I had an evil, Ikea fornuft-wielding monkey on one shoulder, and one in a shearling coat. One begging me not to write, with tears in his little monkey eyes, lip a-tremble. The other monkey, red in colour, was jabbing at me, laughing maniacally, daring me to put my fingers to the keyboard to create the column that was writing itself in my head.
It was nagging at me — begging for my satirical sense of humour to rip it apart — with every wag of his shearling coat, that monkey named Darwin made a vein throb in my forehead as I tried not to make fun at his expense.
But there he was, wandering through the Ikea in my famnig hjarta. I couldn’t help but joke about the now famous Ikea monkey.
So, dear readers, I apologize in advance at my seemingly uncaring attitude, but I care! I do care! I care so much I have to laugh at the Ikea monkey!
Because his little ordeal into the big city reflected a human race that insists on capturing everything cute and making it a household pet, when that little baby monkey only wanted to chill out with momma-monkey in the jungle.
I love animals. I really do. I feel sorry for the little guy. He arrived at IKEA just like many of us do: terrified and lost at the enormity of it all.
I’ve been there, lost in the Ikea maze, simply wanting a lerberg or strala, but having to go all the way through just to get a single pluggis.
I’ve been lost, I’ve found myself at the child care centre, wondering if I should just turn myself in to the lost and found and hope my parents are less disoriented than I am and can locate me.
I’ve been that hopeless little monkey, staring out the window of Ikea, thinking to myself, how did I get here?
So when I make fun, I do so with a sense of camaraderie.
My sister and I pondered back and forth that shearling coat. Where did he get it? Who makes such a tiny coat? But then I wondered even more, where the heck did this monkey come from in the first place?
Was he shipped there from Sweden, where monkeys are just as rare as Canada, along with a box of duktigs? The poor little gaffer! Or was the monkey simply shopping for a kvart to use while he lounges on his klappsta, perhaps browsing the Ikea catalogue for more at-home design ideas?
But then the update came in: Darwin had been seized by Toronto officials, and the fun was over. I was working on a zinger involving a swinging monkey and a lova, when I read the headlines and my lip began to tremble.
Apparently the monkey may be infected with a dangerous form of herpes. He was put in a holding area where staff are only approaching him in gowns and respirators.
This little monkey’s trials, found wandering sadly around IKEA — perhaps not satisfied with the knutstorps or sparsams — made a mockery of humans.
Darwin the monkey had in fact proved Darwinism by his very existence in the city of Toronto wearing a diaper and a fashionable shearling coat after escaping from a crate in his owner’s vehicle. The owners, who had been in possession of the monkey for a mere five months, had been outsmarted by a monkey.
The family has come out to say that they’re sad the monkey has been taken, but any person knows anthropoids can climb — leaving an animal in your SUV for long periods of time while you shop for cirkustalts is not conducive with pet ownership of any kind.
As of Tuesday, the monkey had been put in an animal sanctuary, which really, is where a city-savvy monkey belongs.
God speed, Darwin.
The little monkey will surely spawn a fashion explosion of shearling coats, and hopefully more importantly (and seriously): an awareness to potential exotic pet owners to stick to a damn dog.
