I thought it might be helpful to describe a typical day in my so called life, but first some background.

It may surprise you to know that monkey table isn’t my real name but an alias I made up to sound cool, my name is really Crackerjack Von Muffledscream. I have no concept of a blog and never will. I am fond of people but not overly. I can retract my testicles so far into my body it looks like I have three Adam’s apples.

A Typical Day

Once I’d managed to remove bold from text a typical day will be almost exactly like this...

1. Wake up, I’ve overslept again, Mr. Crenshaw my boss will not be pleased. The excuse that my alarm clock is broken will not go down well as I’ve not been in for three days.

2. Take a shower, the water is burning hot, I adjust the thermostat, now freezing cold.... when I regain consciousness it’s time to dress and eat.

3. I iron my best lederhosen and grab some stale bread from the table, if I hurry I might make it in before lunchtime.

4. Run for the bus. Mr.Jones my neighbor glares at me from his window, just because I burnt down his shed he holds a petty grudge against me.

5. Arrive at work. Mr. Crenshaw is not around so I make my way to my desk. My job seems to involve some kind of plank with letters on it attached to a tv but after three years I think it’s too late to ask what I’m supposed to be doing.

5. Mr.Creshaw is shouting at me, I’ve dozed off, I glance at the clock, home time. I get up trying to ignore the spit flying from his mouth as he rants. ‘see you tomorrow ‘ I shout as I jog past him. He continues shouting ‘I hate you, you useless fu...’ but his words trail off as I sprint through the door. Not sure what he meant but he is an awful twat.

6. Arrive home. Mr.Jones is nowhere to be seen. I crawl through his catflap and into the kitchen, I know he stole my copy of chimping weekly but where is it? Mrs.Jones is upstairs so I need to be quiet. I knock over an antique clock in the hall, shit, now I need to get out quickly. I won’t make it so hide in a vase on his mantle piece. In there I find my copy of chimping weekly, the utter bastard. The sound of footsteps thunder around me as Mr. and Mrs. Jones look for me. They move past, now I can escape, through the cat flap and into the garden, setting fire to the new shed as I run past.

7. Time for bed. It’s been a great day, nothing really happened but it sure took a lot of words to describe it.

I hope this has provided some insight into my life. I will never write again as I find it very boring.

P.S Mr.Jones if you’re reading this I’ve never been in your house and any antique clock damage/shed fires are purely coincidental.

Crackerjack