Tag Archives: Justin Bieber’s monkey

Almost Famous – Or How I Went from the Pampered Pet of a Pop Star to an Inmate in a German Zoo

My name is Mally, and this is my story.

My name is Mally, and this is my story.

One day I’m speeding through the gated streets of Calabasas, California in a white Ferrari, wind racing through my fur, my miniature monkey-size Rolex keeping perfect time on my delicate wrist, the love of my life, Justin Bieber, behind the wheel.  I was living the kind of life that 99.9% of old world and new world monkeys can only dream of.  And the next day, the NEXT day my friends, I am being torn from his loving arms by the German authorities.  I was kidnapped by Klaus, waylaid by Wolfgang, held up by Helmut, and quarantined by Conrad (I couldn’t find a German name that started with Q).

So now, instead of traveling the world aboard a private jet, or munching on mangoes and meal worms in a penthouse hotel suite, I have been imprisoned in the Serengeti Park/Monkey Hoosegow, in some godforsaken town in northern Germany called Hodenhagen.  Hodenhagen…REALLY!?!

Needless to say, it has not been a smooth adjustment for me.  The guards noticed how depressed I was becoming.  All I wanted to do was to lie in bed, snuggling Stuffy Bear (the only gift from Justin that my jailers would let me keep), and dream of happier days.

Monkey.pic.sad

All I want is you…all I want is you.  Sitting here, all alone, watching the snow fall.  Looking back at the days, we threw them snow balls.
I can’t believe, I’m putting the tree up by myself.
I need you, and nobody else…

So one of my gefyngniswyrters, Heinz, came up with the idea of offering me enrichment opportunities, to take my mind off of my troubles.  Apparently other depressed zoo inmates take up hobbies, like crochet, woodworking, and painting.

Painting zoo animals

Deluded captives, clearly suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, engage in enrichment activities.  These are obviously misguided attempts to either bring meaning into the Justin-less void that is their existence, or to cull favor in the hope that someday this will lead to their escape/freedom.  Freedom to return to their stolen former lives.

But in the end it didn’t help to take my mind off of my Justin.  All I painted was endless portraits of Him.

My guards, or as they like to call themselves, "keepers", try to get me to paint other subjects, but I just make painting after painting of my Baby, Baby, Baby.

My guards, or as they like to call themselves, “keepers”, tried to get me interested in other subjects, but I just made painting after painting of my baby, baby, baby.

So here I am, and it appears that here I shall remain.  Instead of a 7 million dollar mansion in Hollywood, I get to live on an island in a zoo with horror of horrors, OTHER MONKEYS!  Don’t they know I am practically a person?  Don’t they know WHO I AM?  Or, I guess I should say, who I was…

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