Look, me and baboons simply don’t need to be occupying the same space. Figuratively or literally. If you know me well enough you may have heard me tell real-life stories of my own encounters with them in Cape Town and outside of Johannesburg. I sure as hell don’t want them in my head wreaking havoc. If I search these memories deeply enough I can still hear my NYC burrough, O.G. Jewish Grandma yelling at my sister and I to quit screaming about baboons on the roof from the backseat of the 1972 era Ford. Ah yes. Good times.
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