Monkey Porn

On a recent trip to a large, well-known zoo, my family and I strolled into the funky-smelling monkey house. Apes and gorilla’s of every brand lounged and hung, one-armed, from limbs behind the fences, moats and glass. When we got to the chimps, things went terribly south, literally.

One chimp sat hunched, as chimps tend to do, just inside a large window into their captive, monkey world. A dozen small children and young mothers, some with strollers, stood in awe, rubbing their hands on the glass as the chimp rubbed its side of the pane, mirroring the children’s motions.

Another chimp approached and began poking a finger into the shoulder of the first chimp. The first chimp shook its head as if saying, “no.” Another poke. Another no. A shove was followed by a look of “okay, what?”

The “what” was not suitable for small eyes.

Under-the-breath cursing followed gasps. Mother’s grabbed their children and ran. Some mothers’ shielded their kids’ faces. One boy yelled, “Look! They’re fighting!” It was just the opposite.

For almost two minutes, monkey porn played as if on a 72-inch, 3-D, high-def screen. My family stood frozen. Words caught in our throats. Moms screamed. Kids laughed, not really sure what was going on, but pretty sure it was not a part of the tour. Like a horrible accident on the freeway, we could not look away. It was so weirdly human – so creepily close. And the sounds, the freaky sounds; I can still hear them. Thoughts of fuzzy Ron Jeremy fluttered through my mind from a bad 1970’s image I saw in a place I did not want to be. The male’s chimps face said it all. I will not repeat it here.