Hey, Woodstock Monkey. Whatcha doing?
“Catching PTSD. I am in the middle of traumatization.”
Anything in particular?
“What was it again that you called me?”
Woodstock Monkey.
“There you go. That explains the entire problem. I am a monkey…and I am at Woodstock.”
I guess.
“Absolutely should not be here under any circumstances. If you believe in God, then God didn’t want this. If you prefer evolution, then evolution did not prepare me for this.”
You should be in a jungle.
“At the very least, thick forest.”
Yeah, you’re a squirrel monkey. Or a spider monkey.
“I should be swinging from tree to tree like…who’s that racist trope with the cool name?”
Tarzan.
“Him. I got arms like rubber bands, man. Boing boing boing, tree to tree. But I’m not doing that.”
No, you’re at Woodstock.
“I’m not doing great, man. You ever hear Tim Hardin? Just awful.”
You’re not wrong.
“Also, I’m surrounded by half-a-million people. Not optimal.”
Dude, run away. There’s woods all over the place.
“Yeah, I’m completely incapable of living out in the wild. Rollerskate raised me from birth.”
Rollerskate?
“The girl I own. She calls herself Rollerskate.”
No, she doesn’t.
“Hey, man: it’s 1969, and she’s the type of person who brings a monkey to Woodstock. Of course her name is Rollerskate.”
Let’s move on. Anything I can do for you?
“Is anyone here selling churros?”
I don’t know. I could check.
“If there’s a churro guy, get me one. That would help a lot.”
Gotcha. Listen, Woodstock Monkey: I apologize on behalf of the whole human race for this.
“Just get the fucking churro, dude.”
Okay.
A cursory google search revealed no back-story to this pic…how is that even possible in 2019?!?
By now, hasn’t every minute detail of everything been thoroughly examined, ridiculed and declared the best/worst ever?
In 2013 I worked in a brewery in southern Ontario. There was an older gentleman who had worked there for some time. Kind and generous fellow, Gord was his name. Occasionally he would strike up a conversation when there was down time at work. On this particular ocassion he told me of his neighbor that died, she left many belongings behind and had a facination for exotic animals. And she happened to own a spider monkey when she passed. Her family didn’t want the monkey, so him being an open minded guy decided to take in Cheeko the spider monkey.
The next week his friends surprised him with tickets to this wild concert that was to be happening in New York just south of the Canadian border. So he decided to bring Cheeko with him as he couldn’t leave him at home. Exotic animals were not allowed to cross the border without proper paperwork. Luckily this neighbor who had passed had taught Cheeko how to play dead. So when it came time to cross the border Gord said “Cheeko dead” and the spider monkey would lie still until he said, “Cheeko wake”. They crossed the border successfully.
When I asked Gord what him and the monkey did while at the festival he said he dosnt remember ever seeing the monkey. He was gone and then showed back up when the festival was over and it time to go back to Ontario.
True story, I swear.
I was just retelling this story to a few new friends as we were listening to Santana live at Woodstock on utube. I decided to Google (spider monkey woodstock) and here I am. 2021 finally seeing Cheeko for the first time.
Poor monkey. You can see the distress in his eyes.
Anyway that’s the story of Gord and his dead neighbors spider monkey Cheeko.