I’d like to draw attention to the fact that one of you actually commented on a post of mine, which really has me all tingly inside. Or that could be from the fact that I was just tasered for getting a little too frisky at feeding time. Or it could be that I am fed things like soy and peanut butter, which somehow managed to elude me in the jungle, despite my amazing predatory skills. Or it could just be the physical manifestation of the crippling depression that comes with being a puma that lives in a Plexiglas cage. Who knows.
Anyway, as so many of you are prone to do, this person has commented anonymously, like a real pussy. Well, because I have nothing else to do here in the zoo, I like to guess who my anonymous commenters are, and I think I've nailed this one. Since you fat, disgusting, yet delicious humans are too lazy to go back and read the comment, here it is:
“Zoo Puma, your attitude towards life is remarkably negative. You need to lighten up!
When life gives you turds, make turd-flavored lemonade. It's not as bad as you would think.
MMMmmm. Delicious turd-aid. Who doesn't want that!
I'm pretty sure that if you turned your piercing, frightening, frown (is that a frown? Not sure) upside down, that you would find the world an inviting, accommodating space that, even considering your living situation, would be super-awesome.
Let's cheer up!"
I know, right? It’s Yakov Fucking Smirnoff. What's up, Yakov? I’m a huge fan, huge fan. So gosh, this is one of those moments when you meet an idol, and it puts everything in perspective. That must happen to you all the time, though. You’re a legend. By the way, Yakov, nice fucking exclamation point on the end of "Who doesn't want that!" The turd aid doesn't want that? Brush up on your English, comrade. Sorry, sorry, Yakov. Like you, I'm getting a little cranky sitting here in my tiny living space waiting for your inevitable retro comeback.
Don’t take offense when I explain to everyone that hasn’t been in a coma since 1990 that you were a Russian comedian that made his living explaining to Americans that America was better that Russia. What a comedy act!
You know, when I was first trying my hand at advice columns, I thought of going “all Smirnoff, all the time.” I was so hilarious, I couldn't stop laughing at myself. Or that might have been the quaaludes they were feeding me by the dozen, who knows? And who cares anymore, really? And who can tell if this open sore on my left paw is from gangrene or me gnawing on myself in my tranquilizer-induced sleep every night? Not my handlers, right Yakov?
Yakov, I'm so inspired by you writing in that I've decided to dedicate this advice column to you. Thank you so much for being a mediocre novelty act during my adolescence, and thank you for leaving a shitty comment on my blog. Really, thank you.
Dear Zoo Puma,
I've never seen you answer any questions from readers that involve riddles, like other advice columnists sometimes do. So, I have a riddle for you: You throw away the outside and cook the inside. Then you eat the outside and throw away the inside. What did you eat?
In free world, you’ve just eaten corn.
In Zoo, corn sits with you in cage and stares through saliva stained glass at corn-fed Americans, who would have toilets in their fucking cars if there were holes in the asses of their pants.
What a country!
Dear Zoo Puma,
I’m taking my boyfriend to a pretty fancy dinner this weekend. It’s a work event, and there will be a wine tasting. He’s strictly a beer man, but I don’t want him to stand out and embarrass me. Any suggestions on a good wine to whet his palate for a more sophisticated drink?
I really appreciate your help, love the column!
In free world, go with a pinot grigio.
In Zoo, Pinot Grigio is Italian man who tries to tame you by poking you with electric stick manufactured by former coal miners who survived dangerous mine collapse. What a country!
Dear Zoo Puma,
Listen, I’ve been thinking lately that rock music is dead because it had this sort of fragmented demographic. Like, people of all ages might have sort of been into rock, but only younger teenagers really worshipped rockers and wanted to become them, like really got into the whole rock thing. SO like, when mp3s and everything came out, and rock kinda stopped being on the radio, like, these people just, like, kept listening to the same rock stuff. But like pop fans can be anybody, like soccer moms who still buy music, and also those same teenagers who like haven’t totally decided they’re into rock because it sucks now, and stuff. And country music, too, it’s like really big, and that’s just for idiots, and there are tons of idiots always around to ruin everything.
Do you think I’m right?
Detroit Rock City, MI
In free world, one day rock will come back, in some form, to rail against the very machine that now holds it down.
In Zoo, you will be drugged with only medicines that do not enhance listening pleasure. But you will stare through your one, non-infected eye at the man that holds you down against your will, and you will try to write a shitty Stairway ripoff on a branch that you are hallucinating to be a guitar, and your claws will fall out, leading you to die from infected paw.
What a country!