When in doubt, blame monkeys

There's a bruise on my right arm about the size of a Ritz cracker. I woke up with it last week and am not entirely sure how it got there. My guess is that I probably bumped against a doorknob in the middle of the night while getting up to pee.
Last Tuesday at band and ABC group, people kept asking me how I got the bruise. I told them the truth, but in retrospect I should've come up with something more exciting.
Like this, for example:

Well, I was driving around listening to NPR, mentally comparing and contrasting the socio-economic situations of Zimbabwe, Argentina, and Indonesia, when suddenly I saw a car with a flat tire at the side of the road. All these monkeys were gathered around the car but none of them knew how to change tires so they just kept flinging their feces at it instead.
I hate monkeys, so I rolled down my window as I drove by and yelled, "This is why they shouldn't give drivers' licenses to monkeys!" And then I drove off.
Well, later that night, as I was laying in bed trying to sleep, I heard something sneaking through the window and creeping into the bedroom. It was the same group of monkeys; they had tracked me down and were bent on revenge. Some of them ate all my bananas, some tried impregnating my cats, and the rest began pelting me with more feces. Most of the poop just sort of bounced off but one of them was kind of constipated and it hit me really hard in the arm right here, which is how I got this bruise.
Stupid monkeys.
.