The early days of my youth were spent within the paradise of a tropical rainforest. While most of my days as a child were like the all the rest, there was one particular day in which a man with a big yellow hat came into the forest. He wore yellow clothes and kept calling me Curious George. I shrieked a lot at the man with the big yellow hat, and wildly flung my feces at him to make him go away.

In my early adulthood my family I and were forced to move because our rainforest was cut-down by big metal beasts that belched smoke and awful smells. Times were tough, and I sought employment outside of the forest. I responded to an ad in the local paper and soon found myself stationed at a typewriter along with a thousand other monkeys. Our task was simple: write the Great American novel. Sadly, just as I was writing some of the best fictional work of my life, funding for the project was cut, and I was once again forced to relocate and seek new employment.

My parents passed away, and I found myself living with my nephew Skanky and my Uncle Stenchy, who lost his ears and tail in a mishap involving a meat cleaver wielded by a Chinese cook who wanted to prepare monkey brains. (Uncle Stenchy never told us how he managed to escape.) Times were extremely desperate, and I knew that the only way I could make it was if I could go to America. I had no worldly possessions to sell for fare to the U.S., so I resorted to peddling myself in an up-scale trendy catalog, as I heard that in the States people wanted sock monkeys as their children's companions. The idea of being a "mail-order monkey" was cheap and tawdry, but I thought if Oriental women could sell themselves as mail-order brides just to get into the United States, I could do the same.

When the word came to me that a young woman wanted to adopt me, I was excited, afraid, and nervous—mostly because I knew I'd have to spend time in quarantine. The stories that drifted into the forest about the harsh treatment at quarantine were enough to make any sock monkey tremble. Tales of unnecessary surgery, and anal probing abounded. When they came to take me to the quarantine area, I said good-bye to uncle Stenchy and Skanky, vowing to send for them when I could.

My arrival at quarantine was at night, so I quickly sought refuge in my cage and slept fitfully throughout the night. The next morning, I found my surroundings to be not as evil as rumors told, and I made friends with other sock monkeys seeking a new life in a new land.

Shortly after my arrival in my new American home, my girl arranged for Skanky and Uncle Stenchy to immigrate, too. I received a letter from my cousin Yulie asking if I could manage to help her come to this great country. Being she is only a midget, she was easily smuggled into the country in someone's pocket.

Things are going well for me. I've written a screenplay about my life, and my agent has met with Disney a few times regarding the production of my script. They say that they want to revive their animal adventure movies like they made in the early 1960s. With computer animation, they claim that they can make Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon appear on the screen as if it really were 1963!

I've already got the opening theme song written:

The Stanky Song

They sewed him up from an old lady's hanky
But he wasn't very swanky!
They sewed him from an old man's pants
and he turned out quite danky.
It wasn't until they sewed him from a sock
that he came out to be stanky!
He's Stanky, the sock monkey!
He's Stanky, the sock monkey!
The Monkey made of socks!