The Chimpanzee

I do not remember the last time it was that I had seen a great ape in person. I have pretty strong memories from the Cleveland Zoo, walking around with my Mom, mint chocolate chip ice cream dripping down my nubby little fingers. I have grown many feet since then, but despite all my piano-playing wishes, my fingers have refused to be anything but nubby. But that is not why you are here, is it? You want to hear about apes or monkeys or whatever. I would like to interject again (sorry but you will have to bear with me) and remind you and all the assorted people who you may be reading to (or not if you are a lonely bum) that chimpanzees have quite long fingers. Quite the antithesis of my nubby little digits. That is the third time I have used nubby (fourth now), I will proclaim that from now on I will replace nubby with fricking-tiny-little-button-sized-looking-baby-reminiscent, just so it doesn’t seem too repetitive (I will also limit my use of parenthetical notation used to shortcut characterization). 

Right, sorry. I was being choked. Or to describe it just a little more accurately; I was being throttled like a Jack Russel terrier’s favorite squeaky toy. This all was my fault really, I had walked up to the chimpanzee with my goofy, wide-toothed grin on, trying to appear happy as a clam. What they don’t teach you in the school of Geology (rock stuff for the more dimwitted of you), is that bared teeth are not seen the same way by chimpanzees as they are by humans named Ronald. For example; Ronald McDonald, who for every second of his waking life must always keep his teeth visible as a sign of happiness and welcoming. Then again that is under the assumption that when he is smiling at children in those commercials it is not with the intent to throttle them as is being currently done to me. Then again, if I was forced to live in a McDonald’s for 63 years, I believe my weak psyche would have devolved to some form of predatory reptile. 

Yes, so anyway, I am on the verge of death. My limbs at this point could be compared most accurately to tube socks filled with half-set Jell-O. Inserting a non sequitur: have you ever walked up to a globe and just spun that thing with all your might for whatever reason, undoubtedly killing all the tiny little people that were living on it (shame on you). That sort of mix of colors I would compare to my vision while being strangled by a five-foot-tall ape. When I had first seen her after straying a little far from the research tour group, I had internally named her Cheddar Chimp 3000, because of her orange-stained muzzle. I would like to clarify that I knew it was not cheddar cheese and rather one of the citrus-related fruits that grew nearby on bushy green trees, many of which had surrounded our camp last night. But why would you care, you want to know about chimpanzees and choking and all sorts of violent events. You really are all the same. How would you feel if I said a nursery rhyme instead? Yes? Okay, you asked for it (no you didn’t). 

Mouse ran to the house, the house the house, ran the mouse. 

Mouse jumped up the stairs, the stairs the stairs, jumped the mouse.

A screech, a yell! Can’t reach, it fell!

Cat ran down the stairs, the stairs the stairs, ran the cat.

Cat jumped on the mouse, the mouse the mouse, jumped the cat.

The mouse, the house, the cat, the stairs, both of them jumped but only one was scared. 

Pretty dark, right, I mean they all sort of are. I did make that one up though, just wanted to waste your time. I mean it doesn’t really even rhyme or have a consistent rhythm, but I bet you tried to add one, you silly goose. People always told me that chimpanzees were twice as strong as humans, which may be true but what they do not have are flare guns. Which is convenient because that’s about the only edge I have over Cheddar Chimp 3000. In the flurry of being treated as a human shake weight, I managed to reach my left hand between my belt and cargo shorts, grasping the textured plastic flare gun handle. In this one single case, I am quite glad that I ignored the common practice of keeping flare guns unloaded. This is what my sophomore English teacher would refer to as a does ex machine or something, I don’t know. In sophomore year I was more focused on Francine than I was on Frankenstein. 

Aiming the gun as best I could behind my right shoulder, my fricking-tiny-little-button-sized-looking-baby-reminiscent index finger tensed, pulling the trigger and shooting an exceptionally loud and exceptionally hot flare right past my head and somewhere into the forest. It is convenient that chimpanzees also prioritize self preservation, as with the shot came a very quick releasing of my neck and a burst of footsteps running away from my ragdolled body. For all those in similar situations (I see you Derrick), I would highly recommend covering your ear before firing the flare. Unless you are in an 80’s action movie named something like Dick Danger 2, you cannot in fact shoot firearms with no permanent impact on hearing. But that is beside the point. Returning to the original purpose of this message, I would like to ask for custody of Sharon on Thursdays after school until midday Saturday, when she will then live with her mother, Chardae Chez Tre-Thauseaux until the next Thursday.