The title of this post might have you thinking this is a Gay Guru post, but you’d be wrong. Nope. This is about real man-eating bears, not the kind you find in bars. You see, the PrissyBitch and Renaissance Man are out galavanting across America and touring some of the country’s most beautiful National Parks. So when all Hell started breaking loose out at Yellowstone a few weeks back, I was especially interested.
I’ve made no bones about being jealous of their trip, so when escaped convicts started calling Yellowstone home I was sure to repeatedly remind them of this fact. And when a Grizzly bear attacked some campers, I was immediately ready with a text. I’m a good friend like that.
As envious as I have been of their trip, and as many times as I’ve yelled at my television when people who live on the edge of the wilderness complain about bears at their bird feeders, I’ve gotta say I’m grateful that we don’t have animals of the man-eating variety around here. I know I make a lot of bones about mountain lions (which officially don’t exist in Connecticut) and the Montauk Monster but so far, neither has killed any people. More importantly, they haven’t killed me.
Sure, we’ve got bears, but a little black bear is nothing compared to a Grizzly. And my run-ins with coyotes are like playing with the family dog when you think about wolves. Those rabid raccoons in Prospect would seem like pussy cats after tangling with a badger.
Don’t get me wrong, I would love to see the animals that once roamed America to be back in all their native habitats. But when I’m stumbling to my door in the dark and something moves in the bushes, I’m glad to know it’s probably not a man-eating Grizzly.