I KNOW HOW THIS ENDS

by Tracer Bullet, Staff Writer

Scientists, once again perverting the laws of God and nature, have equipped monkeys with robots. Sure, this seems like a good idea. Who doesn't want a little tuxedo-wearing monkey butler to clean the house and handle the stickier aspects of ass-washing?

But our simian cousins are far faster and stronger than we and with robotic attachments who knows how much smarter or physically adept they could become.

Plus, monkeys will happily work for rotten melons and as we all know, the owners of sports franchises are notoriously cheap. The ultimate result of all this robotic monkeyshines is obvious.

Professional monkey sports.

Again, this sounds great. Nothing is cuter than monkeys in human clothes and monkey football could fill the godawful six months when other pro sports inexplicably take over television time that should rightly go to more football.

But if you're an elderly white plutocrat, would you rather deal with Jared Allen's beer runs and Kobe Bryant pillaging Caucasian assholes all over the Mountain West? Or would you rather spend your time going on safari in Namibia to scout new talent and sending your negro manservant to the farmer's market to pick up the payroll?

That's right. Professional monkey sports won't augment pro sports, they'll replace pro sports. And eventually monkeys will replace all of us. Soon, the owners of corporations will take all of our jobs. They'll be living in our houses, driving our cars and, make no mistake, banging our wives.

So, while we might enjoy monkey baseball -- and it would keep Roger Clemens off my TV -- we must stop this monkeying around with simian physiology lest it lead to the demise of the entire human race. Unless you want to answer to the Robot Death Monkey. Slave.