DRUGGED MONKEY 21: Dirty Laundry and Dental Damns

3/27 - As I sat there wondering about all the different things that had happened to me and all the places that life was sure to take me I came to a startling realization: I would never be happy until I had a set of towels with my initials sewn on them. That was it. That’s why I’d been acting out in school. That’s why I wouldn’t let anyone get close to me. That may even be the reason I treated those Asian kids in the storage container so poorly. Nobody should ever have peanut butter smeared under their eyelids. I realize that now. I’m making progress. I kept retracing the steps in my mind. The reasons I’d come to where I was. The night before last was the night previous to the one that followed. It was always like that. I walked back to the car and looked at the dead koalas in the back seat. Beneath one of the koalas laid a notepad with the directions to the temple. I needed to act fast if I was going to pantomime in quick fashion. Maybe a shotgun filled with brine shrimp wasn’t the type of weapon an undead golfer from the 70s would be expecting? I had to hope so. After this job I would be out. I’d be done. I’d finally have the money for the monogrammed towels I’d picked out at Mervyns. They were so close it almost seemed like a dream. [Hazy animation flashback, maybe some harp music thrown in, cut to our hero walking into a Mervyns, jump cuts through the store, jump cut to our hero softly rubbing towels to his face, a close up of a tear gently rolling down his cheek, and now we jump cut to explosions, koala bears screaming as they run burning into the night, a crazy one-eyed fry chef telling the future in a vat of bubbling grease, and the corpse of Colonel Sanders singing show tunes with a pornographic bumblebee on Jesus’ knee] I slapped myself in the face a few times…”The towels man. You’re doing it for the towels.” And I poured the shrimp into the tubes.