more and more each day as you struggle with whether or not to come clean……


this post is about a girl?  it’s about a crush?

No.  Well, if you want me to make the worst, most awful joke ever, it’s sort of about Mary Jane or Cindy Smirnoff I guess.  But my point was that’s what it’s like to be a drug addict.  At least for me.  It was a constant struggle of getting enough but not too much so people could tell.  You wish you could live without fear of judgement if people knew.  You can’t understand why you were given this terrible affliction, but you can’t imagine living without it and you know you are one discovery away from it being possibly taken away forever.  You dream and desire to be high when you’re not and when you are high, it’s rarely enough and may God be with you if the drugs stop working because there is no worse place on this planet than that.


i think I’m sad now…..

You’re not sad.  Don’t be sad.  Remember the jokes, remember the funny.  Embrace your faults, embrace yourself for who you are.  I was a craptastic, selfish, rude, a**hole addicted to alcohol and drugs and look at me now, I cut out the alcohol and drugs!  Life IS sad.  But not always, I hope.  But the sad is what can also bring us to happy sometimes.  You don’t know me because you’re a drug addict like me, but you can still get to know me.  Just remember that when we meet, and I tell you I am an alcoholic, don’t tell me about your cousin, feel free to ask me what it’s like being an alcoholic.  Then maybe we can actually get to know each other and have a real conversation.

the Who’s had it coming…

I’m not writing this because I want to believe in bad. I’m not saying I want to believe in sad either. But I know these things are there. I know that dark times happen for all of us. Some longer, some shorter. There are times in life when we all have our dark sides and the moments we keep to ourselves, our taboo thoughts that bring on fear and leave us almost embarrassed, we better not tell anyone…On a bad day when someone cuts you off, you curse their name and hope they ‘get in an accident’ but deep down you know that person is just heading home to his family, like you may be. We like to think that moment is fleeting.  Well, we believe you if YOU believe you. But what about that tiny percent, that little voice that may, even for a second, actually wish that person harm.

There is that little part of you that secretly understands certain crimes you see on the news.  That part of you that knows what drove the Grinch the take everything from the Who’s. And why?  Because screw you, Who’s, and all that you stand for. No one is happy all the time and enough with the ‘everything is gonna be ok bullsh*t’.  Have you admitted this to yourself before?  Perhaps I couldn’t be talking about you, only crazy people like myself have this side….

Well, Who’s…’s not going to be ok. A wicked, evil creature took everything from you. We need not be superficial here, but you have NOTHING, SO STOP SINGING.

Ah, but then again, everyone wants to feel good about the ending. “See what happened? The town didn’t care about their possessions, they just wanted to have each other.”

Ah well the Grinch saw that and everything changed for him real quickly. Hold the phones and pause reality. (well the reality of this story)  This pure evil, society-loathing creature who, just moments ago took every single crumb, literally, from an entire town, hears singing and all of the sudden he turns into a saint, decides to give it all back and become the hero.  And you eat it up like Christmas dinner, consequently another item that was stolen from the Who’s.

Well, well, well, first of all, there’s no hero here people. Perhaps, if there was, MAYBE its Cindy Loo Who for somehow not getting murdered by this narcoleptic psychopath because she caught him in the act and could identify him, MAYBE…The Grinch a hero? As much as I’m a hero for flushing a public toilet after I use it. Throw me a parade.

Let’s move on. Let’s get past the happy ending that makes no sense anyway and set aside the moral of the story (whatever that is) and drop the good feelings and step back and realize that sometimes we don’t get our f*cking way. Sometimes life throws us a real sh*tty curveball and there isn’t anything we can do about it. So let’s talk about that, the side of us that gets mad, that gets pissed off and needs to let it loose.

So what drove the Grinch to do such evil? Whatever it is or was can haunt even the purest of our souls, if pushed in some way. Sometimes certain feelings in life can drive us into this darkness, into this sadness and evil and you don’t want to be there, but it can happen.

Oh that usually isn’t us, no way we say, which is why we can typically be good people and walk around not killing every asshole that looks at us the wrong way. Hell we may even just say hello or how are ya, of course with the subtle terror that one day someone may actually tell us how they are and we will have to stop and listen. Let me ask you this, what if almost any person you know at work or outside of your group of those you care for actually stopped you and answered that question? Would you listen? Would you care? Would you help?  When I stop and think of MY answers to these questions, I have to tell you my hopes and expectations of myself don’t always mirror what I think I would actually do.

So, I guess my point is this.  That darkness is there, don’t deny it and definitely don’t push it down each and every day.  That is coming out and the more you push it away the bigger the explosion can be.  But I guess my main point is more so that the f*cking Who’s are inept and naive and it was inevitable that they would eventually be taken for everything they own, literally.  But they also might be the luckiest people on earth for being the way that way.

the lead off monday monkey

I don’t give a sh*t if it’s Friday. I’m not gonna walk around smiling like a damn fool because apparently my life is so awful 5 days out of the week that nearing the completion of this walk across hot coals while sucking on tacks makes me so happy that I turn into everyone’s best pal. My entire existence is not based directly on the idea that I can only truly enjoy 28% of my life, yet spend 72% miserable trying to get to that one f-ing day….Friday.

You know what I say to the people who think like that? Good luck. You know who I am? I’m the guy who pisses you off sometimes. I’m the guy who smiles at you on MONDAY morning at 7A and that makes you mad. ‘What’s his problem you mumble under your breath?” Yet when you smile at me on Friday at 4PM and I look at you like you’ve suddenly turned into Richard F***ing Simmons when you’ve been a zombie all week I come across as an asshole. Well look at you, Clayton, you sure do have it all figured out. Today is the big day. No work tomorrow, no work Sunday. All your dreams will be coming true this time. Clay, my friend, here’s your big moment to shine. Break that smile out and tell everyone your big plans. “Oh, Linda, I can’t wait to hear the family’s plans for Saturday and Sunday, sounds just terrific!” Give me a break. So you go around and tell everyone to “Have a great weekend”. I have other plans. I’d rather say, “How about you go to the zoo and get your teeth knocked out by a monkey.” Guess what, at least you’d have a great story to tell me on Monday and an even harder time telling it, considering you got your damn teeth kicked in by a monkey.

Now chances are, although I don’t know a ton about monkey fighting (especially when a human is involved), but the monkey probably uses his hands or monkey fists to knock the teeth out and not the feet, but who am I to sit here and explain to someone else how their teeth got knocked out, it’s their ‘crazy weekend’ story. Instead, without fail, I am left every Monday morning hoping to see just one damn co-worker of mine walking around with a big mouth full of gauze and monkey fist marks on their cheek. I would walk right up to them, knowing exactly what happened and I would look at them with the anger and hatred for rabid monkeys that I now apparently have and I would just nod and say, “F*cking monkeys.” Then that man or woman, I have no sexist beliefs on the probability that a monkey would be more or less likely to kick a man or woman’s teeth in over the others. SO, then that person would gauze-mumble to me “I hate Mondays.”

Now, of course, I would assume he or she said “I hate monkeys”, which would be the natural inclination here. But it also proves my point that a man or woman that has so recently lost all of their natural ability to eat or chew food anymore has not only come back to work the next day but also has the incredible sense of humor and perspective to say they hate Mondays, well that person would logically become my new best friend, but only after the subsequent surgeries and denture fitting, I’m not wasting my time trying to talk to a toothless asshole who can’t take a beating from a monkey, BUT, I respect him (or her) for it and that’s the point. I’ll keep hoping for my Monday morning monkey story, but my guess is that it aint coming anytime soon.