Circus Monkeys

I was napping on a bale of hay after milking the cows, when, out of nowhere, billions of monkeys appeared before me. One was jumping thru a hula-hoop; one was balancing on a beach ball; another was trying to paint flowers on my face; and a huge mob was trying to enter the Mall of America, but the security guard kept pointing to a sign on the door which stated clearly that employees from the circus are prohibited from shopping here. And lots of the monkeys were eating bananas. 

The female monkeys wore dresses, and the male monkeys wore hats, so that you could tell them apart. 

I should also mention that many of the monkeys were doing trapeze routines on the nearby jungle vines. 

After getting over my initial shock, I leapt to my feet and ran to tell my father and brother to get a shotgun and secure the silo of grain. Then I threw a net over the monkeys, which made them go absolutely mad: they were screeching, flying, diving, bapping, clawing, and hepping. 

“I can’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” I said to the furry, hyperactive multitudes. 

They continued their manic gesturing nonetheless, so I attended to them more carefully; then at last I understood that this collective fit was not nonsensical but rather communicative: they were attempting to give me directions to the Enchanted Forest!

So I went to the Enchanted Forest and sat on the couch; and a monkey in a shin-length skirt came knuckle-walking forth and served me a glass of nectar, which was surprisingly tasty.