Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Die, monkey, die!

So last night we watched the newest remake of King Kong. I have to say it was very well done. The ape's facial expressions were so realistic that you keep forgetting it's not a real live animal. So when, at the end, poor Kong fell to his death from atop the Empire State Building, I wasn't surprised to look around and see my husband and children looking forlorn.

Do you know how hard it is not to laugh at a time like that? For unlike my misty-eyed family, I loathe monkeys. I loathe them so much that even their big screen death makes me want to do a happy dance.

Given my reputation as an earth-hugging hippie, such hatred may surprise you. And I wasn't always like this. I never had any problem with lower primates until The Terrible Incident With The Monkey, which I seldom talk about owing to the sheer humiliation of what I experienced.

It happened about ten years ago, when Larry and I and another couple visited an exotic animal compound. We'd gone to see the Bengal tigers, and they were magnificent. But while I was watching them I noticed two of the tigers were tormenting at something at the back of their chain-link enclosure.

I walked around and discovered they were swiping at a chainlink dog kennel. Inside the dog kennel was a dog house and atop the doghouse sat a little rhesus monkey, between one and two feet tall.

I've never been a huge fan of monkeys, but I felt sorry for this little cringing primate. So I walked over to comfort him and when I did, he reached out to me so desperately that I instantly took his little monkey hand in my own. I looked at that little hand and thought, "Oh, this is so cool. His little hand looks so human." Human-monkey bonding commenced and intensified when he locked eyes with mine and began stroking my hair. I was in love.

And then he ripped off my earring.

Now, this irritated me because these were my new dangly frog earrings, which I'd been given as a gift. I was quite fond of my dangly frog earrings, so I politely asked the monkey to give them back. Instead, he ignored me and sat there examining the earring.

So I got an idea. Taking my other earring off, I dangled it in front of him. "Give me that one back and you can hold this one," I said softly. All the while I was planning to keep both of them, so naturally I was really miffed when he grabbed the other earring.

Now the monkey had both of my earrings and I was getting mad, so I used my mommy voice on him.

"Give me back my earrings!" I ordered. The monkey's response was to turn his back on me, pop both earrings in his mouth, chew for a few minutes, take a piece of one out and whirl around to show it to me.

I couldn't believe it. I'd trusted this monkey. I'd given him comfort. And how does he repay me? He mugs me. I was beyond mad now; I was furious. I was a woman betrayed - a woman betrayed by by a two-foot high, thieving monkey.

I felt I had nothing left to lose by telling him what I thought, so crouching down to his level, I scowled angrily and called him every name I could think of. My husband, Larry - who's wonderful for giving me useful information after the fact - later told me that you don't ever grimace at or challenge a monkey. It apparently violates the rules of simian etiquette. Of course, I didn't know this so it came as a complete shock when the monkey hit me. And when I say it hit me, it really hit me. I didn't even see it coming, but that little monkey balled up its little monkey fist and hit me right in the eye.

I was in tears. Oh, the humiliation of it. I looked to Larry for support, but all he could do was laugh hysterically and babble about how he wished he'd brought his video camera.

On the way home my eye socket began to swell. By the next day I had a terrible shiner. When I went to work and my female co-workers asked me what happened, I told them the truth: A monkey had stolen my earrings and punched me in the face." Of course, they didn't believe me. "Really, honey," they pressed. "What happened? Did Larry hit you?" It left me wishing he had. Women hit by their husbands get sympathy. Women punched out by two-foot-high monkeys get laughed at. Again.

So there you go. That's why I hate monkeys. That's why I only use products tested on them (I ask first) and that's why I laughed when King Kong fell off that building. I hope he hit the pavement so hard all those stolen earrings went flying out of his mouth.

22 comments:

EN said...

LOL. Liberals are so funny after they've been mugged. It just changes everything.

Morgan said...

Smartass. From now on I'm only going to buy medications tested on EN.

Taylor said...

Finally! The Terrible Incident With The Monkey is revealed. Up to now it has only been mentioned in passing. I did not directly want to ask, lest it should cause you to experience flashbacks. LOL!

I have to agree with you. Monkeys can be little shits.

Morgan said...

"Monkeys can be little shits."

Indeed, and my negative simian encounter didn't end with the jewelry thief.
A few months later, Larry and I were in Baltimore and he took me to meet an old friend who ran a pet shop there. The guy asked me if I'd like to see some new animals he'd gotten in and proceeded to uncover a cage containing three spider monkeys all happily masturbating.
Needless to say, it was an awkward moment. Masturbating monkeys are terrible icebreakers.

Taylor said...

Well, if you were stuck in a cage with nothing to do...

Morgan said...

Well, if you were stuck in a cage with nothing to do...

ROFLMAO!!

EN said...

"proceeded to uncover a cage containing three spider monkeys all happily masturbating."

Kinda like raising teenage boys. You never want to "surprise" them.

Anonymous said...

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=382180&in_page_id=1770
You are not alone. Perhaps this will brighten your morning.

Morgan said...

Anon,
Great link. If I'm ever to be around monkeys again, I'll be sure to leave my earrings *and* my cell phone at home.
Thanks for the mood enhancer. I needed the smile. :-)

Taylor said...

You know, Morgan, that opposing thumb ain't just for grabbing bananas.

Morgan said...

Apparently they are, if bananas are slang for monkey parts. Good gracious. A girl with a mind as depraved as mine. It's always so nice to see you. ;-)

Taylor said...

A girl with a mind as depraved as mine

Now you're just being nice.

Hey, that's a super avatar, Morgan.

Morgan said...

Thanks, Taylor. I made that skirt. :-)

Taylor said...

I had no doubt that you did. You are very creative and work a lot with your hands, Morgan.

What's that old saying, something like: Busy hands avoid mischief? Well, now that doesn't necessarily hold true, does it? See 5:56 PM post. :-)

Morgan said...

LOL...not if you're a monkey. You crack me up, Taylor.

Taylor said...

Blame it on the masturbating monkeys.

EN said...

"What's that old saying"

I believe it's, "Idle hands are the monkeys tool."

Taylor said...

No, no, EN, it goes like this, I believe:
Idle hands get busy with the monkey's tool.

Yeah, that's it.

Morgan said...

My my, I leave to run errands, come back and find monkey porn....

courtney said...

I can honestly say that I have never laughed so hard as I did when I read "I told them the truth: A monkey had stolen my earrings and punched me in the face."
My neighbor used to have a monkey. It threw its own poo at the wall when it didn't get it's way.
I can't say I'm a big supporter of the campaign for monkeys.

Morgan said...

Courtney, it's like that movie Madagascar, when one monkey looks at the other and says, "If you have any poo, fling it now."

Anonymous said...

O Morgan, i read your blog today. You are a cool hippie!