Le singe électrique. (The chance for a French pun)

Legend tells of the day that the monkey that feeds quarters into the electricity meters at Livejournal Manor chewed through its leash and went on the run for twenty-four hours, leaving hundreds of thousands of deadheads staring at blank computer screens, feverishly hitting refresh until RSI took them to the Land of Light.

Across the world. hospital A&Es were swamped on that day, they say, with an unexpected and unwelcome influx of pasty-pale, flabby and pink-eyed automata, who wandered aimlessly from reception desk to chair to coke machine and back again, in mindless glazed-eye fashion. An hundred thousand index fingers curled into claws, and uselessly frozen.

Meanwhile, in the Pacific North-west of the United States, four people unaccustomed to daylight, and armed only with peanuts hunted with tireless purpose, pausing only for occasional refreshment at Pizza Hut and Dunkin' Donuts.

The pursuit, they say, was relentless, until a whole day later, following the trail from Starbucks to Starbucks they found the monkey, sapajou* smoking a stogie in the park, and reading Sports Illustrated. Lassoing the caffeine ravaged creature, they returned him to his cage with a new roll of quarters and thus was catastrophe averted.

All concerned agreed that attempts to create legends for the 21st century needed a lot more work.

*sapajou is a cappuccino monkey

Le singe électrique. (The chance for a French pun)

Legend tells of the day that the monkey that feeds quarters into the electricity meters at Livejournal Manor chewed through its leash and went on the run for twenty-four hours, leaving hundreds of thousands of deadheads staring at blank computer screens, feverishly hitting refresh until RSI took them to the Land of Light.

Across the world. hospital A&Es were swamped on that day, they say, with an unexpected and unwelcome influx of pasty-pale, flabby and pink-eyed automata, who wandered aimlessly from reception desk to chair to coke machine and back again, in mindless glazed-eye fashion. An hundred thousand index fingers curled into claws, and uselessly frozen.

Meanwhile, in the Pacific North-west of the United States, four people unaccustomed to daylight, and armed only with peanuts hunted with tireless purpose, pausing only for occasional refreshment at Pizza Hut and Dunkin' Donuts.

The pursuit, they say, was relentless, until a whole day later, following the trail from Starbucks to Starbucks they found the monkey, sapajou* smoking a stogie in the park, and reading Sports Illustrated. Lassoing the caffeine ravaged creature, they returned him to his cage with a new roll of quarters and thus was catastrophe averted.

All concerned agreed that attempts to create legends for the 21st century needed a lot more work.

*sapajou is a cappuccino monkey