Welcome to the Monkey House: A Collection of Short Works
Language: English
Pages: 331
ISBN: 0385333501
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Welcome to the Monkey House is a collection of Kurt Vonnegut’s shorter works. Originally printed in publications as diverse as The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction and The Atlantic Monthly, these superb stories share Vonnegut’s audacious sense of humor and extraordinary range of creative vision.
now. Seven girls I got now. A houseful of women. I can beat the stuffings out of ten men my own size. But, what do I get? Girls." "Mr. Knechtmann," said the nurse to the other man in the room. She pronounced the name, as almost all Americans did, a colorless Netman. "I’m sorry. Still no word on your wife. She is keeping us waiting, isn’t she?" She grinned glassily and left. Sousa turned on Knechtmann. "Some little son of a gun like you, Netman, you want a boy, bing! You got one. Want a football
’it’s always darkest before the dawn. I want you to remember that.’ " ’Yes, sir,’ I said. " ’For over a year, my boy,’ Edison said to me, ’I’ve been trying to find a filament that will last in an incandescent lamp. Hair, string, splinters—nothing works. So while I was trying to think of something else to try, I started tinkering with another idea of mine, just letting off steam. I put this together,’ he said, showing me the little black box. ’I thought maybe intelligence was just a certain kind
coming to a vessel not his own, grasp that vessel and rest, without fear of being fired upon by the Coast Guard, or of having his fingers smashed by members of the Secret Service, or, as I prefer to call them, the Kennedy Palace Dragoons." "There has been no shooting, and no smashing, sir," said Boyle. "There has also been no evidence of swimmer’s fatigue. Your Robert went up the anchor line of the Marlin like a chimpanzee. He swarmed up that rope, Commodore. I believe that’s the proper nautical
kill civilization in less time than it took to burn down Rome. We’re not going into the mind-numbing business, and that’s that." "You’re kidding!" Lew said, aghast. He turned to Marion. "Don’t you want your husband to make a million?" "Not by operating an electronic opium den," Marion said coldly. Lew slapped his forehead. "It’s what the public wants. This is like Louis Pasteur refusing to pasteurize milk." "It’ll be good to have the electricity again," Marion said, changing the subject.
his elbow as he passed, made the clock cry. Sylvia excused herself. Doctor Remenzel and Eli went to the threshold of the dining room, where a hostess welcomed them both by name. They were given a table beneath an oil portrait of one of the three Whitehill boys who had gone on to become President of the United States. The dining room was filling quickly with families. What every family had was at least one boy about Eli’s age. Most of the boys wore Whitehill blazers—black, with pale-blue piping,