Community ~ Journals by Writer ~ Monkey ~ Batshit

The Journals of Wild Poets

Batshit
Journals - Monkey
Written by Furious George
Ook, motherfucker.
  
Wednesday, 02 May 2007 01:21
smaller text tool iconmedium text tool iconlarger text tool icon
As in crazy. As in all you fuckers are.

Swear to god that you have gotta be the most ass-backwards species the planet has ever known. I mean, fer Chrissakes - most animals try to avoid death. You fuckers wield it like a parade baton.

Did ya stare at the sun too long? Is that why all yer damn hair fell out? Felt the damn need to cook your noggin playing Ra? I mean, this fucking death-cult crap has gotta stop. Seriously. I gotta admit, it was kinda funny watching you morons beat each other over the head with sticks and swords and catapults and shit, but damn - now you're fucking up the place for the rest of us.

Doncha get it, cueballs? You go around doing the work of a fucking God that says the world is gonna end, and whaddya think is gonna happen? You fuck up everything that helps life continue.

And that's what this shit is about man - basic fucking maintenance. Were you fuckwads raised in a frat house? You don't even know how to keep poison out of your damn food. For the rest of us here it's like being handcuffed in the back seat while a two year old throws the car into overdrive.

Sad, ya know. You weak gangly motherfuckers are blind. That's what your damn problem is. It's gotta be. 'Cause I can tell ya, anyone who could see how beautiful this place is (even after being scarred) couldn't do what you're doing. I mean, christ - you fucks take out entire forests for the purpose of wiping your collective bald asses.

It's mindboggling. Ya know most of the species are giving up? The whales figured it out a long time ago - saw the way the wind was blowing after you started fucking harpooning them. But see, the bad news is when the insects start giving up... they're the machinery of this ship. And man, pray to god the ants don't go, because the bees are beginning to falter.

It's all out of whack now anyhow - we ain't getting back to where we were. I hope you fuckers have a plan, cause the world's about to go into a tailspin you can't pull her out of.

Personally, see, we monkeys already it figured out.... after all, there were monkeys in space before you fuckers got the balls to go up there. What's fucking hilarious to me is that you don't see what you gotta do. You got most of the tools, and all ya gotta do is put the pieces together and get your asses out there. You could even take some of us other folks with ya - you're gonna need us, cause you can't terraform an environment without all of the actors for the environment you want.

I mean, fucking A, if you've really fucked up things here where shit's gonna trash us all soon, you could do it on the cheap - record some DNA on disk and send it out there. If you were quick & smart about it, you could even send out the tools to grow it with the ship. Give some semblance of a future to our damn kids.

And you better not forget us - each one of us is part of the effing machinery. You're gonna need all of us to pull this off.

Not that I think you fucks are gonna listen to me... you've got an Armageddon to attend, and it wouldn't do to show up late for the cannonballs. Jackasses...

But fuck, who knows... maybe your batshit makes good enough gunpowder to blow us off this rock.

*snort*

  No Comments.
You need to login or register to post comments.
Comment on this work in the Cauldron. (0 posts)




           | 
Creative Commons License
The content above is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License, in the name of the attributed author, unless otherwise noted.

All unattributed content is provided under the same license by www.wildpoets.com. Wild Poets is run on open source code, licensed under the GPL or similar open-source licenses. Please click here to view our software credits.
Powered by Joomla!
Web hosting services by SiteGround