Monkeys Wearing Pants Read Online Free Page A

is going along great,
and the next minute, you wake up to find you have an ear hair long
enough to use as a high wire across Niagara Falls. What the
hell?
    I don’t really mind kids blasting their music
at gas stations or convenience stores. I think that kids of every
generation have done that (although, blasting Bachman Turner
Overdrive on my 8-track with my tiny car speakers didn’t exactly
cause the windows to shake). I think I’m going to get a new sound
system with massive speakers and a roof-mounted woofer and start
blasting “Muskrat Love’ by the Captain and Tennille. I think that
would make a bunch of teenagers freak out and start clawing at
their ears. Oh, middle-age payback is sweet!
    So, driving to Reno today, I realized that I
had left my right blinker on for like 10 miles. Christ, it's
starting!
    I hope that my wife will still love me when
she has to wheel me around and change my adult diapers
(occasionally shouting at the girls, “Who fed your father
corn?”).
    Sometimes, I think wouldn't it be great,
knowing what I know now, to go back in time to high school? Then, I
remember algebra.
    You know you are getting older when you are
trying to hold on for that rest area twenty miles down the road,
but your bladder keeps tugging on your shirt sleeve and saying,
"Are we there yet?"
    It's not having two kids in college,
remembering the pet rock craze or the fact that I voted for Jimmy
Carter that makes me feel old. It's how far I have to scroll to
find my birth year every time I fill anything out on the
internet!
    I hadn't realized this until recently, but
apparently, when Mr. Magoo died, I inherited his eyebrows.
    I'm wondering how old a guy has to be before
he can join the "Men wearing plaid shorts, black shoes, and white
athletic socks club?" I think I would really rock that look.

Travel
    I travel quite a bit for my job. After not making
it in stand-up comedy, as the lead singer of a rock band or as a
professional basketball player, I navigated to the next logical
choice…retail. Here are a few of my observations and mostly true
accounts from my travels. All aboard! (That’s a poor choice of
words as not one of these anecdotes takes place on a train. I
apologize profusely. I really feel terrible now).
    On the almost four-hour plane ride from
Seattle to Anchorage, the nerdy guy sitting next to me really,
really wanted to have a long conversation about all of the Resident
Evil games and movies, including what my opinion was about each one
and how I would rank them and which ones had the best CGI, etc. I
asked him how much he knew about massive genital warts somehow
forming in the shapes of former famous presidents’ heads, not
unlike a little Mt. Rushmore in your underpants. Surprisingly, we
did not talk much after that.
    Who decided that you had to have a PhD to
figure out how to set the alarm on a hotel clock?
    Just went through security at Fairbanks
Airport. It was me and seven TSA agents. Not another soul in sight.
It took fifteen seconds to get through. I felt like I was sneaking
on the best ride at Disneyland in the middle of the night.
    So today, as I was driving to Reno, a woman
driving a U-Haul moving van almost ran me off the road (and over
the side of the mountain) when she tried to get into my lane with
me in it. After getting back on the road (and peeing myself ever so
slightly), I passed her and just drove on. Ironically, about twenty
minutes later, I was at a rest stop talking on the phone when who
should pull in? Yes, the U-Haul death dealer. I went up to her and
said, "Hey, no biggie, but you almost killed me back there. I'm
just saying..."
    She replied nonchalantly, "Oh, really? Sorry
about that," and that was it. I left. It was the most
anti-climactic, near-death, road rage experience ever.
    Yes! Only 950,246 miles to go to be a Million
Miler on my airline card!
    I just spent ten minutes looking for my car
in a parking lot. Oh yeah, that's right – I’m thousands of miles
from home and