HUMANIDAD, somos monos.

Dance, Monkeys, Dance

by Ernest Cline

NOTE: Crude language is present.

Orbiting the sun at about 98 million miles

is a little blue planet

and this planet is run

by a bunch of monkeys.

Now, the monkeys don't think of

themselves as monkeys.

They don't even think of themselves as animals

And they love to list all the things

that they think

separate them from the animals:

Opposable thumbs, self awareness . . .

They'll use words like

Homo Erectus and Australopithecus.

I mean, they're clever.

You've got to give them that.

The Pyramids, skyscrapers, phantom jets,

the Great Wall of China.

That's some pretty impressive ♥♥♥♥♥. . .

for a bunch of monkeys.

Monkeys whose brains have evolved

to such an unmanageable size

that it's now pretty much impossible

for them stay happy for any length of time

In fact, they're the only animals

that think they're supposed to be happy.

All of the other animals can just be.

But it's not that simple for the monkeys.

You see, the monkeys are cursed with consciousness

and so the monkeys are afraid.

So the monkeys worry.

The monkeys worry about everything,

but mostly about what all the other monkeys think.

Because the monkeys desperately want to fit in

with the other monkeys.

Which is hard to do,

because a lot of the monkeys seem to hate each other.

This is what really separates them from the other animals.

These monkeys hate.

They hate monkeys that are different.

Monkeys from different places,

monkeys who are a different color-

You see, the monkeys feel alone.

All six billion of them.

Because the monkeys want answers

and the monkeys don't want to die.

So the monkeys make up gods

and then they worship them.

Then the monkeys argue

over whose made-up god is better.

Then the monkeys get really pissed off

and this is usually when the monkeys decide

that it's a good time to start killing each other.

Some of the monkeys play to a sold out crowd . . .

of other monkeys.

The monkeys make trophies

and then they give them to each other.

Like it means something.

Some of the monkeys think

that they have it all worked out.

Some of the monkeys read Nietzsche

The monkeys argue about Nietzsche

without giving any consideration to the fact

that Nietzsche

was just another f***ing monkey.

The monkeys make music

and then the monkeys DANCE

Dance, monkeys, dance.

As you can see . . .

these are some f***ed up monkeys.

These monkeys are at once the ugliest

and most beautiful creatures on the planet.

And the monkeys don't want to be monkeys.

They want to be something else.

But they're not