a million monkeys typing

My name is Tobias Somerset. I hold a PhD in English Literature. Never in a million years did I ever imagine I would have the thankless job I have now. All of the toil! All of the hard post-graduate work! The sheer madness of a life wasted! Waiting endlessly for The Great Novel to materialize....from this!?

Let's just say I'm an editor. I work from 9 to 5 in a locked room full of monkeys. It's true - you guessed it: Somewhere in this dull, fluorescent lit room I oversee, or I should say, I'm the game keeper to a wild loud frenzy chattering of shrill monkeys sitting in front of peel-clogged typewriters, with attention spans of a baby in a high chair sucking on banana creme peas. Don't show your teeth at me, you knuckle-dragging...! Sorry, it's madness I tell you! No wonder they call it a monkey suit I'm wearing!

I hold in my hand an example of my burden. Let me show you what Charley(Yes! They even try to make me humanize them! But I admit...I do like Charley. He doesn't scream like the others when a fluorescent tube fizzles out and explodes), row 7, seat 18, has reluctantly handed to me mere moments ago:

sssssssdertt jkpoduodh dhoohdjjj jkjdpe2j msdkopwo s oskwkookdgf f5okrkjgpkrp jgpjgjj wjjv[ 2ekfkiibn

Notice the smooth transition in his prose, and the potential conflict between characters. Good boy!

Charley is back in his seat now, sitting quietly. He made me tug the sheet from his clutches this time. I do not know why. Occasionally, he turns his tilted fuzzy little head and eyeballs me.

Help me. for the love of God, please get me out of here!