The Kids….wants to know, “Who you callin’ a ‘panzee??”

So, let’s say someone, a friend even, calls you up and says, “hey man, I need you to do me a solid. You free to help me out with something Saturday afternoon?”.

You’re probably thinking, “my friend probably needs a hand moving some furniture….maybe installing something onto the computer….maybe some afternoon delight?. Who knows, right? Either way, you’re most likely game to help, right?

"Hm, do I feel like having a pinot, a cabernet, OOOGG OOOG AAHH AHH?"

"Hm, do I feel like having a pinot, a cabernet, OOOGG OOOG AAHH AHH?"

Well, if your friend is Sandra Herold, you might want to think twice.

Sandra’s idea of an “assist”?

“Hey, can you come over and help me move my monkey?”

You’re probably thinking, “Oh, I see where you’re going with this. You want me to come over and ‘move your monkey’ huh? Oh yeah, I’ll move your monkey for you…I’ll move that monkey good….I’ll move that monkey better’n it’s ever been moved before, Sandra….”

And then you come over there and see it’s actually a monkey. And not just any monkey either, according to the following (pulled from the linked article):

“…he drank wine from stemmed glasses and used a computer…”. So not only was Sandra asking for help with her pet monkey, she was asking for help with her drunk, horny (b/c you know that monkey was looking at porn) monkey.

I know how wild and ungainly my friends are when they’re drunk at the bar; can you imagine trying to subdue a drunk, horny when he’s in his own home?

I’d take one look at the scene and would be like, “…here I thought you wanted me to come over so we could bang like orangutans and here you are trying to get me to play some ‘Gorillas in the Mist’ bullshit–I don’t want any part of this crazy white shit.”

Date Night!

Date Night!

And then I’d back out of the house slowly, never turning my back and never taking my eyes off that drunk, horny chimp. And then, once I was out, I’d burn the house down–because I don’t want any chick crazy enough to live with a fuggin’ monkey strolling the aisles of my local Whole Foods.

And then I’d call and turn myself in to Animal Cops.

But let’s say you’re a real pal and you decide, you know what? I’m going to stay and help Sandra put this crazy mofo down.

How would you handle that? I think you have to fight monkey-with-monkey.

I’d imagine you’d start by slowly removing your pants with one hand, and with the other, motioning for Sandra to move around to the other side of the desk to surround the monkey.

Then, once my pants were off, I’d take my draws off slowly–slowly–remember, this monkey’s probably got wood now, so you’ve got to be careful not to make it too excitable or you’ll end up unwittingly making man-monkey babies with this thing. The world needs only one Flava Flave.

As a matter of fact, this tactic probably works because now the monkey’s watching you, licking his red wine-stained lips, touching his monkey balls or something because you’re nekked. So while he’s watching you tip-toe over to him, with one hand you steady his gaze, peacefully, calmly, making monkey noises.

Now, while he’s watching, shit in your other hand.

Feel free to taunt him once he's drunk: "Look at with, with your stoopid monkey titties hanging out."

Feel free to taunt him once he's drunk: "Look at you, with your stoopid monkey titties hanging out."

Have Sandra keep pouring him glass after glass of wine. Keep him calm. Say, “hey monkey, whatcha got there–a merlot? 2006? Is it good? Yeah, I bet it is good Merlot you tick-eatin’ mofo–”

–and then sling the shit right into his eyes.

He’ll drop his wine glass (and scream something like “Egads you hairless ape!” since he drinks wine), stop beating off and be ready to rumble.

Well get ready because now this drunk monkey’s in full-on-ape-shit mode since you’ve reverted him to his primal state.

At this point, Sandra hopefully isn’t making out with him and is instead sticking to the plan and trying to subdue him, too.


This cannot be stressed enough. You ever seen a Jackie Chan movie? You know how he’ll use turtle shells, dish soap, candle wax as a weapon?– I saw a movie once where he used two tampons as nunchucks–well I’m betting that monkeys fight the same way. He’ll use his feet, pee in your face, Sandra’s wig….beat you with your own sneaker….maybe even appeal to your sense of reason since he’s a wine-drinking-monkey…but you’ve got to hold your ground until he’s finally overcome with the bottle of wine.

Then say, “ok, while this monkey’s passed out, I’m going to get a baseball bat and beat it.” Naturally, as a crazy white woman, Sandra will try and defend the monkey, but explain to her: “Oh yeah, sure, let’s let it live. You know what happens next? He’ll bring meth-monkeys back here with him. You ever seen a gorilla on meth? Me neither. Wine-drinking monkeys are like nosferatu. It must be killed.”

At this point, you may want to have her leave the room. Then, as the door slowly swings shut, say something real bad-ass like, “ok drunk-monkey, it’s just me and you now…”

and then spank the monkey.

Who knows? Maybe you’ll get your afternoon delight still.


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