The Noble Sifaka, or the Greatest Animal in the World

In my humble opinion, evolution's quest to create the perfect animal finds its culmination in the form of the noble sifaka (figure A).

FIGURE A

And if that doesn't convince you, let's lay out a few important points:

• lemur
• lives in Madagascar
• absurdly cute
• "when not searching for food they spend a good part of the day sun bathing, stretched on the branches," (Wikipedia)
  
• it's a motherfucking lemur!

I am posting this with the hope of soliciting convincing counterarguments. So my dear friends: what do you think is the world's finest creature? Don't forget to back up your assertions with evidence (preferably in video form). Let the race begin:

Listening to: Monkey Gone to Heaven by Pixies (coincidence? I think not).

Yazz

This is why I smoke.

This is also why I'm playing so much Duke Ellington on my show. Wait, that's a lie. I'm playing so much Duke Ellington, because Fernanda requested him. Or rather, some cat named "Duck Ellington," and we here at WHRB do what we can to please.

Sleep > Class

Untitled and Unfinished, but Absurdist without a doubt.

Act 1

We find Spencer seated upon the grassy ground sorting neckties; he sifts through them; sniffing at some, discarding others with an unreasonable force from the confines of the frame; eventually after minutes of uninterrupted silence Sean enters, brandishing the fork of a pitchfork

Sean: You bloody fucker. You stole my neckties. I’m going to tear your fucking spleen out and eat it raw, you godless cunt.

Spencer: Excuse me? I did nothing of the sort. You must have mistaken me.

Sean: How could I have mistaken you, you armless twat, you’re sitting there, your arms full of ties.

Spencer: Your eyes must be failing you.

Sean: My eyes see not, but my heart knoweth god’s own truth.

With that, Sean launches himself at Spencer, who cries out in horror and desperation

Sean: I have ripped a man apart in Brixton with less than this!

The violent struggle continues, in a wild flurry of limbs on the ground for a minute or so before Spencer being throttled on the ground exclaims…

Spencer: My, look at that cloud!

Sean: What does it look like to you?

Spencer: It’s a wash basin of course

Sean: No, you simple-minded charlatan. It’s Hieronymus Bosch

Spencer: Looks nothing like him

Sean: Well, it’s only in profile.

Spencer: You’re wrong, you know.

Sean (with introspection): Yes, it’s been said before.

After a moment of silence, the two staring at each other with narrowed eyes

Sean: I like talking to you. My respect grows with each passing day.

Spencer: You’ve only known me for this morning.

Sean: Have I? It feels like ages, doesn’t it?

Spencer: I suppose….if you want to look at it that way.

Sean: What is time but semantics anyway. Time is not reality, but a fictional construct meant to obscure our eyes from the glowing radiance of truth

Spencer looks confused, but counters by breaking into tuneless singing:

Spencer (singing): I'm singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feelin'
I'm happy again
I'm laughing at clouds

Sean: Ha!

Spencer ((continuing to sing)): So dark up above
The sun's in my heart

Sean: Naiveté, that’s all that is if you ask me

Spencer (continuing to sing): And I'm ready for love
Let the stormy clouds chase
Everyone from the place
Come on with the rain
I've a smile on my face
I walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
Just singin' and dancin’
in the rain

Sean: How can you be happy when you’re singing all the time?

Spencer: How can you be happy when you’re sad all the time?

Sean: You sir, have just broken a man’s heart.

Sean sits down, forlorn. Spencer looks at him questioningly, with perhaps a glint of pity in his eye

Sean (picking at the grass): I don’t even know what I’m doing here anymore. What are any of us doing here anymore?

Spencer: Don’t you remember?

Sean (after a moment): Oh yes, of course.

With a start, Sean stands up, and tackles Spencer once again, throttling him, back to where they left off a moment ago.

Sean: You hollow little nightingale of a fuck!

Spencer: How do you know the ties weren’t mine to begin with?

Sean: Because you sir are a thief. (Struggling for words) And thieves steal things…from people who own things. (Regains his fervor, and begins throttling Spencer once again, while choking out the rest of the dialogue in short spurts). Since you are now in possession of the neckties, and it being a well-known fact that you are a thief, it is logical to conclude that the neckties are stolen, and therefore they are not nor ever have been yours. Since I am so far the only claimant to the pilfered neckwraps, they therefore resort to my ownership immediately...

Preface

THE Poem, which is here offered to the Public, does not pretend to instruct by deep researches of reasoning; its aim is simply to amuse by bringing distinctly to the imagination the beautiful and sublime images of the operations of Nature in the order, as the Author believes, in which the progressive course of time presented them.