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Stop Complaining

I’m writing to you today because I’ve been hearing you complain about your job, and it’s pissing me off. Who am I, you ask? I am the puma at the zoo. Or, if you prefer, the jaguar, or the cougar. Perhaps even mountain lion, or panther, maybe. I am known by many names, all of which strike fear into the hearts of men, women and children everywhere. According to the fat kid pressing his face against my enclosure right now, I am “a tiger.” Well, fuck that kid, I could eat him in two seconds. Except I can’t. Do you know why? Because I’m in a zoo, asshole. That’s my job. I don’t strike fear into anybody. So sure, your boss is a dick, or a bitch, or blah blah blah.
The job description is essentially “be a puma, but in a zoo.” That’s not so bad, right? Hmm, how about “be a human, so I can fucking eat you”? How does that sound? Just shut up. So why did I apply for this job? Hmmm, well, I was walking in the jungle ssssthhhppp… “Ouch. What the fu…zzzzzzzzz. Where am I?”

Pretty much that.

Oh, you heard that I was born in captivity? No, no, you’re thinking of the retarded polar bears.  I was born in the jungle, where I ate things like, um, you whenever the fuck I wanted to. Now this. Awesome.
All day long, I have to put up with fat, delicious humans strolling by my tiny little enclosure, dangling their snack-sized offspring tantalizingly close to the glass so that they can marvel at how bad-ass I am. At your job, do they feed you cow manure and then dangle pizza in front of you? I doubt it. I know, I know. You just hate your job so much because it's not what you were meant to do with your life. Boy, I hear you on that one, dickhead. You’ve really inspired me. I think I’ll go get another job. Oh wait, that’s right, I’m in a fucking zoo. If I try to leave, I get shot. I guess I’ll just keep on keepin’ on.
Do you know what I do at night, besides blend in with my surroundings so perfectly that God must get a boner when he thinks about it? First, I try to get the monkeys to shut up. In the jungle, that was simple. I just growled. That worked, because, you know, monkeys are so smart, almost like people! You’d have to be pretty stupid to keep making noise when there was a growling puma around. Except, of course, if you’re in a zoo. Now I have to climb up the shitty ass dead tree in my enclosure and stare them down. That usually works, because primates are pussies. Then I climb down the tree like a ninja from God’s wet dream about ninjas, and think about how the fuck this all could have happened. Because what the hell else am I going to do in a zoo? So I think, “I am descended from something called the sabre toothed tiger. Sabre. Tooth. Tiger. And humans are descended from, what, grenade hand elephants? No…um… laser eyed bears? Helicopter gun anything? Nope. I think of the human family tree, and I see ‘homo’ this and ‘erectus’ that. And yet here I am, in a Plexiglas cage in Minneapolis. What. The. Fuck.”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I could care less about sexual orientation, you are all equally delicious. My broader point is this: somewhere along the line, you pussy humans just blew right past us pumas. Not just to the point where we don’t eat you as often, but to the point where I am in a zoo. I am in a zoo, and you are in a house that, for all I know, has one of those shitty ass paintings of me in it. And who knows? Maybe you have this awesome tattoo of me tearing through your pathetic human biceps to show how hardcore you are. Maybe you go home to your cougar wife, because you think of “cougar” as something old that you want to fuck. What a coincidence! I think of your wife as something I would eat while you watched, asshole. Anyway, every night I think that, cry some acidic puma tears, then I try to get some sleep. Because, after all, I have a busy day tomorrow of wanting to die.
I’ll wrap this up, because I know your boss would probably jab at you with an electric pole if they caught you reading this at work. Oh no wait, your job sucks so bad you never go on the internet at work, I forgot. Anyway, I would just like to ask you to stop bitching about your jobs. Your job might suck, but you are not a puma in a zoo. You can leave your job. In fact, you can go wherever you want. Zoo pumas? We can only go to, um, oh right: the fucking zoo. The zoo, and also the afterlife, so we’ll see you there. And that’s where I’ll be eating you. F.Y.I.


The Zoo Puma


Smack said...

Find jobs. Build a better career. Find your calling.

Dean Grey said...

Who knew pumas were so sassy!


ultragreen said...

This particular puma should be transformed into a fur coat.

Zoo Puma said...


What's a fur coa....oh right. It's what you humans need to wear so that you don't freeze to death in your natural habitat. What's that? Oh yes, some of you wear them for fashion's sake, which essentially means that you're wearing the skin of another animal - in this case me - in the hopes that your potential mate doesn't realize how ghastly a species you humans are.

Anyway, I'll be here in my cage if you'd like to come transform me.


Zoo Puma


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