Single in Sandpoint:

‘Wild Kingdom’ gone wild

By Scarlette Quille
Reader Staff

When I was a kid, I watched Mutual of Omaha’s “Wild Kingdom” and read National Geographic religiously. Each episode and article gave me a new insight into a world where I was left amazed and full of difficult questions. They verged on the innocently inappropriate to the strangely esoteric. Why would you put so many bracelets on your neck? Why are her boobs so low? Where are that kid’s pants? Does it hurt when the big lion piggy-backs with the little lions? Can you milk a boy? … Well, why do they have an udder then?

Kids these days are missing out. Planet Earth isn’t even close to being as hardcore as “Wild Kingdom.” “Wild Kingdom” was a good way to open the door to sex education. A smart kid could easily figure out the parallels between humans and other mammals. The “other” type of kid probably shouldn’t ever have sex, but that isn’t really the point here.

“Wild Kingdom” entertained and enlightened me but also depressed me. I remember feeling so pissed off that I didn’t have sweet claws or wings or mad tree-swinging skills. My mother would try to comfort me by telling me that humans had “brains” and opposable thumbs, and therefore we were the superior species. I knew this was bullshit.

What was I going to do if an Alaskan Grizzly bear jumped out of the bushes when I was walking to school? Pull my brain out and beat him with it?

If the earth was an “X-Men” movie, humans would be Professor X. Sure, he is smart and has special brain abilities and thumbs, but at the end of the day, all it takes is for the mutants to wear a certain hat and his powers are completely useless. Also, he has the burden of knowing everything people are thinking, so he knows a lot of depressing shit. Ultimately, Professor X is a prisoner of his “gift.” Meanwhile, Wolverine is free to be sexy and kick ass, and Mystique can continue to walk around naked stalking her prey.

Animals have been secretly mocking us for years. For most of my life, I was told that animals did not have sex for fun. They “mated” merely for the sake of continuing their respective species. Then I started hearing rumors in my twenties that dolphins and turtles have sex for pleasure. As I was writing this column, I decided to do some research. And guess what? Humans have had the fur pulled over their eyes for years.

Apparently all mammals have clitorises, and there are many “scientists”  out there documenting what the orgasmic responses of various female animals look like. Yes, they are predominately concerned with the pleasure of the female, because it has been assumed for quite some time now that any animal that ejaculates experiences orgasmic response. On a side note, what kind a of a person watches hours of animals mating? Seriously, creepy.

Well, these extremely voyeuristic scientists discovered that many animals are doing it, for … enjoyment. Who started that rumor about animals anyway? Moms? Churches?

I say it’s the animals themselves. They have been tricking us with their furry mock innocence for years. That dog is humping your leg because he enjoys it. Guess what? Short-nosed fruit bats have oral sex—all the time. Black bears have been documented as having homosexual relationships, and I am not even going to get into the kinky shit that primates engage in.

We are pretty much the only mammals that have sex for pleasure and then attach societal expectations to it in order to punish ourselves. The rest of the mammals are laughing their tails off at us because at the end of the day, they are stronger, healthier and get more ass than the average human.

Humans are just over-eager members of the official animal fan club. Scientists are just stalkers writing fan fiction and giggling with their colleagues about it.

Regardless of my recently acquired knowledge about animals, I still fall victim to their careless charm and charisma. Case in point: A few weeks ago, I pulled into my driveway. I noticed two moose casually strolling around my house. I parked and momentarily suffered what can only be described as brief paralysis, I wasn’t sure if I should exit my car, try to get a picture of them or maybe even try to feed them. I was mesmerized. It took me at least three minutes  to notice that my neighbor was out on his porch, fully nude and snapping pictures of them with his cell phone.

The moose didn’t really seem to mind, as I believe they are used to the paparazzi in Sandpoint. The sight of an unclothed male, pale and freezing in the cold February morning air was enough to break the beast’s spell. I honked my horn, and the both the moose and the man scurried out of sight.

In my next life, I hope I come back as a short-nosed fruit bat.


Scarlette Quille

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