Very zen.
For those of you local people who own monkeys, you can breathe easier. Robert Bradford Mills, 34, pleaded guilty to felony theft. Mills was given the comparatively lengthy sentence for two reasons. First, he has a criminal record as long as, well, a monkey’s tail.
Mr. Mills also liberated an African spot-nosed guenon named Gwendolyn. Dumb luck, Gwendolyn is an endangered species.
It seems Mr. Mills was wandering around the Louisiana State Fair — and how many complete sets of teeth do you think were sported at that event — and took a liking to Gwendolyn. The 5-year-old minkey, as Inspector Clousseau might call her, was worth about $7,000.
Two days after the monkeynapping — which, by the way, is the taking and conscription of a monkey against its will and/or selling it for profit — Gwendolyn was found near Shreveport when a snitch tattled on Mr. Mills and received a $1,000 reward after the safe return of the jungle creature.
I have a question, part monkey, part math. If the owners of Gwendolyn paid $1,000 for her return, does that make the little simian worth $6,000 —or — $8,000?
Mr. Mills was an employee of the state fair when he took a fancy to Gwendolyn. When he was booked at the Caddo Parish pokey, the monkeynapper confessed he traded the little flea motel for $2,000 in narcotics and that gets me to wondering again.
What sort of self-respecting drug dealer would trade $2,000 in dope for not just a regular old monkey, but an endangered species monkey?
“Say, Ponchatrain. Dat show is a glamowous ape you got dere on you showda. Ain’t dat one o’ dem endangered species?”
“Nah, mahn. She’s a jessachimp.”
“Boy. Dis is Lew-wee-zee-anna. I know shrimp. Dat girl don’t look like no shrimp to me.”
“Chimp.”
“She don’t look like no chimp, either, Ponch.”
“She been sick. The chimp ate some bad shrimp. Put her tummy in a crimp.”
That’s the thing about being involved in the drug trade. They lie.
Effortlessly.
I’m an entire continent away from Louisiana and the story didn’t have the particulars. But the Caddo Parish police noted that Mr. Mills offered several variations on how he happened to end up with a girl African spot-nosed guenon who had the habit of looking up when you yelled, “Hey. Gwendolyn! Girl, sashay yoself over here an’ gib Daddy a kiss and he’ll give you a nice slice of fried banana, chere.”
I wondered what were Mr. Mills’ alibis?
“WHAT monkey?”
“That’s no monkey. That’s your wife.”
“Why, I’m a member of the Doubleday Monkey of the Month Club.”
“Why this pitiful creature is the lost love child of John Edwards and that alleged videographer. Note the pronounced nose and the joy of being 24/7 in estrus.”
“How DARE you! This is not a monkey. This is noble small being is an elderly Cuban grandmother seeking political asylum in America. See? She speaks Spanish…”
When one drifts toward worst case scenarios, one worries.
I think of what my dear departed mother used to say whenever some misdemeanor had been committed: “What would happen if EVERYBODY did …?” (Fill in your particular sin.)
I always knew the answer to that. Chaos. Why, if everyone stayed late playing at their friend’s house and arrived a half-hour into dinner, there would be blinding, planet-ending chaos.
What if EVERYONE used monkeys instead of money?
Well. Again, you’ve got your chaos.
First, there is more money than monkeys, so we’d run out of currency. Monkeys also do not fit into your wallet very well and I certainly wouldn’t cram one down a pant pocket because you’d never know where you might get bitten.
I’m at a nice restaurant. I finish my dinner. Do I pull out two orangutans and leave a spider monkey as a tip? What if I were owed change? Would I be given, say, a baby orangutan in a diaper to carry out to the car? On the bright side for the five-star eatery, they wouldn’t have to clean the dishes after I left two giant apes at the table.
I think Mr. Mills got what he deserved. It’s not like he was some heroic post-modern Jean Valjean of “Les Misérables,” stealing a monkey to feed his starving family.
And, personally, I wouldn’t eat a monkey no matter how hungry I was.
Trading monkeys for drugs. The very idea.
What was it that former First Lady Nancy Reagan used to say?
“Just say no to monkeys?”
John Boston has earned 119 major awards for writing stuff. Besides The Mighty West Ranch Beacon, his work appears in the prestigious thebostonreport.net just about every darn day. His commentaries represent his own opinions and not necessarily the views of any organization he may be affiliated with or those of the West Ranch Beacon. Read Boston’s daily blog, his Daily English Muffins, the Adventures of Job Hunter and more of John Boston’s award-winning commentary on thebostonreport.net