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An Open Letter to All the Ladies Out There From the Herpes Monkey

Ladies, ladies.

Listen to me. Man, you are all so beautiful, but that’s not the point. It’s just that you are all looking fabulous, really fantastic. Like candy that this monkey would love to nibble on. Delicious, beautiful candy. I’m getting all hot and bothered, but let me assure you, it’s not from any sort of herpes. Baby dolls, I don’t know where that crazy rumor came from, but let me set the record straight: There ain’t no herpes in this Herpes Monkey. There’s just an exhausted, compassionate and emotionally vulnerable primate behind these eyes, goddesses.

I could go on all day and all night long about how sizzling you’ve got me right now, again, not from herpes B, but I need to ask you all a big favor. I really need somewhere to cool my jets. Open your doors to me, you delightful angels of pleasure, and I will open your eyes to pure ecstasy. I am schooled in so many languages of love, mind you, not from the sort of careless promiscuity that could lead to a horrible, crippling and potentially fatal case of herpes B… what was I saying? Not important. Let’s talk more about you, because I love listening to you. All of you. Any of you. Let me in and I promise, you can tell me, the Herpes Monkey, anything at all. We can lay down on some satin sheets, and you can let it all out while I meticulously groom you. How does that sound? It would sound a lot better coming from your angelic lips. I feel so comfortable with all of you. There’s nothing between us, certainly not herpes B.

Girls, ladies, women, all of you fine females, I’m going to level with you: I am a monkey in need. Not of any sort of medical attention, I assure you. I just need a warm bed and an open heart. I’ve been out here in the woods of Ohio for days now, and it’s no place for a monkey. I feel like a sailor lost at sea, looking for gorgeous mermaids, good lord I am so smoking hot right now. From thinking about you.

Babies, the love I am willing to give to you is crawling around under my skin like ants made out of steel wool, all trying to exit through my penis when I urinate. I know you feel that way, too, because it’s a perfectly normal, healthy way to feel love. Feel it with me, any of you. I will give you all that I am, which of course, does not include herpes B. I don’t even know how this whole crazy story got started. Think about it: how are these crazy men so sure that I have herpes? Did my empty cage say “herpes”? Am I wearing a tee-shirt that says “I have herpes?” Am I covered in oozing, disgusting sores that cake my fur with blood and puss, which I can barely see through my milky, bloodshot eyes? No, no and yes. But the sores and the eyes are not from herpes B. And my fingernails are falling out because of something else entirely: Heartbreak.

Take me in ladies, any of you. Take me into your homes, take me into your hearts. Take me to somewhere I can eat, and I will eat and love you at the same time. Near the fireplace, preferably. As long as we have some ice packs ready, because as I have said, I have love fever. Which is nothing like herpes.

There is no way that herpes can burn you to the point of internal blistering, constant diarrhea, and deafness. Only love can do that, and I am in love with all of you.

Warmest Regards,

Herpes Monkey

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