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Having had our fill of foreign munchies & manglish, we spent the next few hours getting lost on the way to McMinnville to visit Alf's Monkey Hut. It's not really called Monkey Hut. But it was rumored to have monkeys on premise, so that's why we drove all the way to McMinnville.
Here's a bad photo of animals made of moss & chickenwire and a cool sign welcoming "CRUZZERS" to the "CAR SHOW AT WALMART."
Behind the glass and bars is the reason Alf's is nicknamed Alf's Monkey Hut: a very bored monkey named either Herbie or Maynard, according to the names stenciled on the window. You can't see behind the glass, but if you could, you would see either Herbie or Maynard, but you wouldn't see both. Cursed be NASA, or whatever agent spelled the end of Herbie or Maynard. And cursed also be he who put Herbie or Maynard in that diaper and horrible red jumpsuit. Monkeys wanna be naked!
The helpful film developers have pointed out that this shot is blurry. Thank you, helpful film developers.

But at least you can see the blurry giraffe.

Alf's was also said to feature a cage full of chihuahuas. There was a cage, but only one mangy chihuahua. That's not just an expression -- the poor thing really did have the mange. Max petted it through the fence until I pointed out the mange. She quickly excused herself to go wash her hands, after first wiping them on me.
I was going to get a marshmallow shake after we ate, but this white trash family ahead of us was taking forever to order. And there was also a Mennonite couple ahead of us, the male half of which was surreptitiously staring at Max's anatomy. It was entertaining, but not as entertaining as we imagined Thrillville, U.S.A. would be. So off we went.

Wish I'd have had that shake.