So yeah…We have this slingshot monkey at work, see? From time to time we get to launching him over the cubicle walls at each other. So I lauch Mr. Space Monkey over the wall and hear gasps followed by laughter. It tuns out the windows of the office—get this—OPEN! We, by the way, work on the 13th floor…over Park Avenue…in Manhattan. It’s important to note at this point that the monkey has a hard noise box in his body that generates a screech as he flies through the air. So yeah…he’s basically a flying blackjack.

I come rushing down the elevator expecting to see an investment banker lying in a pool of venti latte and his/her own blood. But when I get to the sidewalk I see this:

He hit the street right by the curb, missing all, and since it’s New York nobody batted an eye at the sight of a monkey falling from the sky. So yeah…he lay there untouched, smiling, ready for another go. Unfortunately the screeching part still works.