MONKEYS AND REAL ESTATE

DOOM AND MADNESS IN THE HOUSE SHOPPING MARKET

By

Jimmy Joe Meeker

First Published in The Wilson County Advocate, Vol. 3, No. 17, ©May 4, 1993 by Donald W. Gillette

A couple of weeks ago, when I was looking for a new house, I saw an ad offering one for sale at less than half the going price in Wilson County--which, by the way, is about twice the going price in Nashville.

There had to be a catch, so I called a real-estate friend of mine who had about a million listings last year, and he told me he was vaguely familiar with the property. My friend said the place was built around the turn of the century and was in poor condition.

Anyway, like I said, the place was a steal, so I answered the ad. The house was ordinary brick and needed sandblasting, some of the windows were covered in newspaper and others were painted black.

There was no sign indicating the place was for sale, but I walked inside. The place stunk pretty badly, even for an old house, and the foyer was small. But behind one door I heard a lot of clanging and banging like someone was living there, so I tried the knob and then knocked.

After a while, the door was opened by a little chimpanzee who wore a sweatshirt that said, "GIVE AN APE A GRAPE". I poked my head into the room over the chimp's head and saw several more chimps seated around a junky, over-crowded living room filled with overstuffed furniture, old TVs, and hundreds of curios packed into every nook and cranny in the room.

The chimp at the door motioned me to come in as all the others looked at me and flashed their crazy, molar-filled grins. I soon realized there were no people in the house--just a group of chimps, all dressed in sport shirts and Hawaiian muumuus, relaxing in front of a badly aligned television. The picture was rolling and the sound was fuzzy, as if the speaker had been punctured.

One of the chimps, apparently a "girl", brought me a mug of water, balancing it on her finger, while another larger, slower-moving chimp, who I thought might be their leader, walked to the fireplace and pointed above the mantle.

Every square inch of it was jammed with brightly painted figurines and religious statues, and above them was a big poster written in what I thought was French. From what I could tell, the poster advertised a comedy chimp act. The old chimp them pointed to himself and the others.

Another girl chimp in a flowered hat grabbed my hand and insistently tugged me down the hall to what looked like a young boy's bedroom. There were car models on a shelf and circus posters on the wall. The "boy" was yet another chimp who seemed to be in the middle of assembling a crystal radio set.

He was too engrossed in the project to pay much attention to me, but after some prodding by his sister, he produced one of those pocket language translators. In essence, the chimp could talk.

He told me that he and the rest of his family had performed in circuses and on television throughout Europe until the public's interest in chimp comedy declined and their trainer moved them to the United States in hope of better luck.

The trainer died a couple of years later and the chimps maintained the house ever since.

"Dad" and "Mom" chimp brought me a scrapbook, which was one of the truly amazing volumes I'd ever seen. Those guys did it all. Unicycles, motorcycles, cowboy outfits, cream pies, everything. At one time, the chimps had a small fire truck they'd pedal into a big ring to put out a flaming hoop. Of course, they'd make a big deal out of it and the fire hose would never work until eventually one of them would look down inside the thing and get squirted in the face.

About that time, Mom chimp, apparently realizing the time, changed the channel on the TV and adjusted a pair of aluminum foil flags on the rabbit ears.

It was the Lebanon City Council meeting on Channel 11 that they show every other Wednesday morning, and the rest of the chimps quickly gathered around the set. The kid with the computer told me the rest of the family had to put up with Bobby Jewell and the City Council almost everytime it was on. He also said the chimps watched the County Commission. Not wishing to linger, I stood up to leave. As Dad politely escorted me to the door, one of the kids offered me a rotten pear to take with me.

Although I decided not to live in the house, I drove by last week to see how the chimp family was doing. Presumably, the bank had foreclosed their mortgage, because the house was abandoned and it was still for sale. All that remained was a worn, yellowed cartoon tacked to the chimps' kitchen wall. It showed a parent centipede teaching a child centipede how to walk. As the child gingerly lifted all of his left legs, the parent said, "Don't think about it, just do it."

LOOSELY CONNECTED PARAGRAPHS

The technique of writing loosely connected paragraphs separated by subheads has fallen into disuse. Once considered punchy, and an easy way to hold the interest of deadheads with attention spans as brief as the "duhs" they ejaculate when viewing network game shows, it is now widely considered to be the cheap device of a man behind in his work.

THE END

(Look, don't print this note, just print THE END in the same typeface as the rest of the subheads.

PRINT THAT, BUT DRAW A "DELETE" SYMBOL AROUND IT

But don't print this. No kidding. The guys who lay this out, even though their brains are in their fingers, know that readers soon become bored, disgusted, and finally nauseated with self-indulgent crap like this even though, ironically, they pay $7 to see Woody Allen do it in the movies and our price is only 50 cents.

YES YES

I know all the arguments that space must be filled. Okay, you asked for it. It's you who wouldn't stop printing the stuff, remember that.

ATTENTION, PSYCHOS, CRIMINALS, LUNATICS, MANIACS, DEVIATES, GOONS, THE ENVIOUS AND HATEFUL, THE WRETCHED, AND THOSE POSSESSED BY DEMONS, HERE IS A LIST OF THE ADDRESSES OF THE EDITORS OF THE WILSON COUNTY ADV