The Only Thing That'd Explain The Noise Outside Would Be Monkeys Making A House.

You can picture them.

Mr. Gums, the old one, hits a plank of wood a couple of times with his head before a wheelbarrow nap.

Scazz is the one with hammers duct-taped to his hands and feet, and he wails on everything he sees, fauxhawk flailing in the wind.

And there's a robotic monkey out there. There always is.

He's undoing all the work, perpetuating the job forever.