Monkeys, poop and phobias

Ok, I guess I have to come clean...I have a mortal fear of monkeys
In my post about Pink Mohair's problems getting Bugaboo to offer a sensible solution to her stroller woes, I used the expression "holy flying Monkey crap", much to Linda Lu's amusement. To me, it's one of the scariest images ever but I guess if you've never lived with a monkey, you just don't know about that. It's just funny. I, unfortunately, did live with a monkey. An ancient, dirty, possessive, violent monkey. There's nothing funny about it, to me or to my siblings

My grandfather emigrated from his country as a young man, accompanied by his older sisters and brother. Alone in a new place, speaking a new language, they started their lives again. Once they started working (their English was much better than his), they felt that 'poor Stan' was lonely and my Great-Aunt suggested getting him a dog. My Great-Uncle John said that he would look into a suitable dog and hit the market. You can imagine everyone's surprise (and Zeyde's delight) when John pulled a small, scared monkey out of his coat that night. Well, Monkey (yes, that was his name) moved in. He went every where with Stan, who of course, loved him like a child. He went to work. He went to football. Everywhere. When he married my Grandmother, Zeyde had to put Monkey out of reach because he would grab about poor little Edith, rip her clothes and shake her. 7 lbs. of monkey vs. 4'11" of hot-tempered Irish beauty - think about it. Monkey was banished to a nest in the kitchen where, frustrated by the distance between him & his nemesis, he resorted to what later became known as "doing it". This was really 2 activities - yes, the perquisite poop-flinging that we've all seen on TV - that was scary enough but it got worse. Monkey's live forever - FOR-FREAKING-EVER- and Monkey was ancient when I came along. Nestled in a perch on top of a chest freezer in the back kitchen, Monkey sat, stared and shook various parts of his anatomy at anyone who got too close. Even as a toddler, I loved all animals and wanted to cuddle the 'baby'; the 'baby' wanted to pull my hair out of my head, throw poop at me and shake his genitals violently at me. When we were cleaning out that house after my Grandparents were gone, I could still hear Bubbi screaming, "Staaaaaaaaaaaaaan he's doing it again!". As funny as it might seem, I still cannot touch a monkey. Look at a monkey. Like a monkey

Maybe I should be grateful - all I ever needed to know about male anatomy was learned fairly early on thanks to that hairy, stinky mess of monkey

So, do ya still like monkeys?