Animal Farm
Zoos have been around for as long as animals. That is a long fucking time. And in this time, men have enjoyed zoos to the fullest. We have taken leisurely strolls around them. Some of us have been fortunate enough to drink several beers in them while in London, because that’s the kind of thing you can do in London. London is a very manly place as it turns out.
The theme of the week is leisure activities. It is relaxing the mind and the body, which is something that men can do without blowing a half week of their love partner’s salary at some hoighty toighty fucking day spa run by a bunch of women who hate the fuck out of their clients.
That’s a great way to run a business by the way. Hate the fuck out of your clients. Nice one ladies.
Recently I was at the zoo, enjoying several things, including the generally poor quality of air that permeated the vicinity; for it allowed me to perpetrate specific nefarious acts in near obscurity. You men know what I’m talking about.
While I was at the zoo I had the misfortune of getting stuck in a group of elementary schoolgirls while I was looking at the penguins. Do you want to know what I heard?
“I want one of those!”
“Why can’t I have one of those!”
“Where can I get one of those!”
Jesus. The zoo is not fucking Pokemon, girls. Seeing such blatantly female traits of greed and Rape-lust Avarice showing so clearly in girls as young as ten and eleven made me sick to my churro; so I threw pieces of my pretzel at them in appeasement and went to the snake house.
As divine providence would have it, while there I encountered the counterpart to the group of gaggling gag-a-ninnies — and that was the group of young schoolmen out on their field trip. Possibly from the same school I don’t really know and don’t give any kind of shit.
“Why do snakes stick their tongues out like that?”
I heard. It was a good question.
“Why don’t snakes blink?”
“If a snake ate its tail, would it disappear?”
I had to sit down for a moment because the weight of what I was seeing and hearing was sinking in like a tonne of bricks. All on their own, these young men were learning. They were analyzing data and facts and putting them together into new ideas. Like garbage disposals except the opposite way — the way that makes sense with what I’m talking about.
The little girls, however, were proving themselves to be just as completely worthless as their mothers — which is completely. Their mothers incidentally spend the entire time talking about how much they wished there were Low-Carb churros at the zoo. Yea. That’s how the hippos stay so trim. Fucking Low-Carb churros by the bucketful.
We men worry sometimes that the fate of our mighty man-society is in peril. That one day equality will dash our civilization to pieces like a great tidal wave of horseshit and absurd expectations for our weaker and not-as-good-as-us-at-anything female counterparts. That, my men friends, is feminism hype and Cock Bock Bullshit. If the face of the Earth was wiped clean tomorrow and the children had to pick up from scratch we’d be right back on track. Actually we’d probably be better off because little girls haven’t learned about feminism at the age of ten and eleven, so the whole (bowel) movement would be set back by fifty years. That amounts to pretty much pissing distance.
On a personal note, I scored myself 64 ounces of Man Points by sneaking a four pack of Boddingtons into the zoo in my pants. I don’t want to give my secret smuggling tricks away here on the internet, because beer poachers may be watching, but here’s a tip for you crafty men.
If someone gets caught with two Coronas up his sleeves, what are the odds that he’s got a four pack of Boddingtons in his pants?
Think about it.
