Sometimes, when I feel like cutting myself, I go to the San Francisco Zoo instead. Depressing people since it was built in the 1930s, the SF Zoo is littered with sad looking animals. They’re strewn about haphazardly, as though Noah’s Ark exploded in the Pacific and deposited them with copious debris just past the Great Highway. Oh, and just before exploding, the Ark’s supply of barbiturates leaked into the animals’ water. And Noah walked around beating them with a club. And they hadn’t pumped the pit toilet for weeks.
Most of the poor animals had passed out, or were just lying on the ground—unable to sleep.
Those that hadn’t succumbed to drowsiness stared vacantly, waiting for food or death—whichever comes at 3PM.
Were it not for the hordes of monkeys, munching popcorn and tromping through the park with their screaming children, the SF Zoo would be a very quiet, still place. The animals themselves don’t move much, though I suppose it can’t be considered sloth when you’re brain dead.
It is unfortunate that the SF Zoo is so sad and generally decrepit. With just a bit more upkeep and better animal handling, it could be a beautiful destination in the middle of a fascinating city. As it is now, the only thing that keeps me coming back is the world’s largest gerbil.
I’m surprised they keep that there, what with all of the perverted celebrities running loose.