Funeral for a Friend

Welcome, friends and loved ones. Today we are here to say goodbye to a beloved friend. It's hard in these trying times, with violence, death, and decadence constantly threatening to invade and ravage our lives, to cling to that which matters most. Like friends. Family. Faith. All of these things are important in coping with the chaotic world as it swarms about us. And we honor those great ideals today but bidding a fond farewell to one of our good friends. We've had to say goodbye to so many good friends in the past year: those over seas fighting wars that seem pointless and particularly brutal; the entertainers who have provided us with hours, if not years, of laughter, merriment, and introspection; and of course all those who have been taken due to the horrible storms that have ravaged Asia, and the coasts of America. But today, we say goodbye to someone close to us, someone that, naive though it may have been, we never thought we'd lose; at least, not this early. Not this soon.

For two days ago, The Neurotic Monkey's chance of EVER getting laid died.

It's weird to say those words, and I'm sure it's very odd to read them. Maybe the Chance of Getting Laid would never become President, or a famous celebrity, or a huge football star; but no one here can say that Chance of Getting Laid hasn't affected their lives. Everyone here who still has their Chance of Getting Laid knows how precious and important it is to have that expectation, to have that slim glimmer of hope of gettin' some. But, for The Neurotic Monkey, such a golden promise, such a raison d'etre no longer exists.

Two days ago, The Neurotic Monkey received a shirt in the mail. Ordinarily, ordering clothes online is no big task. It is not something that can condemn an intangible to death. But this was no ordinary shirt. This was a shirt for a cartoon show.

I can see by the nodding and tears in the audience that all of you already understand where this is headed. For, as we all know, no one with a T-Shirt Endorsing a Cartoon Show can get laid. It just doesn't happen. The Chance for Getting Laid was already sickly, not finding too many prospects around the craptastic peninsula where it resided, nor was he the type of person to simply swagger into a bar and pick up whichever barfly chica seemed the least infected. But when you throw a Cartoon Shirt over that situation, well, the whole matter becomes grim. Chance, as it liked to be known, squirmed and silently pleaded for mercy as the Neurotic Monkey slipped into the t-shirt.

Sure, it's for The Venture Bros., which is an admittedly funny program. But that doesn't make it right, people! There's no justification for donning such an obvious cry of geekdom and unwanted celibacy. As Housewives flip through the pages of their favorite romance novels, falling in love with burly pirates and heroic aristocrats, they never discover the sentence "...she moaned in pleasure as she ripped his Garfield & Friends shirt from his well chiseled torso". When describing the perfect man, an "ironic but sweet love for animated programming" is rarely listed in the qualities of the erotic Adonis. The Chippendale Dancer wearing the Chip'n'Dale shirt is usually the loneliest, gyrating on stage while silently dying in the inside, just wishing someone would notice him.

Of course we all know these things are true! We all wished we could've been there to warn The Neurotic Monkey before he attired himself in such a nerdlicious wardrobe. But this is not a time to lay blame, nor is it a time of angry regret. This is a time of mourning. A time of grief. The Neurotic Monkey will never get laid again; every time he hears an Al Green song, a part of him will weep and long for the days when sex, while an outstanding improbability, was nonetheless possible.

But maybe it's for the best. Perhaps all of the energy and brainpower that went into obsessing over sex will now be devoted, instead, to worthwhile endeavors. Maybe we shall have rocket cars, cancer cures, and robot butlers in no time thanks to the Neurotic Monkey's sacrifice. Maybe one day, will of his accomplishments and fancy inventions, the Neurotic Monkey will find his Chances of Having Sex mysteriously resurrected, an Intercourse Messiah arisen, the hope for a booty call made flesh once more.

Until that day, we will all say goodbye to our dearly departed friend. Some of us, especially the Neurotic Monkey's college friends, knew Chance very well. He would always appear, motivating everyone to go out and get drunk; Chance was always the instigator for mingling and socializing. He will be missed. Meanwhile, the Tell-Tale T-Shirt lies in the Neurotic Monkey's bureau, its power emanating beyond its simple color pattern; like the bloody evidence of a heinous crime, that t-shirt sits in the bureau, waiting to declare to the world that the Neurotic Monkey's sex life has been closed till further notice.

Amen.