I am only here because my "friends" are assholes. One day we decided to visit the Earth on a whim, you know, have some fun messing with the talking monkeys. I like to land right in front of them and then spout some cryptic nonsense like it's a vital message from their gods, gets them every time. It's also a hoot to pick them up and take them for a short ride, they call it an abduction and it REALLY freaks them out. 
We were in the middle of our abduction prank when the stupid monkey just snapped and became violent. I tried to restrain it but the damn thing bit me! Really hard. It hurt so bad I lost my temper and snapped it's neck out of anger. I'll admit it was a dick move but so was biting me in the first place. 
My friends completely overreacted, I mean these monkeys kill each other daily, what's one more dead monkey? Fucking posers suddenly care. They acted all offended and outraged and ditched me here. 
Whatever. Now I'm stuck here. I hate it, I'm always cold, and I want to go home. I've killed the time by studying them. My conclusion? They suck! They are so boring and basic and bland in almost everything they do, almost. I have recently stumbled across the one and only interesting thing about them and I'm obsessed. These monkeys have a strange but fascinating tradition of telling lies about things that never happened to people who never existed. They do this for entertainment and call it fiction, it's amazing.  I have immersed myself in reading this fiction to distract myself from my circumstance and I think I'm starting to understand how it's done. So until the monkeys develop intergalactic travel or my asshole friends come back for me, I'll just be stuck here trying to construct fictional realities to pass the time like I'm a talking fucking monkey.

Also, I am aware that there are probably a lot of grammar mistakes in my work. Please be cool and let it slide.