screaming monkeys

Agreed, those were awfully dark thoughts being foisted upon millions of innocent souls, and sad to say, it goes on to this day. It seems, though, that we were somehow inoculated against those ideas, and were able to take the sting out of most of them through our own brand of precociousness. Consider, for instance, the image of me climbing out of my crib and through the (second story) bedroom window on Mountain Street to rescue my poor stuffed monkey, who was still lying on the sidewalk after being thrown to his death from the front porch a few minutes earlier. Hanging by my fingertips, I displayed no fear of heights, no fear that I would come tumbling down, and absolutely no understanding of the gravity of the situation. Rock-a-bye baby be damned, I was going to retrieve that monkey. The perpetrator was never apprehended, by the way, and I believe the statute of limitations has passed for first degree monkey murder, in case you are still tormented by the case.

I rummaged through my memory bank on the Tree House Hooky Caper and came up empty; someone else must have beaten me to that particular safe deposit box. Gimme the facts, brother.