Everybody's got something to fold except

Everybody's got something to fold except for me and my monkey.

My monkey said nothing, but calmly folded a letter he'd written on fancy stationary, slid it in an envelope, & licked it shut. I guess it's only me, then. My large claw-hands

nervously clenched the steel bar below. What had that mischievous little monkey written this time? I nibbled on some sunflower seeds and contemplated the "ifs."

If the monkey knew where the bodies were hidden I would be done. I looked at what the monkey had written and my eyes widen with fear.

AFO*5+ç&)=(&+BODYINTHEFRIDGE"%+ç=Q*%"+ŋ#@½50@#ukl23011¶|æßĸðlwtł←ŧ¶↓ĸ|@¼}¬¬⅝⅞205fkcGRANDMATOO%"3@½ ¦}@→}¼|¬ ¢' I had to dispose of this incriminating monkey but

I just kept soiling my pants. What if it had ebola? I couldn't just risk punching it in the face and cutting myself. The monkey started shrieking and pointing to the fridge,

"Give me a damn banana! Now!" I decided it would be best if I

-- a little too big. In his zeal, he had not only devoured the banana in its entirety but also the better portion of my cybernetic forearm. Sparks flew from the exposed wires, and

within moments every flammable substance around was ablaze. Fifty years later scientists and archeologists would struggle to understand the events that lead to that dreadful day.