Wow, it’s been over three months since I’ve posted anything over here! I swear that I kept meaning to, but then I would put it off. I only have so much creativity, ya know?
Anyways, here I am. And here is an offer that I know you can’t refuse!
These ads were indeed real, in comic books mostly during the 1950’s, 60’s and early 70’s. Screw getting a dog or a cat, for less than $20.00 dollars, junior son of a bitch could have his very own squirrel monkey with his birthday card money from grandma.
According to my research, these little critters do not thrive on human food as the ad suggests, since they eat berries, leaves, insects and other such things. You can’t just thrust a ham sandwich at a squirrel monkey and make him happy.
Their natural habitats are trees. They sprinkle urine on the branches so that others of their kind can find them easily.
I can only imagine what they do with their poop.
What I do with my shit is my business, human!!
Since I don’t know of anyone personally who has a pet squirrel monkey, I am assuming that this idea didn’t really catch on.
For example, you cannot teach a monkey to use a litter box, nor can you really fulfill his need for other monkey companionship, since they live in large groups called troops composed of 40 to 50 members.
Plus, they live for 15-20 years, so that is a huge commitment to take on, especially if you can’t train him to not fling his dung at you when you give him a lollipop.
I’m sure that some people actually do own one of these highly intelligent animals, so I mean no offense. But as a warning to the rest of us, here is a snippet of a post I found about a man who actually did buy one from the comic book ad.
“No instructions [were included]. He had this waist belt on, a collar, if you will, on his waist, with an unattached leash inside the box. So I opened the box up inside the cage, the monkey jumped out, I withdrew the box and found the leash. I have no idea where it came from; I assumed it came from Florida. I figured, well, it’s probably near dehydration, so I opened up the cage to put some water in it. It leapt out of the cage when I opened it up the second time! I mean, it was eyeing the pipes that I was unaware of. As soon as I opened the cage, it leapt up and grabbed onto the plumbing up on the ceiling and started using them like monkey bars, and he was just shooting along in the basement, chirping pretty loud. It was heading towards the finished side of the basement, where there was a drop ceiling, and if it got into those channels, I never would have got it. It would have been days to get this thing out of there. I grabbed it by its tail, and it came down on, starting literally up by my shoulder, like a drill press it landed on my arm, and every bite was breaking flesh. It was literally like an un-sewing machine. It was literally un-sewing my arm coming down, and I was pouring blood. I grabbed it by its neck with both my wrists, threw it back in the cage. It’s screaming like a scalded cat. I’m pouring blood. My friend’s laughing uncontrollably, and my father finally comes in the basement door and goes, ‘Jeffery! What are you doing to that rabbit?’ And I go, ‘It’s not a rabbit, it’s a monkey, and it just bit the hell out of me.”
I think that I’ll just stick with my dogs, Jeffery.