Diapers, Darwin, and the King of Pop: Why Your Pet Shouldn't Be Able to Out-Wrestle You

I’m about to utter a sentence so rare it probably qualifies as a sign of the apocalypse: I am officially on Team PETA. Stop the presses. Check the water supply. I was just reminded of the decade old news story about a woman keeping a 14-year-old chimpanzee as a roommate, and that has me siding with the leaf-eaters; temporarily. This companion decided a house-guest was actually a chew toy, resulting in the kind of carnage usually reserved for Viking raids. When will we, as a species, realize that, wild animal, isn't just a suggestion? It’s a job description.

Siegfried and Roy, and a litany of other "Tiger Kings," have been mauled, chewed, and general-purposed by their tame friends. Here is the reality: God gave us dogs to be our faithful shadows and Sea Monkeys to teach us about the bitterness of false advertising. He did not design the grizzly bear to be your emotional support animal.

He did, however, give us Free Will. And apparently, some people use that gift to act like total dip-stick trying to turn apex predators into bridge partners. I used to think this was God’s way of pruning the human family tree and thinning out the deformed acorns who think a tiger is just a big Putty Tat. I was wrong.

We’ve all seen the videos. A baby chimp in a tuxedo is adorable. But listen to me: just because something is cute as a baby doesn’t mean it won’t grow up to be a menace. I bet the Devil was "cute as hell" as a baby (see what I did there?), but look at his resume now.

To the celebrities who think their IMDB page allows them to transcend the laws of biology: Listen up. Putting a diaper on a chimp’s furry bum and teaching it to roller-skate or smoke a Marlboro Red doesn't make it human. (Granted, a smoking chimp is comedy gold, but it’s still a chimp.) Dressing them in designer gear and taking them on your world tour doesn't make them part of your posse. Do you think they won’t throw their poo at you if they run out of cigs? They will and they have good aim.

Let’s talk about Michael Jackson. Remember when he had Bubbles? Then, suddenly, Michael’s nose started migrating and changing shapes like a piece of Origami. The tabloids blamed plastic surgery, but I have a theory: Bubbles went Cuckoo For Coco Puffs on his face. One minute they’re sharing a soda, the next, Bubbles decides the King of Pop’s nose is an appetizer. Maybe that’s what scared him white, too? It’s hard to keep your pigment when your best friend is trying to peel you like a banana.

To the rich, the famous, and the terminally bored: If you have the cash for an exotic pet, do us all a favor and buy a yacht instead. A yacht won't try to eat your face if you forget to give it a treat. Be smart. Don’t be a dip-stick!

PETA, I’m ready for my gold star now.