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river rat: Something Monkeys are not supposed to do.
Cringeworthy? Where could I possibly find material for something cringeworthy?
My cousin had a monkey when he was ten and I was eight. The monkey's name was Mr. Carter -- this was long before our esteemed President Carter -- which tells you that A) my cousin was not making a political statement, and B) I am very old.
Mr. Carter scared me. The monkey, not the president. I loved Jimmy Carter. He had a brother that was fat and drank beer and as a president Jimmy Carter was self-deprecating which is so very unlike most presidents and all nuclear engineers.
I don't know if Mr. Carter the monkey had a brother, but if he did it's likely Mr. Carter the monkey's brother probably liked beer just as much as Mr. Carter the President's did. My cousin's brothers, also my cousins (of course but much older than my monkey owning cousin and me), fed Mr. Carter beer as often as they could without my aunt finding out. Mr. Carter, the monkey, loved beer the way Mr. Carter the President's brother loved beer. The monkey loved beer so much that year's later, my cousin and I enjoyed drinking beer, rewriting history by re-naming his monkey, Billy.
One day when my Aunt was keeping me and one of my brothers at her house, Mr. Carter started drank a beer from a half full bottle my older cousins left in their play room. Mr. Carter became really friendly with my ear while perched on my shoulder and I shoved him to the ground. He screeched at me and ran to the comfort of my cousin's well worn ear to finish himself off.
Auntie came in and yelled at me, my brother, Mr. Carter, and my cousin (who was Q-tipping monkey spunk out of his ear only my cousin said it was just really thick pee.)
"THAT'S SOMETHING MONKEYS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO!" She was furious, right in Mr. Carter's face, and his expression made it seem like he knew he wasn't supposed to use human ears for pleasure. He put both hands over his head and slumped in my cousins lap, asleep in less than a minute.
Immediately I wondered how it was that there could be anything on earth that a monkey wasn't supposed to do. I mean, they fling poo at the zoo, they jack it in public, and for the most part are expected to do things that are not supposed to be done.
The next week we were at our Aunt's house again and asked where Mr. Carter was. We were told he was no longer allowed to play outside his cage while guests were around. He'd done some real damage to himself and the television set and the carpet and the couch and tried to get friendly with their dog's ears while the dog napped on the porch. We didn't think anything of it and played instead on the abandoned third floor of their home, which used to be an appliance store in the twenties and had a total of four floors finished off with the top two relegated to storage.
Right away we heard what sounded like someone jumping on a bed on the fourth floor. We crept up the stairs and searched room to room for what was going on. In the corner of the last room one of our older cousins was naked on top of his girlfriend and they were bouncing all over the place. My cousin and I started laughing and pointing the way 8-10 year old boys might until our older cousin grabbed a pair of shorts and pulled them on, running towards us while cussing and swinging a belt over his head.
We ran down four flights of stairs into my Aunt's arms closely pursued by an angry and still noticeably erect older cousin.
"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" My aunt was a real screamer. She may have also been deaf.
We huddled behind her, laughing and pointing, chanting: Boner! Boner! Boner!
"TIMOTHY! WHAT WERE YOU DOING UP THERE AND WHY ARE YOU CHASING YOUR COUSIN AND YOUR BROTHER?"
Tim dropped the belt and tried to cross his legs enough to cover the obvious bulge tenting his girlfriend's short shorts.
"Mom!" Mr. Carter's owner answered. "He and Kelly were up on the stack of old beds doing something you said monkeys are not supposed to do."
