When you walk in to Zoo Atlanta, you're feeling all cheery and hopeful. Zoos are good. They help preserve the species and educate the general public about conservation, the environment, geography, etc. The animals are well cared for and have ample room to live. Then you see this:
Eight thousand flamingos packed in to a space the size of a New York apartment (I'm talking third floor LES walk-up, not UWS penthouse). Half is land, half is water, brown, stagnant water. But that's not the best part; the best part is that you smell it first. It smells like shit, but with a metallic twang, sort of like the smell of blood, a little bit irony. It's so bad, Henry thinks it is in his mouth and tries to spit it out.
And you think, this is gonna suck.
So you head on around the corner. Strange bird, kind of pretty kind of creepy. What's in his mouth? A mouse? A dead mouse? Upon closer inspection, it's not just a dead mouse, but a dead mouse the poor bird has been carrying around for who knows how long. Circle of life, I guess.
There are some giraffes hanging out with a zebra and rhinoceros.
But the giraffes seem to be pretty laid back, unlike these guys:
Lazy lions sleep.
And Komodo dragons bask, with a sign for the stupid people leading them the right way.
And then you get to the gorillas! Glorious, hilarious, psychotic, playful gorillas.
And that's about it. The best part, otherwise, was this:
And don't ride the train, no matter how much your kids cry, just don't ride the train.
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