Legions of Monkeys howl into the night.
They know - they sense - that something is not right.
Their scheduled feedings, routine electric shocks,
Have ceased: Quotidian Routine on the rocks.
Their Master’s voice, of late they do not hear.
O Monkeys, shed a bitter Jungle Tear.
I don’t know if he’s defunct, but he sure is acting like it.
Is it work-related overload? Terminal? Or just a case of the Beal?
Or...(cue ominous music)...could it be The Rat-Poison Shirley Temple?