I nearly failed to complete this column. During my recent daily walk, where I maintain a super-patriotic 38 feet from anybody, just to play it really safe. I got distracted by the medical drone flying above me. It’s amazing what those things can do. That Cuomo Cruiser drone was taking my temperature and performing a colonoscopy while at the same time I was listening to Rush rip a feminazi.

Looking up at the drone, as it also analyzed my cholesterol count, made me a danger to my fellow Fredonians. I became disoriented by the droning noise and wandered into a maze, which is now the lawn in front of the crumbling White Inn.

I wandered about for several minutes and couldn’t find my way to safety. I concluded that I was going to be engulfed in grass never to be seen again until an archeological dig discovered my bones in the next century. Fortunately, I realized that I could hear passing traffic so I just followed the sound and found my way back to the sidewalk unscathed by a lion that was stalking me. He darted back into the White Inn savannah where he’s probably getting quite hungry. So watch out.

I returned home to finish this article where I encountered another impediment popped up. A surveillance drone flew in to our house when I opened the door. It’s quite an annoying addition to our home, and It wouldn’t leave. It was one of those Fauci Flyers that goes bananas if my wife and I don’t maintain our 6-foot social distancing.

The big problem is that my wife finds me irrisistable so about every five minutes we get buzzed by this pesky drone saying, “Get back. Maintain your social distance or I’m going to launch some Fauci Flatulence.” That’s when the drone flies toward us and emits a puff of disinfectant.

Then, as we are shaking our heads and coughing up the spray, it gets in between us and warns us about maintaining proper social distancing. “If you two love birds continue to threaten the well-being of all Americans, there will be enhanced procedures taken to keep you separate.” It warned us to separate just before my baseball bat reduced it to Fauci Flakes. Annoying no more, I finished what you are now reading thanks to the Louisville Slugger.

Absent the interference from the Flyer, this lockdown is becoming quite an issue for me. I can’t find many stories about weirdos, and whackos making fools of themselves. They’re so locked down that strange news stories are hard to find.

In this quarantine, there is definitely a decline in what I find entertaining. Normally on a spring afternoon I could find myself becoming infuriated with missing another 3-foot putt. Now with our nation dodging clouds of C19 that are lurking around every corner, person, cough, sneeze, doorknob, package, shopping cart, wrapper, I actually found my wife’s new veggie chopper dazzling. She reduced an onion into a pile of exquisitely shaped pieces within seconds. I thought that was really something.

Pretty sad, isn’t it.

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There’s probably some guy out there somewhere in the outback of Australia who wants to declare his love for a kangaroo and get married. That story is not being reported because Australia’s in a lockdown, too. Even if they did get married, they couldn’t have a wedding reception. Well, you could if it were 10 or less but, heck, just the kangaroo’s relatives and friends alone would exceed that number. By the way, do you know what a bunch of kangaroos are called? A court. How about that?

In my search for craziness, other than virus updates, I did find something. A monkey in India came through for me. One was recently spotted on a YouTube video on top of a building. He was flying a kite. Thank you, my monkey friend, for making a breakthrough in the tsunami of catastrophe news.

I’ve never seen a monkey fly a kite and neither has the world. I doubt if other monkeys have, either. I find it hard to believe that monkeys fly kites in the wild. They may have but, after everyone of them got caught in the jungle trees, I assume monkeys decided to stop flying kites .That’s how they say evolution works. Monkeys who get their kites caught in trees get depressed and don’t have baby monkeys. They die off without passing on their genetic propensity to fly kites. Bingo. No longer do you see kite-flying monkeys.

This monkey on the video is not in the natural so he doesn’t count. He’s no threat to devolving the line of monkeys. Kite-monkey had a lot of viewers but is nowhere near the greatest ape of all. The reason I can make that claim is because I know my apes. And I know my apes because of the diligent work of my research staff. Here’s a review of the world’s most famous primates.

To begin with, I have concluded that one of the most important monkey/primates in show business history was Jiggs. Who was Jiggs? He played Cheeta in many Tarzan movies. If you recall Tarzan was raised by a childless female ape. Apparently she was a skilled seamstress to make him his first loin cloth. And that was all that was needed for Tarzan to become a huge movie star. Cheeta helped Tarzan communicate with other animals in the jungle. It’s not as though Cheeta was writing a tome comparable to Othello but being a translator puts Cheeta number one on our list of top primates easily out-pacing the kite flyer.

Then there was Zippy who rollerskated on TV in the 1950s. That’s a lot more talent than kite flying.

J. Fred Muggs was a chimp who wore a sport coat. That led him to become a co-host with Dave Garroway on the Today Show in the ’50s . That program was certainly a forerunner, though of superior quality to this era’s Morning Joe with Mika.

We could go on but I think you get the point. We are desperate for anything to cut the boredom. Monkeys flying kites is lame but, during a pandemic, it’s a major production.

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I saw this announcement and assumed that one my ancestors was responsible for making it an historic event. It happened during a plague lockdown in the 1500s similar to what we are experiencing. I’m referring to the F word.

A recent study credits a poet in Scotland with using the F word in one of his poems around 1568. Well, that may be true for the first printed word use of the F-bomb but the spoken obscenity no doubt goes back to Valle Dolmo in 1202.

That was the date of the first Come Back to Sorento MeatBall Toss Regional Semifinals. This is what happened accruing to to my profanity sources.

If my Uncle Nunzio merely got his meatball within 2 feet 5 inches of a target cannolli, Nunzio would’ve been a finalist in the Super Pasta Bowl to be held in Palermo. When his meatball set down within a foot of the cannoli, victory was his. Unfortunately, it broke apart and all was lost because of the disintegration which was an automatic disqualification. His defeat was punctuated with a cry of “@%$#! “ and oral history was made.