So, I hired some friends to help me move the monkeys over to the farm. We got a big U-Haul and lured them inside with some ripe bananas. Well, some of them anyway. The rest of the monkeys burst out of Mabel’s house and ran down the street, attacking parked cars and making a big ruckus. I decided to just let them run free. Ten monkeys were enough to start my farm. We drove the truck to the farm and parked in front of the monkeys’ new home. I opened the back… bad idea. The monkeys leapt out and tried to turn me into a giant punching, scratching (and biting) bag. My (ex) friends were nowhere to be seen. Good thing the police had followed my truck. Apparently, it’s illegal to own or transport monkeys in this county.
All I got for my efforts was a visit to the hospital and a hefty fine. Aunt Mable got an even bigger fine, which made me feel even worse. I bought her a whole tank of piranhas to apologize. I didn’t feel too depressed, since I learned a very important lesson: Don’t mess with monkeys.
After my wounds healed, I decided to tear down the monkey enclosure and use the farm to raise something that wouldn’t send me to the E.R. or get me in trouble with the law. Everybody will love fried porcupine, right?