The Golden Rule of Zoos

My-travel-partner-who-musn't-be-named-unless-someone-is-going-to-pay-me had two days left in Thailand; we had to make it count. We had to top go-karts, eating some of the greatest food that’s ever been processed by taste buds, varying levels of interaction with prostitutes, ping pong shows, lady boy bars, long distance motor biking, near incarceration, and epic beach trips. There was only one possible grand finale for this manly adventure through Thailand: a drive-through zoo.

We stayed at Oat’s sweet high rise apartment once again, and woke up at 8 to cheer him on in his ‘sports arbitrage’ (read ‘betting on basketball spreads’) and to have some McDonald’s delivery, as per usual. Seemingly out of the blue, Oat and Pap announced that we would be going to a zoo—a drive-through zoo at that. Having never steered us wrong up to this point, we immediately and emphatically agreed.

We hopped in Oat’s immaculate (and now totaled, I just recently found out) car to take on Bangkok traffic once again. At this point we were seasoned traffic veterans, ready for the miles of slower-than-walking driving; we packed ample snacks, water, and highly caffeinated syrups—Redbull© was actually originally Thai, and still comes in the original form in Thailand: a small medicine bottle of a thick, non-carbonated sweet syrup that has, like, 5 cups of coffee’s worth of caffeine. For me, Thai Redbull was soooo 2008, so I had branched out to some of the other, even more powerful and vitamin supplemented, syrupy, liquid, amphetaminal beverages (they cost around 30 cents, why not!?).

As we approached the heart of Bangkok, Oat told us we were to pick up food for the animals; I was flabbergasted—I was sure that not even a place as 'laid-back on regulations' as Thailand would allow you to feed large and dangerous, albeit likely sedated, animals. Oat assured us that this was perfectly fine and we went into the market and went on a shopping spree: fish (for the large birds), bananas (for the primates and oddly enough rhinos), and lots of greens (for the antelopes and deer and what have you). After deliberation, we decided it would be best to also get some chicken… for the lions, tigers, and bears (not a joke nor an intentional Wizard of Oz reference).

We arrived, and, in order not to miss the shows, went to the amusement park portion of this giant tourist site before the drive-through zoo. Inside there were numerous animals that I had never seen in person, and some I hadn’t seen even on TV. While American zoos like to keep a distance between the zoo-goers and the animals (presumably for both parties’ health and safety), in Thailand that seems to not be so much of a priority; most animals could be petted by an intrepid tourist because of the considerable distance between bars and the less-than-considerable distance between clothed and non-clothed animals. The tiger cage had a small tunnel under it that would allow you to come up into the middle of the tiger family’s lair; on the way down the stairs, people of my height could actually put their face about 3 inches away from a really pissed off tiger’s face—their teeth are mad big and mad sharp, yo.

We saw a dolphin show and a spy adventure show, the former was a pretty standard Seaworld© type show. The latter on the other hand, was a wild, no holds barred series of explosions, hypersexualized encounters, water splashes, and bouts of bad acting loosely centered around a plot of an Asian James Bond saving the world from an evil former military general who nearly gains control of all the nuclear weapons in the world-- I get the feeling it was unlicensed and violated at least a few of Ian Flemming's right's ownerships.

Then came the time, the finale, the drive-through feeding zoo. My travelling-partner-not-to-be-named-unless-I-get-a-book-deal and I, in the backseat, readied the foodstuffs. As we drove on the gravel road cut out of tropical, jungly, flora, we started realizing that this zoo also followed the golden rule of zoos: DON’T FEED THE FUCKING ANIMALS was presented in slightly less words over and over and in every language and script imaginable. We de-readied the foodstuffs by shoving them through the middle seat trunk access point and hiding what we could under the front seats; the security checkpoint was arriving. Luckily for the golden rule breakers, smugglers, and terrorists of the world, the security was utterly equatorial; a slight glance and as little body movement as possible to wave us through was employed (can you blame them… it’s hot, and they have on full uniforms, and they probably make like 8 dollars a month).

Our food worked perfectly, we lured exotic animals of all sorts within arm’s reach. The banana-eating rhinos (!)(?) were larger than Oat’s Toyota, the fuzzy bear who was either sipping codeine syrup or being injected with daily sedatives hoisted himself up on his hindlegs and rested on the car, the herds of herbivorous quadrapedals (antelopes and shit) stuck their heads into all the windows, lured in by leafy Asian vegetables. The lions and tigers were—likely for the best—heavily sedated, and lax security was watching from a distance. We gave the chicken breasts to the security guards as we left—security guards were often the recipients of our leftovers; they seemed to appreciate them.

Some things are universal in the human condition; the philosophers that tell you ‘truth’ doesn’t exist are a bunch of godforsaken liars—and probably homosexuals, too. Cultural and moral relativism are bullshit—as proven by every zoo in the world instating, and every mischievous young person in the world breaking, a truthful, universal rule of animal-viewing establishments, THE golden rule:

Don’t Feed The Animals.