The Banana Monkey.

Some people like bananas.  Some people like monkeys.  I personally happen to like cards and cheese, but that’s another story for another time.  Finally, Some monkeys like bananas.  It is this group that gives rise to the Holy Grail of monkeydom, the Banana Monkey. He’s a fearful creature, with cheeks poodged out in banana revelry, spending his days munch munching away and playing Scrabulous with me.

As some of you may know, I am a big fan of Scrabulous. A big, big fan. In fact, I’ve lost count of the number of times I have mentioned the game in this blog. Some enterprising young person could do a search and perhaps count them, but that will not be me.  I need to put away such youthful games in my struggle to be a crazy old lady.  I am moving every closer – not many days ago, in a stroke of rare senility, I lost a game to the Banana Monkey.

Now, some of you may say, ‘how can this be? You’re so much smarter than a monkey!’  I know, I know.  Yet while it is evidence of progress towards my only life goal, I myself was initially flabbergasted.  My intelligence, of course,  is superior to monkeys, even an imposing figure such as the Banana Monkey.  But then I remembered the monkeys, typewriters, and Shakespeare theories of randomness.  The answer was simple:  I’ve been playing too much Scrabulous.  With an infinite amount of time, eventually I must get such crap letters that the Banana Monkey must triumph.  Perhaps (gasp!) even more than once.  It’s a simple fact of the nature of chaos.

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