You know, I used to believe that I was writing this things myself. But according to a comment I read on Legless In Perpetuum, I'm not me at all, I'm actually just infinite monkeys typing away at infinite typewriters. Or laptops, as the case may be. Possibly an infinite amount of monkeys who have been fed with an infinite amount of LSD - I'm not sure about that bit.
But you can't refute the logic. I mean, really: the spelling mistakes, the erratic posts, the random, emotional outpourings, the occasional shocking outbursts of eloquence? I can't be a real writer at all; the only real explanation are those bloody monkeys.
And the little fuckers, having stolen my artistic integrity away with a few strokes of the keyboard, aren't going to be happy to stop just there. Oh no. In a flailing of the fingers, my name is reduced to eight letters and a blank space. In a slip of the wrist, my history disappears into cyberspace, leaving behind an empty screen. The ciphers of my life - dates, names, words - become meaningless symbols standing in the place of other meaningless symbols. Thousands of digitalised pixels vanish into nothingness.
I can't even yell at the fucking monkeys for doing this. 'I' don't exist any more. It is as if I had never been ...
But, you know, it's rather liberating becoming a bunch of infinite monkeys. I can get away with things that I never could have otherwise. Like type in a bunch of swear words for no reason at all:
Pootit cock wee bumface cunt shit piddle bum bum bum bum bum
Or I can just type in random strings of symbols:
fgdeaendfdsxvgndn thyj trghjews yher ytj erg rthy erh srg eryyjusat wqytyjaq ytkipo'edjri.ADQYTU, r trj qwrhyuqr efgtj q
And if elephants can be painters - why can't I write?
Speaking as one bunch of infinite monkeys to another, I cannot overstress the importance of correct mispelling. It is vital that you are accurate in your inaccuracies: after all, you don't want to be mistaken for a real person writing real things:
Here is just one quote illustrative of the wrong and the right way to mispell things:
"Butter my heart, three-parsoned Cod ..."
"Batter my heart, three-personed God ..."
Infinite monkey Donne
If you're not careful, you could mispell an entire passage incorrectly, and find you've typed something profound and meaningful in instead:
"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterday's have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Infinite monkey Shakespeare.
Here are just some of the masterpieces that have been produced by us here at Infinite Monkeys (tm):
The Bhagavad Litre
A Tail of Too Cities
The Furry Queen
The Roam of the Uncient Meeriner
With these great works for inspiration, I'm sure your future as a bunch of Infinite Monkeys will be bright indeed.
Tim, your links stink, you fink!
- John Bangsund's Threepenny Planet
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- The Bolta. Aiyeeeeee!!!!!
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- Sir Martinkus
- A Zemblanian abroad and at home
- A hodge podge of hotzeplotz
- THE SLAMMA!
- Jottlesby's nottings, or should that be Nottlesby's jottings?
- The Snarking of the Hunt
- Jazzy Hands
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- The Blogger on the Cast Iron Balcony
- Be an Opinion Dominion Minion!
- ... and Fel
- His brilliant career - from whale sushi to crumbed prawn
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- Was two peas, now three peas
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- Wire of Vibe
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- Old Sterne
- The briefs...
- ... and the brieflets
- The Purple Blog
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