Polar Bear to Zoo Visitors: "I'm Not Depressed"

How many times a day does some yahoo zoo visitor say it? Couldn't even imagine. But every time they do, I want to claw my own face off:

"Do you think that polar bear is depressed?"

Guh. Really?

Well, here's your answer, Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Dipshit: No, I'm not depressed. Surprised? Disappointed? No fur off my white ass.

I'm a polar bear, okay? Let me give you a taste what's going on in my brain: "I want some fish ... I want some fish ... I want to kill that thing in the baseball cap ... now I want some fish again ..." If you want to call that depression, be my guest. I call it being a polar bear.

You see me swimming around my scummy little concrete pond in the same repetitive pattern and you say, "Isn't that a sure sign of depression?" Maybe so. You want to know what else is depressing? Wandering around the Arctic, trying to find some goddam fish EVERY WAKING MOMENT OF YOUR LIFE.

Sure, being in a zoo sucks, but I'm guessing being in the Arctic sucks even worse. I can't be sure, of course, as I was born in a zoo. Oh, you didn't know that about me? I'm shocked. (And by that I mean, I'm not shocked in the least.) Yeah. Zoo born and bred. So when you start wondering, "Don't you think he'd be happier in the wild?" the answer is, "Umm ... no, probably not." In fact, I'm pretty sure if you dropped me in the wild I'd get my ass handed to me by sea birds. So, yeah, thanks for thinking of me, Cap'n World Wildlife Fund, but maybe you should just focus on your gig at Circuit City.

What was I saying? Right. The zoo. Yeah, not a ball. But I'll put it back on you: Would you rather be a crackhead locked in a crackhouse with a steady supply of crack on hand or a crackhead living on the street with jack squat and a nasty jones?

Yeah. Me, too.

So, there you have it. Not depressed. Or maybe it's more accurate to say, "No more than you, Kid Belly-Bag ... wandering around the zoo with your shrill mate and your scabby-ass brats ... go buy some more ice cream, fatty ... go bother the ostriches or something ... just leave me to my listless swimming around this dank, concrete wasteland.

Good lord, maybe I am depressed.