It's been a monkey kind of week so far.

Got obsessed with The Monkees
(it was Valentine's Day that caused that).
Then found some extremely cool space monkey screensavers
from the Gorillaz. Then I got bit on the head
by a wild/annoyed/escaped Resus lab monkey,
and then I died. But I got better.

As always, glad the weekend is spittin' distance away.
And yes, I do disgust even myself saying colloquialisms such as that.


Which reminds me:
I found my old POS camera!

Where?
In the beer box in my car!

Really?
"What's the beer box?" you're asking.
I caught myself asking the same thing, too,
when my brain automatically screamed
"THE BEER BOX"at me.
It's the console in between the driver and passenger seats
where you stow your open beer, just perfect
because it keeps the beer
from tipping over while you're cruisin'
around the Krystal parking lot
in your parent's car every Friday and Saturday night.*

See? I totally forgot that bit about me
growing up in the deep South, too.
And there are numerous reasons for that.

Boy. Having your brain scream things like that at you
is the equivalent of that scene in a zombie movie, y'know,
where the living, clawed hand shoots up
from that freshly turned grave.

In other words, promise me this:
That you will shoot to kill me if I ever worked the phrase
"Git 'Er Dunnn" into any conversation.
Any.



*But I promise you, I wasn't listening to The Eagles,
Chicago, or Journey. It was The Beastie Boys, Madness,
and Adam Ant.