LAST EDITED ON 02-16-12 AT 04:13 PM (EST)

LAST EDITED ON 02-15-12 AT 07:39 PM (EST)

Just stumbled out of the jungle, I was kidnapped by a band of Howler Monkeys, and fell in Stockholm Syndrome love. My honey had big ears and is inarticulate, and you really don't want to look at her behind, but somehow we got along. Until she went to a swinger party without me, and, feeling rejected by the ape of my dreams, I ran away. I ran and ran without direction, blinded by my tears. Until I found myself on a loading pier for a ship being refitted for a special secret trip.

Where am I going now? Are there swingers here too? Well, sure enough, there are a whole boat load of swingers, some are not as hairy and they talk too much, but at least their butts are hygienic. Somewhat. I hope.

Being thirsty as heck, and not seeing any muddy pools to drink from, I imitated my fellow travelers and grabbed something that was called a bottle of whiskey and drank my fill. It hit me that this wasn't water afterward, it was something else. Last thoughts for a while. Fortunately there were those that took pity on a poor naked monkey boy and filled out an application for me. Which is fortunate, I have a problem with following the rules and would have probably answered the question with silly sarcastic X-rated responses.

Which I read two days later when I awoke:

And my bank account password is NOT FishHaveMoreFun. It's Password. (Oops)