Read an article the other day about some
geneticists in China who have successfully spliced human genes into the brains
of monkeys.
I’m guessing those Chinese scientists
have never seen the “Planet of the Apes” movies. If they had, they would know
there’s no way this is going to end well. It’s only a matter of time before
Charlton Heston winds up kneeling on the seashore in front of a half-buried
Statue of Liberty while damning everyone at NORAD to hell.
Naturally, most of those commenting on
the article were (surprise! surprise!) outraged. An outraged person on Facebook!
I mean, what are the odds?
I was a little outraged myself. I don’t,
after all, relish the idea of whiling away my golden years picking ticks off
the backs of my simian overlords. Likewise, I wouldn’t want those bloody
baboons to cut up my brain. (And you just know they would, given half a
chance.)
At the same time, while reading the
article I couldn’t help but be impressed by the science behind the experiment.
Suppose those scientists really do succeed in creating a better, slightly smarter
monkey?
There are some who say this experiment
was already successfully carried out on a large scale years ago; they point to
Washington and Lansing as proof of this theory. Others contend this assertion
is insulting to monkeys. But when it comes to politics and primates, I believe
exactly what you believe, so let’s keep those emails friendly, kids.
What I find exciting about the
experiment is it brings me one step closer to achieving a life-long goal: to
own a pet monkey. I’ve wanted a pet monkey since grade school.
Believe it or not, they were once
advertised in the back pages of comic books. For $13.95 plus postage the
company would ship any kid a (mostly) live baby monkey. If there were rules or
regulations governing this practice, nobody paid any attention to them.
My guess is the life expectancy of those
baby monkeys was about two weeks. Others were no doubt released into the wilds
of West Michigan when their owners realized how much fun it is to change a
monkey’s diaper four times a day.
But a genetically-enhanced monkey? One
that could be taught to use the little chimp’s room? One smart enough to NOT
fling its feces on the lace curtains? Now, THAT might be fun, even without a
funny hat and miniature bicycle.
The altered Chinese monkeys aren’t
anywhere close to that, sadly, but you’ve got to remember, this is just a first
effort. It’s only a matter of time.
Much as I want one, I won’t be first in
line to make a purchase. I’ll wait to see if any other owners get their noses
bitten off first. If there have been no gruesome monkey-related fatalities
after six or seven months, I’ll dig out the credit card.
In fact, the more I think about it, the
more I realize there’s a lot of stuff – besides monkeys, I mean – that I wanted
as a kid. Like the simian pets, most of this stuff also was advertised in the
back pages of “Superman” and “Dr. Strange.”
Back then I had a cash flow problem;
most fourth grade kids do. So many of my heart’s desires went unfulfilled.
Lord knows I’m no millionaire now, but I
do have a few more bucks than I did as a child. Why should I settle for a
super-chimp when I can afford to fill my shelves with the “stuff” I could once
only dream of?
Shrunken heads, for instance. I always felt
I needed a shrunken head. They looked very real in the pages of the comic
books. At the time, I assumed they were authentic, human heads, writ small for the
convenience of savvy consumers. Now I’m not so sure. But I’d like to find out
once and for all.
X-Ray Specks. I actually dropped two
weeks’ allowance on a pair of these. The actual item, when it finally arrived,
left much to be desired. They did elicit a wonderful reaction from the girls
whenever I wore them on the playground, though. (Sexual harassment laws were
laxer in those days.)
Weight gain formula! Because I was tired
of getting sand kicked in my face at the beach. Not sure what I’d do with a jar
of it these days. Not eat it, that’s for sure. Alas, my “too skinny” days are
behind me.
So much great stuff. So little time. But
if things go well with my talking super-chimp, I’ll be keeping the FedEx guy
busy for months.
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