I love America. I guess (horrible Americanism) I always have. I fell in love with Westerns as a kid, then always wanted the ‘GI Joe’ over the British Action Man, drooled over adverts for ‘chupa chops’ in DC comics, even though I had no idea what they were and with hindsight, if they were as good a confection as Hershey-anything, I did well sticking with the pictures. When I lived in California in 1982 it only enhanced my love of the place. And of the people. Some, ok, in the literal sense, but most in a ‘holy shit, are people really like that????’ kind of distant amazement type deal. In that Americans are just like us but at the same time 15 miles apart. And seemingly stuck in a clicheed world of ‘way to go!!’s and high fives. And bluster. Whilst we Brits have always been a perfect study of understatement and self-effacement, our Yankee counterparts are full of bluster and bravado. Basically, they shout a lot. Or, in the case of Mr POTUS, they shout and repeat. Shout. And. Repeat. Very slowly. As if the profundity of his moronic utterings are so important that we need to write them down or have them tattooed on our biceps.

They had a ‘protest’ somewhere in Michigan. About the unfairness of the lockdown. (I ain’t scared’y no bugs!!!) So a bunch of morbidly obese men gathered at some town hall or other, wearing their best baseball hats, to state their case. All of them carrying high-powered assault weapons over their shoulders. And I know its (sadly) legal to do so, but you have to ask yourself ‘why?’ Why would you feel the need to attend a peaceful protest in Detroit armed for the invasion of Syria? Over here we take placards. Hand written on floppy A4 sheets that no-one can read because they bend in the wind.

And then I watched Tiger King. Ho-leeeee shi-iiii-iiiiittt!!!!! Have you seen it? It explains everything you ever need to know about America and Americans. About limits. And how the limits that society imposes about any given parameter can be stretched and stressed way beyond what is even imaginable. Until you end up with the Tiger King. Who is the most red-necked red-neck, yet he’s gay. In fact he’s so gay that he’s part of a 3-way marriage. (Yes, ???) He’s the most gun-toting mutha who seems intent on killing his little lake, so many shots he endlessly fires into it with part of his immense arsenal. And of course, he has a few animals. Other than the lions, pumas, leopards, ligers (yes, fucking ‘LIGERS’ cross between our two most popular big cats), he has (had, cos he’s been locked in jail for 97 years… currently) 227 tigers. Big ones, little ones, babies, white ones, snow ones, blue ones (ok…). Just FYI being married to one or even two men in a state where, I’m gonna guess, gay marriage is illegal (Oklahoma? Oklahomo???) won’t put you in jail. Nor having 227 tigers. All stuck in horrible cages. Which he constantly enters. Shooting at your own lake won’t put you in jail either. Unless it dies. No, he’s in jail for murder.

As it apparently costs about 1000 dollars a year to feed each Tiger, that’s… add 3… divide by 7… that’s a lot of money. So he invites the public in to enjoy his critters. Have their photo taken with ickle likkle tiger cubs. Which are adorable, that must be said. But then they grow.

There’s other guys who own tiger… places? Farms? Zoos? One is a drug gang lord (retired) and the other basically runs a cult. In which he is the unquestionable Lord (by name as well as status) and appears to have almost as many concubines as he does tigers. Or ‘workers’ as he calls them for tax purposes.

Yet its the people who go to visit the tigers who actually are the most fascinating. And the wonderful distinction between a zoo (horrible places locking up animals in tiny cages) and an ‘animal salvation and research centres’ (horrible places locking up animals in tiny cages) which really is the focus of the series. And the cause of most of the trouble. Other than the lake. That deserved to be shot.

Happy sunshine-back Day

A xxxx