Zoos. Fun times or no fun times?

I hate zoos.
Hate them.

And I'm not the type of person who says, "Oh, those poor animals, they're living in captivity."

My theory is, if you're dumb enough to be caught by men with 1930s mustaches wearing pith helmets, khaki, monocles and cravats—then you're dumb enough to belong in a zoo. At the same time, you're also smart enough to hang out in a rent free apartment with 3 meals square all for just letting weridos look at you and toss you peanuts every once in a while.

Hell, if somebody wanted to trap me in a Texas Roadhouse, which let's face it is essentially the human equivalent of a zoo, I'd be game. Peanuts on the floor, shrieking children, endless meat, and you never know when a bloated and hammer-fisted construction worker at the bar is going to go on a rampage—it's the same!

So, if "it smells like a goddamn zoo in here", I hope it smells like steak and baked potato.