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I'm 22 years old... I work for eBay Trust and Safety doing investigations... FUN STUFF!
LoL and no.. I don't work from home.. why does everyone think that?!?!

We have two kitties, K2 and Burton. And we are self proclaimed Tattooed White Trash
hahaha

I have msn if you wanna talk to me: crimsonandclover01@hotmail.com


And for the finale.. here is the best story in the whole wide world:

I like monkeys.

The pet store was selling them for five cents apiece.

I thought this was odd since they are normally a couple thousand apiece.

I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I bought 200 of them.

I like monkeys.

I took my 200 monkeys home.

I have a big car.

I let one of them drive.

His name was Sigmund.

He was retarded.

In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in the

genitals.

I laughed.

They punched me in the genitals.

I stopped laughing.

When I got home, I herded them into my room. They didn’t adapt very well to their new

environment. They would screech and hurl themselves off the couch at high speeds and

slam into the wall.

Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into it’s third

hour.

Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive.

They all died. No apparent reason.

They all just sort of dropped dead.

Kinda like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later.

Goddamn cheap monkeys.

I didn’t know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room; on the

bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase.

It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.

I tried to flush one down the toilet.

It didn’t work.

It got stuck.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey and one hundred ninety-nine dead, dry monkeys.

I tried to pretend that they were just stuffed animals.

That worked fine for a while. That is, until they began to decompose.

It started to smell real bad.

I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in my toilet and I didn’t want to call a

plumber.

I was embarrassed.

I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately there was only

enough room for two at a time, so I had to change them every 30 seconds. I also had to

eat all the food in the freezer so it didn’t go bad.

I tried to burn them, but little did I know that my bed was flammable.

I had to extinguish the fire.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer,

and one hundred ninety seven dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed, and the odor

wasn’t improving.

I became agitated at my inability to dispose of the dead monkeys and I really had to

use the bathroom.

So I went and severely beat one of the monkeys.

I felt better.

I tried throwing them away.

But the garbage man said the city was not allowed to dispose of charred primates.

I told him I had a wet one.

He couldn’t take it either.

I didn’t bother asking about the frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution:

I gave them out as Christmas gifts.

My friends didn’t quite know what to say.

They pretended to like them, but I could tell they were lying.

Ingrates.

So I punched them in the genitals.

God, I like monkeys.