4

The Zoo Is A Wasteland

My interest in the safari stemmed from my interest in zoos. I really enjoy animals because they almost never wear pants. Most recently, I went to the Toronto Zoo -- which, if you haven't been, isn't just Canada's largest zoo. It's basically an epic Mad Maxian wasteland of nature conservation that will kill most of you. Only the strongest ever leave this 710-acre monster that's crisscrossed with pathways which will take the better part of an entire day to fully walk. It's basically a maze peppered with elephant s**t and overpriced bottled water.

I can't complain about the exhibits at the zoo. It's a great place to visit. It just makes you wish you were dead and being devoured by some of the exhibits after walking for seven straight hours. Some of you could probably handle that level of physical activity, but remember that I'm an internet goblin. I'm not built for movement in three dimensions. I work best when treated like one of those heads from Easter Island.

Now, those among you who have opted to not just train the cellar rats to perform rudimentary magic tricks, but sometimes also venture to the zoo, may be quick to point out that most zoos have those stupid bus tours that whisk you about, no harmful walking required. And while that's true, have you ever considered shut up? The zoo bus is the worst bus, and I say this as a guy who's been on a Greyhound, a school bus, a city bus, and maaaaybe a bang bus. Why go to the zoo if you're going to ride through it on a bus? Imagine going to see a movie at the drive-in, but not actually stopping when you got there. Oh sure, you'll slow down to look at the screen, but you need to drive by the snack bar at 9:00 and get the hell back to where you started by 9:30.

3

Fairs Are Extravagant Binge/Purge Machines

I used to love going to the fair as a kid. There were corn dogs and, you know, s**t near corn dogs. Over the years, they tried to entice me with lasciviously rigged carny games and rides and corn not-dogs, but I know what's up, and so do you. And when you're a kid, that s**t is great for exactly as long as it takes you to eat your 17-inch corn dog that is only justifiable in a carnival setting.

The moment you stop eating the copious amounts of gluttonous, shame-fisting food items that a fair gleefully provides to you, you're stranded in a concrete obstacle course of ennui. This culinary theater of cruelty has played out its twisted amusement in your bowels, and now you're expected to go ride a roller coaster with two pounds of fried gravy pudding in your gut? That's as sane as punching your own face after paying a greasy stranger $10 to watch.

In its purest form, the fair is three things: a food source, a vomitorium, and a flat surface on which to vomit. They dress it up with frills like games in which you lift a bottle with rings to win a stuffed Minion that's bigger than you (which, by the way, you are never winning -- you're never winning the minion). And ten feet away, you'll find slightly different food sources and slightly different vomit-inducers, but that's it. You pay to eat s**t that would make you reel back in terror if a normal restaurant sold it, and then pay again to be literally beaten, shaken, flipped, spun, and dropped into a vigorous, all-consuming, full-body nausea.

2

Water Parks Are Toilets -- And No, Not Just The Pee Kind

Anyone who follows me on Twitter knows that I devote a serious amount of time to trying to get either Nicki Minaj or my friend (who is real because I can link to her Twitter) Jessica Vaugn to come on water slides with me for strictly platonic fun times. I f**kin' love water slides. If I had to choose between an afternoon without a water slide or going to one with a donkey that's been trained to kick me in the balls, I would spend two glorious fun-filled afternoons on water slides with that donkey, who would also love them. My water slide game is tip f**kin' top, is what I'm saying, hence the cussing.

In bold defiance of my love of water slides, however, is the knowledge that water parks are basically pay-to-play toilets in a super non-metaphorical sense. Without beating around the bush, I'm going to lay some semi-firm and corny numbers on you. I read that in any given pool, the average bather's ass is sloughing loose 0.14 grams of fecal matter per visit. Your turd cutter wasn't primed for the big show, and that g-force-infused pool water on the slide just rockets up your floodgate and loosens the tiniest bit of spackle to join the whole. And it does that for everyone who shows up.

The Chime-Long water park in China had roughly 2.5 million visitors last year. If each visitor is depositing 0.14 grams in ye olde fudge pot, that works out to 771 pounds of s**t in the pool. Do you know how f**king big 771 pounds of s**t is? According to Healthyceleb.com, it's about 4.5 Benedict Cumberbatches. Imagine four Sherlock Holmeses and a Khan torso made of solid yet inexplicably waterlogged funtime s**t charming you with its accent. That's a lot of s**t, man.

1

Beaches Are Living Weapons Designed To Destroy Us All

If the water park sucks, then surely family fun time can be had at the beach, right? It's like a water park, only with more sharks. Well put on your helmet, because I'm dropping truth coconuts from the tree of enlightenment here. For instance, did you know that a beach is like a water park, only with more sharks? Fuuuuuccckkk!

I'm not going to scaremonger you with shark attack statistics, because you have a better chance of being attacked by me than you do by a shark, and I'll goddamn do it, too. But I and sharks aren't the only things you have to worry about at the beach. How do you like flesh-eating bacteria? Less than you like eating ham, I bet. A lady at Myrtle Beach up and got herself munched by that necrotizing doucheteria this summer, and she blamed the beach water, which must have been some foul s**t for that to happen. The beach says no way, man, we don't let our beach eat people anymore. But she did get the bacteria somewhere, so right now, it's a mystery.