This is one carpool club we would like to join.
I’m on my way!
(just need to figure out how to work this pig and avoid the tourists)
Storytime! So, one of the things my team had to do during the last field season was excavate golden monkeys. And because the graveyard is full of moles (fun fact: “mole” is one of the few words I can say in Kinyarwanda because we yelled it like a curse to the sky), the monkeys would be buried in these specially-designed boxes to give us a better chance of recovering nicely decomposed, complete skeletons. The bonus of this was that we could remove the boxes from the graveyard whole and do fuller excavating more comfortably closer to home/the lab.
Obviously, we’re all big fans of the baby monkey riding backwards on a pig song, or it got stuck in our heads all the time, so we kept changing the lyrics to be “golden monkey” instead of “baby monkey.” Like: “golden monkey, golden monkey, riding home in a box, golden monkey.”
And well, we’re us. So lyrics would devolve further into “nasty monkey” or “bony monkey” or “real dead monkey” or, the one that always got the people who spoke English to tell us to shut up already and not be horrible, “gushy monkey, gushy monkey, leaking from the box, gushy monkey.”
I love you.