This is the part of the blog where I write about my day for those interested.
The monkey cages mysteriously burned down last night.
The police took me in for questioning. I gave them the usual answers:
“I was fast asleep.”
“I honestly don’t know how a steel cage could burn down either.”
“No, I love all simians.”
“I don’t even know what a blog is. It must be some other Frank J.”
“I’ll give you my gun if you give me yours.”
After three hours of this, they let me go. They had nothing.
I thought I had gotten away scot-free, but there, waiting outside my home, was Aquaman.
“Well, hello, Mr. Curry.” I placed my hand in my pocket for the reassuring touch of my gun. “Justice League not keeping you busy?”
Aquaman had seen better days; from the looks of him, he still hadn’t mentally recovered from the incident at Tuscon. He was five days overdue for a shave and two months behind on his haircut. Instead of his usual orange and green, he was in street clothes — a leather jacket and jeans. There was nothing to him that suggested he was the former king of Atlantis other than eyes that portrayed a sharp intellect. “You say you were sleeping when the fire broke out, but the fish in the penguin sanctuary tell a different story.”
I forced a laugh. “Why don’t you give me a call when the courts start accepting the testimony of tuna, then.” I walked past him into my house and slammed the door behind me. No matter what I did, Aquaman was always there trying to ruin things for me.
The operative word is “trying.”
Note to Self: Next time, poison any nearby fish.

Most blogs started as online diaries, but I don’t usually blog about myself because my life is not particularly interesting. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, then sleep — what’s to say? Still, in the interest of more content, I’ll just try and blog what’s on my mind.
Anyway, it’s been a troubling time for me. The city ended up building a zoo next to my house. Now, when I look out my bedroom, I see a chain link fence, and, just beyond that, the monkey cages. During the day, it’s constant screeching. The monkeys just scream all day long. You’d think their voices would get hoarse, but they screech from sun up to sun down.
At night it’s worse, though. At night, they are completely silent. They don’t even move. And when I look out my window while lying in bed, all I see are these unblinking eyes staring right at me. Every time I look, they do nothing but stare. I don’t know what’s going through their wretched monkey minds, but all night their gaze is upon me. I try not to look, but I can’t help it. There, reflecting the moonlight, are all those inhuman eyes upon me.
One night, I went to bed as usual and looked out and saw those horrible eyes. Getting somewhat used to it, I eventually fell asleep. I awoke at about three in the morning for no particular reason. When I looked out the window, the eyes were gone. I saw nothing but the dark of night. And then I heard a noise in the house. I found nothing awry, but, needless to say, I got no more sleep that night.
I don’t like monkeys.