I'm busy as hell these days, and even I wasn't, it'd be hard for me to top Portia's "Anti-Cilantro Resistance" post (below), which is no doubt a metaphor for her patently xenophobic stance on immigration reform.
But I digress.
What we have here at Heigh-ho today is a bunch of talking monkeys (that's right: two monkey posts in a single week! Where else are you going to get that kind of primate coverage?) Science now informs us that at least some of these monkeys can "talk" to their fellow monkeys and pass on vital survival information so that the stupid don't get eaten by eagles. Here is a story about monkeys that can speak words. Words, mind you, that only monkeys just like them can understand, but words nevertheless.
No, by "monkeys" I do not mean my readers. I mean the kind of monkeys that appear in The New York Times in places other than the editorial page, and perhaps even read the editorial page when they aren't speaking in strange tongues or picking lice off eachother. And how dare you insinuate that I'm referring to the the "angry left" either. I'm talking about real monkeys! Real talking monkeys. The kind that scratch their not-so private parts and go "ebba ebba ebba" before flinging feces at you. Those generic monkeys.*
Not to sound naive, but how could scientists tell whether "ebba ebba ebba" meant Curious George was shrieking "Holy shit! The Man in the Yellow Hat is gonna be P-I-S-S-E-D about me accidentally knocking out the power grid between Philadelphia and Boston with my stupid ballon ride" or "Hey look! I've got bugs on my ass!"
I'll leave that to you dear readers.
*Bite me camojack. Gorillas, monkeys, chimps and Mickey Dolenz are all "monkeys" in the common human vernacular, unless, of course, it's King Kong; in which case we mere primates take appropriate notice of the exception and address it as "Sir. Flying monkeys, on the other hand, are the single scariest thing in the entire world.