Dear Man With The Yellow Hat:
Hey Dumbass, your monkey is running away again. I have no idea what you are doing right now, but I think it’s time someone pointed out an obvious pattern. No matter where you are, or what you are doing, the monkey, George, that is, Curious freaking George, is going to run away… and to do something, something exceptionally horrific like starting a fire or flying through the air on balloons or jumping off a ship on the way home from Africa. Oh, about that, by the way, are you clear about what kind of germs little monkeys carry?
Uh, I’ve heard it’s substantial, and I’m not a zoologist. And I’m fairly certain it’s illegal to bring home wild animals anyway.
A trend you might find helpful is that wild animals, also known as “pets” here in the US are kept in cages. Oh, I know, what’s the use, right? George will find a clever way out. But seriously, I am guessing if you were next to him for more than like five seconds in public places, he might not figure out how to take down a Christmas display in New York’s Macy’s. Or here’s an even better idea, lockdown in a zoo?! I mean, I’m not fan of animals in captivity, but I do believe if you are going to bring home little monkeys from faraway places, that is where they are to go—not perched carelessly on your shoulder while you look for a new yellow jump suit faux-pas at a local retail establishment.
What’s that? Well, I am no fashionista, but yellow is an annoying color for the owner of a monkey to wear, a head to toe yellow costume. It’s annoying for anyone to wear. Even ole Kim Kardash couldn’t pull off that siren-like color on her fabulous curves. And the damn monkey can never find you? Seriously, I am not buying it.
But even more shocking are all those implied affairs with the Mrs. This and That in every book about you!! Find some male friends for pete’s bald head! Have you no shame?! Where are you and Mrs. Needleham going on the train together? Why are you at Mrs. Gray’s house, asking for a costume? Besides the obvious fact that the yellow outfit counts as a costume any day of the week… you don’t show up at a party and ask your married lady friend to take you in the back to find a new costume… that’s booty time. You don’t think my kids know that? I’m beginning to wonder what you’re packin’ under the hideous yellow façade.
Lastly, if your stupid monkey, George, that is, is going to be set free, please don’t flaunt it in front of my small impressionable boys. They want to know when we’re going to fly on balloons like George or jump from roof to roof or climb down skinny ladders outside 75 story buildings. I am already prying them from dangerous heights without your book’s irresponsible dangerous references to “adventures”.
My only solace is that you didn’t bring home a small boy named George instead of the monkey, George. We can at least tell them “little boys don’t do like monkeys” (in our best use of the English language). Little boys must stay with their caregivers and not touch everything in sight, especially loud or large moving things.
I realize this letter is overdue, but I have only recently reached a time in my boys’ lives where I am looking for someone to blame for their insane and otherwise, “curious” behavior. So please understand that I would have written sooner if I had known you would be such a perfect scapegoat for any imperfect boundaries I may or may not have set in my own home.
In closing, please tell George ‘hi’ from all of us at Casa Crazy. Although we’ll never be rich or famous or such fashion-less souls, we will be emulating your daring feats, only I will be using a little more common sense and shall we say, care, in raising my little monkeys. Well, a little anyway.
Yours truly, (no, I’m not flirting with you)
Mrs. So and So