Monkey Monkey Monkey

Reporters on the monkey beat must be in a state of perpetual ecstasy this week, because monkeys are everywhere. First, there was last week's revelations about W.B. Yeats and his monkey... um, experiments, and now, monkeys are apparently rampaging through the streets of Lakeland, Fla. If I was still a reporter, I'd love to cover that story if only so I'd have call to use the phrase "monkey-hunt."
Meanwhile in Costa Rica, Pete Wentz of Fall Out Boy and Ashlee Simpson were robbed by monkeys, although I have to say that when I first read that story, I thought they had been robbed of monkeys, because I thought "monkey thieves" were thieves who stole monkeys, not thieves who were monkeys. My reaction to this was, of course, "What in God's name were Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson doing running around Costa Rica with a bunch of monkeys in the first place?"
And if Florida weren't having enough problems what with the monkey infestation in Lakeland and all, they've got other issues. Apparently, Satan himself is planning to blow up Walt Disney World. So I guess the Mouse doesn't work for him after all.
And, finally, it seems that stupidity isn't limited to the lower primates this week. Either that or some monkeys have learned to fly planes like in that movie with Matthew Broderick.

Sex, Drugs and Monkey Glands

From a review of Secret Lives of Great Authors by Robert Schnakenberg on Salon:

Kafka attended a nudist spa; Joyce got turned on by soiled ladies' underwear; Yeats had monkey glands implanted in his scrotum to recharge his virility.

There must have been one hell of a conversation in the doctor's office before that particular procedure.
Yeats: "Well, doc, I'm having some, uh, peformance issues, if you know what I mean."
Doctor: "Hmm. Have you tried oysters? Vitamins?"
Yeats: "Yeah. No dice."
Doctor: "Well, then. I don't know. We could try... How about, uh... monkey glands?"
Yeats: "Ooh, that could work."