I had heard stories before about monkeys being mean, throwing their feces at people and doing other things people I know rarely do without having a few beers first. We had only one prior substantive experience with monkeys, not counting our wilder college days, which I don't believe should be fair game for security background checks anyway. Long ago in Bali, we went to the Monkey Forest. We had a lovely time; the monkeys were funny, and our younger daughter, maybe six at the time, enjoyed holding out bananas to the monkeys, who took them and sent her thank you cards within two days. Jody did not enjoy the experience - perhaps because she happened to be the one wearing the backpack stuffed with bananas, the monkeys got wind of it, and two of them climbed up her back and helped themselves. Well, these monkeys in the nature preserve were jerks. I'm sure there's some fancy scientific name for this particular species, but we were told they were - I don't have a delicate way of putting this - "blue-balled monkeys." And in fact, not that I was staring or anything, they were. Well, they were also aggressive little shits. The one in the photo sitting on top of the fence, as we were standing in line to buy tickets for the lake boat ride, suddenly rushed right at me, bared its fangs and hissed. The Indians in line parted like the Red Sea, so the bugger had a clear shot at me. This was before I took the photo, mind you; I had done nothing to provoke the little bastard. So even though later we saw several dozen baby monkeys swinging on vines, just like Boy in the Tarzan movies, and that was cute, monkeys still left a bad taste in my mouth. Luckily, feces were not involved, so I am speaking metaphorically, but still.
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