Even from Dallas, the “Words For Your Enjoyment” never ceases, with this week’s suggestion coming to us from our good WFME friend, Lena. She made the unique and off-the-wall suggestion that we spend a little time talking about “Organ Grinder Monkeys.”
Right up my alley, you’re saying.
The funny thing is, I’ve always (ever since I was a kid) wanted my own organ grinder monkey. No, I didn’t want a Big Wheel, I didn’t want that awesome 8-Track Robot thing called “2XL.” I didn’t want a soccer ball or a karaoke machine for my own room. I wanted my own organ grinder monkey.
Organ Grinder Monkeys are less freaky than normal monkeys who freak me out simply because Organ Grinder Monkeys are like their own little entrepreneurial money making machine. I often wonder why kids who can’t get their own paper routes or aren’t old enough to work in a GAP don’t opt out for stealing a monkey from a third-world country and putting it to work for them on a beach-front supermarket or inside one of those huge mega-malls. People love monkeys, especially ones who wear little red velvet hats and shake a half-empty money can at them.
“Oh, look honey – it’s a money grubbing monkey!”
“You’re right, dear. It’s a dirty, smelly little cash carrying banana-ball!”
I want to think that if I had access to an organ grinder monkey that I would become the hippest kid in Los Angeles, because honestly there isn’t anyone hanging around the hip areas of L.A. toting around their own personal organ grinder monkey. I could score a bunch of extra cash from movie studios who wanted me to have my personal organ grinder monkey wear a hat that said things like, “I’m an Organ Grinder Monkey and I’m Walking Tall, like THE ROCK!” or “I’m an Organ Grinder Monkey who is 13 GOING ON 30 with Jennifer Garner!” Of course, if you came up to “Pepe” (the name for my personal organ grinder monkey) and you started poking at him he may just jump up and gnaw off a piece of your ear and then the movie studios would sue us for badly representing their movie with my monkey.
So, there are problems, obviously. But I’d like to think that I could train my organ grinder monkey, Pepe, just like I’ve trained my dog Jack to ring a bell to go to the bathroom, then Pepe would be both nice to people and quite a money making machine.
And if he wasn’t holding up his end of the deal, I’d scoop out his brains and eat them at the dinner table just like Harrison Ford did in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.