You are Bonk, the homeless monk. Your belly is empty, and you need to toke, but you are broke. So you tell your jokes to the blokes on the road, and they throw you coins to fill your belly and let you toke, since it's the week of Santa's deeds. Suddenly there is a goat with a growth with his backside in the road, and he runs away from you. You run after him, but you fall down a hole. The next day you wake up again in a strange place. What happened? You are not able to escape the hole, but you notice a series of tunnels so you decide to go deeper. After some time you come out of the tunnel and see a large city. It looks like a small town, but bigger. There are many people walking around, but nobody speaks to you. You tell a stranger one of your jokes: The stranger looks at you and says: I don't think your jokes are funny. The stranger looks at you and says: I don't think your jokes are good. You roast the stranger with the following statements: The stranger is fat. The stranger is a bad person. The stranger is not funny. The stranger leaves in a hurry. You are alone again, and you feel lonely. A guy sidles up to you and tell you a joke. He is Tony, a guy who also makes jokes that his friends don't understand. You tell a joke to some friends: One of them says: I don't understand your joke. One of them says: Your joke is stupid. > You ask your friends for their jokes. One of them says: I know a joke about a monkey. One of them says: I know a joke about a monkey. One of them says: I know a joke about a monkey. > You say "Tell me a joke about a monkey." One of them says: I know a joke about a monkey. One of them says: I know a joke about a monkey. You hear the sirens of the KQ officers drawing near. The KQ officers are the joke police. They patrol the city to punish jokes that are not funny. You manage to escape the joke police and hide in a small shack behind a convenience store. The next day you decide to leave the city and go to the next city. On the way to this new city, you write a new completely original joke: A man walks into a bar, and the bartender says the usual line: What can I get you? Then the man says to the bartender: I got what I need right here. The joke is lame, but you can imagine it being funny. > You suddenly, you see a monkey at the end of the bar. A crowd is gathered around him and laughing really hard. What is happening? You approach the end of the bar and see a monkey on a stage. You hear some of the monkey's jokes: A man walks into a bar with a roll of tarpaulin. The bartender says, "Don't tell me, you're a tarpaulin man." The man replies, "No, I'm a man who is rolling in tar-paper." The crowd roars with laughter. What happens next? You can either approach the monkey or not. If you do, turn to PAGE 7. If you don't, turn to PAGE 16. > You turn to PAGE 7. You go to the monkey and say: "Do you know the difference between a dead cat in the road and a dead monkey?" "No," says the monkey. "The traffic cone." The monkey seems to get it, and then he laughs. He's laughing so hard his face turns red and he looks like a balloon about to burst. Then he suddenly explodes. > You turn to the audience and say "Anyone got a traffic cone?" You finish your joke, and everyone gets it. They laugh for days. You are famous forever. Decades pass and you are performing at The Flamingo Casino to a room of 300 drunks that are not paying attention to you at all. Suddenly, you feel a sharp pain in your chest. You grab at it and pull out a tiny pistol. You yell, "Does anyone know who this belong too?" Suddenly, everyone knows your joke. > You spot a monkey in the audience. A monkey in the front row looks guilty. You point at him and say, "You put the gun in my chest. Confess or I'll shoot your balls off." The monkey starts to sweat profusely. > You turn to the audience and say "Someone get me a traffic cone" threatenly. The audience laughs. You point at the monkey and say, "You took my joke, admit it or I'll blow your groin off." The monkey starts to cry. "Ok," he sobs. Cory Jeldman, a guy who gives you a standing ovation in the middle of your comedy show, tells you to ease up on the monkey because the monkey is his boss. He's a hitman for the mob. The monkey is taking out the competition for him. you decide to tell to tell the monkey your closing bit. The monkey begins to giggle. The next day you wake up to the news that the owner of a chain of dry cleaners has been found with his throat slit from ear to ear. > You look at the newspaper obituary about the owner and see the monkey's picture. The monkey has a mohawk and a sneer on his face. His eyes are black dots. You were right not to trust the murderous little bastard. You shake your head slowly from side to side. The moral of the stuff: Don't fuck with monkeys. They're not funny and they're dangerous.