Where The Wild Things Are.

A little while back, I went to the zoo. Or, at least I think it was the zoo. The ground was sticky and dirty and covered with dark sludge from animals trotting over it all night long. Even though it was well into the winter months, the environment was humid and the air smelled like sex or something. The female animals must have been in heat. They had the most pathetic look in their eyes, almost like they would do anything to have sex with even the most undesirable of male candidates. They scoured the ground searching for sex and for something to drink and from what I could see, the animals were very thirsty. The zoo fed them a very special drink with certain nutrients in it. The animals began to compete for the drink, shoving each other out of the way and following the liquid wherever it went. I noted that after the animals drank the liquid, they became even more sexually charged.  The liquid suddenly seemed to be having adverse effects. The females became very sick and uncoordinated, spilling and vomiting fluid all over the fur they had just licked clean to attract possible mates. The males became more cocky and approached the females with vigor, thrusting their genitals against them. Oddly, the females encouraged this behavior. I quickly became disgusted and claustrophobic and although the zoo was large, I felt completely smothered by sex and drinks and overly desperate women. For the sake of my own sanity, I needed to leave the zoo immediately, and I did. 

It was only recently that I came to a shocking realization. This was not a zoo, but a club in downtown NYC. 

My experience at the club has taught me of another land. A land where women snort lines of coke and dance to shitty music by Ke$ha and Chris Brown. A land where club whores bow down to B-list celebrities who are known to normal people as, "That one guy in that one show that one time on that one station like a really long time ago in sixth grade." A land where women think they're drinking gray goose but its really rubbing alcohol that the guy in the back used to clean up his botched heroin job with. A land where cheap women wear cheap flashy dresses so that when the club lights hit them, they look like shiny presents ready to be unwrapped by unattractive rich men old enough to be be Mr. Miyagi's grandfather. A land where women are used as a space fillers in clubs that couldn't acquire enough people on their own. A land where women think that clubbing is a sport and they're the winners. But the one thing they don't think about, is the one thing they 'ought to know; Clubbing is no sport, and in no way are they winners.