By Car Johnson
I think monkey burgers will be the next big thing. Everyone always wants some new culinary experience like emu steaks or fried Twinkies. Of course, some people will find eating monkeys disgusting, but that’ll just add to the charm. New is one thing, but controversial is a whole other ball of wax. A photo of a bunch of fluffy kittens is boring, but smear a bit of excrement on it and everyone says you’re an artistic genius.
A few months back, before I decided to retry my monkey farm venture, I decided to become a famous artist. I couldn’t paint, draw, sculpt or carve and my artistic mind was as shallow as a mud puddle. Still, I saw people who were as shallow as me get accolades as the greatest minds of our time. All they had to do was shock people. They were the art world equivalent of a jogging path flasher or a kid picking his nose and placing it on his little sister.
That sort of thing was right up my alley. Doing something shocking comes as easy to me as bathing naked in a fountain. I’ve been doing over the top things my whole life. Of course, to be a darling in the shock art world, I’d have to make people mad as well. Since a lot of people think getting mad is bad, they think you’ve accomplished something if you cause someone else to feel angry. And if other people can bang some pots, annoy a few people, and convince others it’s the height of intellectual expression, so could I.
I just needed to find something suitably offensive. I didn’t want to go the same old route of politics, poop, or religion, so I wracked my brain to find something new. It took a while, but I came up with something everyone loves: candy.
So, I got all the candy I could buy and placed it in jars filled with worms and rotted meat. I taped a sign next to each jar that said things like “Candy sucks” and “Sweets are a lie.” Then I rented a warehouse to hold my exhibit and advertised it as “The one art show that makes your question everything you ever knew about everything.” I actually got quite a few people to come. Unfortunately, they took one look at my art and went into fits of laugher. It turns out candy isn’t controversial enough.
To really convince someone that your shock art is profound, you have to use something people hold dear. If I had used pictures of infants or Ghandi, I would have succeeded. Too bad I couldn’t try again, since now everyone knew I was a fraud. After that, I limited my artistic endeavors to doodling naughty smurf pictures on public restroom walls. My failure in the art world didn’t mean I couldn’t use the same principles in some other project, though. That’s why I finally decided to retry my monkey farm idea. Except this wasn’t just controversy and shock. This time I’d have something that really was new and exciting.
First, I’d have to find a farm. That was the easiest part. My parents had bought a rundown farm three years ago to try their hand at growing dandelions. Since the market for dandelions just wasn’t there, they burned the crops and left the farm to rot. They were more than happy to let me try and breathe some life into it. I got some old wood and chicken wire (it was my current collection, but I figured it should be sacrificed to the greater good) and built myself a monkey house.
I added a bunch of really tall cat condos, since monkeys like to climb, and a bunch of those barrel of monkey games for them to play with. Now I just needed some monkey food. I looked online and saw that they ate fruit, vegetables and some meat. So, I bought a crate of radishes, a hundred cans of fruit cocktail and fifty pounds of beef jerky. Now it was time to go get some monkeys.
I tried pet stores, but all they had were cats, dogs and assorted small animals. And they had the nerve to kick me out when I asked where I could go to get enough monkeys to start a farm! I eventually had to resort to going to my crazy capuchin hoarding Aunt Mabel, and asking for a few of hers. I was surprised when she said I could have them all. She had grown tired of monkey and wanted to start hoarding piranhas instead.
So, I hired some friends to help me move the monkeys over to the farm. We got a big U-Haul and lured them inside with some ripe bananas. Well, some of them anyway. The rest of the monkeys burst out of Mabel’s house and ran down the street, attacking parked cars and making a big ruckus. I decided to just let them run free. Ten monkeys were enough to start my farm. We drove the truck to the farm and parked in front of the monkeys new home. I opened the back… bad idea. The monkeys leapt out and tried to turn me into a giant punching, scratching (and biting) bag. My (ex) friends were nowhere to be seen. Good thing the police had followed my truck. Apparently, its illegal to own or transport monkeys in this county.
All I got for my efforts was a visit to the hospital and a hefty fine. Aunt Mable got an even bigger fine, which made me feel even worse. I bought her a whole tank of goldfish to apologize. I didn’t feel too depressed, since I learned a very important lesson: Don’t mess with monkeys.
After my wounds healed, I decided to tear down the monkey enclosure and use the farm to raise something that wouldn’t send me to the E.R. or get me in trouble with the law. Everybody will love fried porcupine, right?
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Wanna talk to Car? Email him at: Car_Johnson_Rocks@hotmail.com
