So, there was a monkey that escaped from our local zoo last week, and the damned thing ended up in one of the trees in our back yard, just making a terrible racket with it’s screeching and what not. I wasn’t really happy with the situation, so I called the zoo to complain. They said they would have one of their animal care specialists (I don’t know why they can’t just call the dude a zookeeper anymore, but that’s the world we live in these days, I guess) come to my house to recover the animal. So the screeching goes on for another forty-five minutes or so, with some faeces-hurling added to the mix to keep things interesting.
So, after about forty five minutes, a large van with all kinds of printing on the side touting the greatness of our local zoo pulls up in front of the house, and a short guy with polo shirt that actually had “Animal Care Specialist” embroidered near the shoulder knocks on the door and tells me he’s here to recover the monkey. I show him to the back yard, he assesses the situation and tells me this isn’t the first time Embaktu has snuck out of his enclosure, so he has a system all ready. He’s goes back to the can, pulls out a ladder and a large net. He places the net on the ground under the branch that Embaktu has chosen as his stage for the caterwauling recital and extends the ladder against the tree trunk where that branch forks off. He the goes back to the can and comes out with a shotgun and a huge dog. This thing is nasty looking, like a Nazi-inspired Dr. Frankenstein got hold of a bull mastiff. He lead the dog near where the net was on the ground and then walked over to me.
“What’s going to happen here,” he explained, “Is I am going to climb that ladder and sheke the branch. This will cause Embaktu to lose his balance and fall to the ground. Once he hits the ground, ol’ Kyrek over there is trained to immediately bite his testicles, which will subdue the monkey long enough that I can get the netting around him, then drag him back to secure him in the van.”
“Alright,” I said. I wasn’t totally sure his methods were the most effective possible, but he had done this before, so I didn’t want to argue. Though I did ask one question. “So, what’s the shotgun for?”
He handed it to me and said, “If I fall off that ladder, I want you to shoot that stupid dog!”
Scary Monkey? Is that you?
Lure it down with an orange?
Squirt it with a water hose?
Holler at it?
Pull down the window shade?
It’s the MoNkeYs MAN! They’re in the tReEs MAN! They’re all arOUnD us MAN! We’re DOOMED!
So, there was a monkey that escaped from our local zoo last week, and the damned thing ended up in one of the trees in our back yard, just making a terrible racket with it’s screeching and what not. I wasn’t really happy with the situation, so I called the zoo to complain. They said they would have one of their animal care specialists (I don’t know why they can’t just call the dude a zookeeper anymore, but that’s the world we live in these days, I guess) come to my house to recover the animal. So the screeching goes on for another forty-five minutes or so, with some faeces-hurling added to the mix to keep things interesting.
So, after about forty five minutes, a large van with all kinds of printing on the side touting the greatness of our local zoo pulls up in front of the house, and a short guy with polo shirt that actually had “Animal Care Specialist” embroidered near the shoulder knocks on the door and tells me he’s here to recover the monkey. I show him to the back yard, he assesses the situation and tells me this isn’t the first time Embaktu has snuck out of his enclosure, so he has a system all ready. He’s goes back to the can, pulls out a ladder and a large net. He places the net on the ground under the branch that Embaktu has chosen as his stage for the caterwauling recital and extends the ladder against the tree trunk where that branch forks off. He the goes back to the can and comes out with a shotgun and a huge dog. This thing is nasty looking, like a Nazi-inspired Dr. Frankenstein got hold of a bull mastiff. He lead the dog near where the net was on the ground and then walked over to me.
“What’s going to happen here,” he explained, “Is I am going to climb that ladder and sheke the branch. This will cause Embaktu to lose his balance and fall to the ground. Once he hits the ground, ol’ Kyrek over there is trained to immediately bite his testicles, which will subdue the monkey long enough that I can get the netting around him, then drag him back to secure him in the van.”
“Alright,” I said. I wasn’t totally sure his methods were the most effective possible, but he had done this before, so I didn’t want to argue. Though I did ask one question. “So, what’s the shotgun for?”
He handed it to me and said, “If I fall off that ladder, I want you to shoot that stupid dog!”
Just like howler liberals, howler monkeys are difficult to get rid of.
Poor unarmed monkey, I can get him a revolver, I don’t think a monkey should have an AK.
“QUIT MONKEYING AROUND!!!” There – that’ll fix it…
Get the Emu… STAT!
Great, now we’ll have a monkey riding around on an emu with my revolver.
That sounds like the exact thing they need to restore order in Portland.
More fun than twin barrels of monkeys.
Sorry, I am not an Orioles scout.
Send walruskkkch. He likes a little monkey in his diet.
Oook.