When Monkeys Go Bad
Mood:  hug me
Now Playing: Slipknot
So I read an article about that guy who was attacked by Chimpanzees at that chimp refuge in California. As I read about them ripping out his eye and biting his genitals, (as he tried to reason with them, according to his wife by saying ?You don?t want to do this?? H-E-L-L-O! They are not punks holding you up at knifepoint outside a Harkins Theater?they?re animals.) I flashed back to my own almost forgotten nightmare encounter with a monkey. Otherwise known as ?When Monkeys Go Bad?.

As I flashed back on the episode today at the office (I would have preferred a video montage, but I wasn?t trying to move the story along), I mentioned the incident to a co-worker in passing. She replied ?I know! Those monkeys at the zoo are insane!? I looked at her and said ?Ah, this was in someone?s home?and the monkey was in a stinky diaper?holding a butcher knife.? Boy, that shut her up. (Actually, she started cracking up and said ?Oh man, I gotta? hear this one!?)

Travel back with me. Back several years. Back to one of the countless miserable days of my married life. My now ex played local ?old guy? hockey. One of the guys on his team was an avid Red Wings fan and had the NHL package on satellite with a big screen tv (a very good trait in someone to hang out with) The down side of the situation was his weird shit wife.

Guys, I have to admit that I have the man gene and let me tell you, I am with you on the things I don?t even want to talk about. I don?t want to have some woman drone on and on like a broken record about the state of her fricking uterus. Now if she was a dear friend, I would sit and listen with glazed eyes whilst gripping a monster glass of chardonnay. Talk to me about sex, religion, politics, monster trucks, even taxidermy and I?m good. Just don?t casually chat with me about the state of things in your nether regions. UGH! It reminds me too much of my first gynecologist in Los Angeles who had pictures of Tom Cruise on the ceiling of the examination room (like that is supposed to make me feel better? That Tom Cruise is giving me a pap smear?) ?it?s so not right. But as usual, I digress.

This chick relished telling me in excruciating and nauseating detail the minute-by-minute, blow-by-blow status of her uterus. It was like watching a hostage standoff on live television?horrific and yet, you cannot seem to tear yourself away. Riveting in a morbid accident scene kind of way. It was all just too much information. Information I never needed to know about her girly junk issues. Stuff like, apparently, much like that old broad on the medic alert ad?her uterus had fallen and it couldn?t get up. Did I say UGH yet? And apparently it was negatively impacting their sex life (that and the fact that she had lock jaw?enough said).

So to make an agonizingly long and gruesome story as short as possible, I will leave out all of the non-pertinent details or at least I will try to the best of my abilities. Here goes:

We arrive at their trailer at 5:30pm (hey now, there?s a clue). Soon after, Uterus Chick comes home and immediately starts ranting about how she had no idea we were coming over and how dirty her house is. A half an hour later, Uterus Chick is STILL bitching and is now vacuuming her house. In fact, she bitched and cleaned the entire evening. Boy, it was fun. So needless to say, things are ever so slightly tense and I just keep saying ?yes? to another beer and concentrating on the hockey game while ever repeating my internal dialogue of ?la,la,la,la,la?I can?t hear you.?

So Uterus Chick asks me if I would like to see all of their animals. I, loving furry babies, am all shades of excited. They had everything: hamsters, cats, birds, goats, dogs, mini burros, ring tailed monkeys?Ah, monkeys.

The entrance of the simian was the start of a speedy descent into Hell. And nothing is worse than monkey Hell (just ask the guy with the gnawed junk in California) unless it is an unexpected encounter with your mother-in-law at a Thunder From Down Under male dance review but again, I digress.

So she introduces us to Mr. Jinx, the ring tailed monkey. The ring tailed monkey wearing a diaper. She brings him out on a leash and at first, it?s all good. I?m excited as I?ve never been around a monkey up close and personal. That soon changed. Uterus Chick hands me the leash and says ?Mr. Jinx loves marshmallows? and gives me a handful and tells me to sit on the floor with him. Apparently ?marshmallow? is the word that makes ring tail monkeys psychotic. The next thing I know, Mr. Jinx has become a little simian Mr. Hyde and is swinging around on the leash like Tarzan while trying to alternately bite or claw my hand open for the coveted marshmallows. I dump them all and he scarfs them down in seconds. Call me crazy, but somehow artificial sugary fluff and monkeys just shouldn?t mix. It?s kind of like feeding a small child hummingbird food.

The next thing I know, Mr. Jinx is soaring high on his sugar rush?saying he was hyperactive would be an understatement. He is hopping all over, flying around like he should have been an extra in the Wizard of Oz. That?s when the gawd-awful stench assails me. Phew! What the?! I look down and realize that Mr. Jinx has taken care of some personal hygiene matters and his diaper is bulging with a massive dump. I stand up and try to lead Mr. Hyde/Captain Dump into the kitchen in the attempt to hand him off to Uterus Chick (I am a super guest, but I am SO not taking a stab at changing the full diaper on a sugar-frenzied animal). As I am standing there, trying to interrupt the bickering Uterus Chick and her husband are still fricking engaging in about uninvited guests, Mr. Hyde/Captain Dump jumps from the floor to the chair and onto my head. Yes. Onto my head with a beyond full diaper. My mouth went dry and my eyes about exploded out of my head as I stuttered ??monkey?uh?monkey?uh?please?monkey.? Uterus Chick turns around and says ?Oh, isn?t that cute! Mr. Jinx likes you!? The words weren?t even out of her mouth when the ?cute? monkey jumped off of my head and onto the kitchen counter where he proceeded to pick up a butcher knife. No shit. He turns around with his abnormally bright and feverish looking monkey eyes, chattering incessantly, swinging the knife back and forth.

I am serious when I say that in that moment, I saw my entire life flash before my eyes. To boot, I saw the headlines in the paper. ?Woman Loses Life in Bizarre Monkey Attack?; ?Stay Puff to Blame for Woman?s Death?; ?Sugar-Induced Fury Fuels Mr. Jinx?s Rage?. God, I didn?t want to die that way at the hand of a frenzied, knife wielding monkey on the rampage.

I was standing shock still--terrified to move in case the monkey interpreted the move as hostile or perhaps thought I was holding out on him when it came to the Jet Puffs. I had been reduced to muttering ?mmmmmonkey?mmmmmonkey?mmmmonkey? when Mr. Jinx finally dropped his weapon.

The rest of the evening is a blur. All I really remember was urging my now ex to leave (he was all for it having witnessed the monkey madness) and when we were safely in the car, I looked at him and said ?Drive dammit! Drive!? ?cuz I couldn?t get out of there fast enough.

Folks, aren?t you glad I told you the abbreviated version?

Tonight on FOX?When Monkeys Go Bad?.