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We took off for the Poconos last weekend -- Pennsylvania's vacation spot with oodles of picturesque nature goodness and tons of dirty flea markets. Nice place, though probably not a prime pick unless you're the type who's easily amused. Frankly, I was a little puzzled as to what one is actually meant to do in the Poconos. If you're not planning to go river rafting or willing to don one of those paintball suits, the only other avenues of entertainment are walks through the woods and walks through the, uh, more woods.
Or maybe I'm just cranky since, after years of vicariously experiencing the Poconos through hotel brochures and dated postcards, our rented villa was NOT equipped with a champagne glass-shaped jacuzzi tub. I was so looking forward to pretending to be the world's biggest cocktail onion. Now I was just a fool stuck in the middle of nowhere with limited funds and a new pair of shoes two sizes too small. Where could I go to ease my troubles?
Ah, of course! "The Pocono Snake & Animal Farm!" Where dreams comes true! Where people pet animals! Where dirt and filth star! With nothing better to do, we parked the car and forked over the five buck admission cost. Now, make no mistake -- this place was filthy. We're talking "filthy" to the level of needing to go buy new skin upon exiting since there's no way one could ever truly remove the dirt stamped on their bodies inside. You know that infamous "zoo air" -- heavy, thick, smelly? I was PINING for zoo air in this place. Zoo air was a comparative heaven. Between the stench of monkey shit and the sight of monkey shit, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just paid five bucks to smell awful. As for the exhibits, well...
First, a disclaimer. I'd feel bad if I railed on the place without first explaining that it's a family owned and operated beast; a place that takes in unwanted animals instead of letting them die a thousand horrible deaths. The dubious contents weren't the result of neglect -- it's just that these guys are working from a very tiny budget, and for the sake of keeping some poor animals alive and kicking, a few concessions had to be made in the health department. How do I know this? Pretty much every animal's cage was accompanied by a sign reading "WE TOOK THIS CAUSE SOMEONE NOT WANTED IT AND WE NOT LET IT DIE, IT PEACEFUL HERE." Words are never minced on handwritten index cards within the halls of quaint, dilapidated zoos.
The staff was mighty friendly, and while the pics I snapped don't exactly paint a pristine portrait of the place, try to remember that they're doing the best they can. Actually, I refused to take pictures of certain exhibits that would've really made for a depressing review -- in addition to many of their animals being excessively old, there's also a fair chunk that were very visibly sick. Not "sick" as in "slow and plodding," but "sick" as in "good Christ, the thing is shitting out of its eyes." I guess, like they say, it's better to be sick and gross than dead and gross. Here's the review...
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The first animal on display is a huge, huge snapping turtle -- reported to be 160 years old. I can't say if they employed their creative license with that claim, but the thing sure looked ancient to me. Ancient and...well, kind of falling apart. The turtle's limbs seemed half-disintegrated, and between that and its amazingly small tank, my first assumption was that I was looking at a big dead thing embalmed and preserved in a big jug of formaldehyde. The smell seemed to support my theory. Still, it's interesting to stand aside a creature who was alive long before any currently breathing human, and to the turtle's credit, I'll probably look worse by the time I even hit 50.
This place was only a "zoo" in the technical sense -- it looks more like an old, converted restaurant. The animals, generally, are cramped into cages and tanks that appear cruelly minuscule, but like I said, they're doing what they can. The main room is full of reptiles in ten-gallon tanks protected by circular windows. It's kind of like a series of gritty terrariums, only better since there's flyers promoting local restaurants above each one. Why a restaurant would choose to advertise in the oh-so-palatable world of fledging snakes and lizards is beyond me, but the Poconos on the whole marches to a different beat.
By the way, one of the other visitors -- a large woman with hair made of steel wool -- complained that my camera flashes would scare the animals. Her argument would've carried more weight if her three jumbo-sized children weren't pounding their fists against a spider monkey's cage at the time it was lobbied. And you know, there's a small chance that ol' woolhead's reading this right now. If that's the case: lady, I just wanted to say...your ass was really, really frickin' big and obstructive. Make it smaller for the next time you visit a crowded zoo. And stop feeding whatever it is you're feeding your kids that makes them so covered in leper spots. Flash flash flash.
Up above is the typical setup for each exhibit. Taped onto each tank were handwritten cards explaining the animals' history. The zoo was fairly dark, and I strolled along paying little attention to the factoid sheets. Big mistake. As it was pointed out to me, some of these creatures ended up there under pretty strange circumstances. An example:
Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Snakes in tiny tanks that you almost can't see aren't exactly a top attraction, but when the snakes are credited with killing someone, the proverbial ante is upped and awayed. There was a number of animals who arrived after committing some heinous crime, and the Farm's decision to play host was an admirable one. Many zoos, if not most, would simply kill off an animal that's made a critical attack. Of course, such occurrences are rarely the animal's fault -- more typically, the blame would fall on the victims themselves. So this "Monocle Cobra," neatly tucked away into a blacklit tank, is one of the lucky few human manglers who didn't get its head chopped off. Now I gotta tell ya -- cobras are cool and all, but they're not very interesting when stuck inside poorly lit tanks with poorly defined peepholes. But! After reading about how it tore the dick off of some Hazleton man, I couldn't take my eyes off the tank.
I learned something that day. If I ever I throw a "For Sale" sign on my car, I'm attaching a note about how I accidentally plowed down a few family members while driving it. I'm sure this'll boost interest by 500%.
Ah! The Giant Clam! Yes, it's real -- from the coast of Japan, apparently. It's more notable when you consider the conversation between some hick couple I overheard nearby, and I swear this is verbatim:
Shuck: Dwaah you say this is a reeeel clam?
Marne: D'well yes tis! Yes tih his!
Shuck: But shah, ah see no clam inside!
Marne: Clam went did done dead! Tih the shell!
Shuck: Ah'n you say issa real shell?
Marne: You righ' issa real shell!
This went on, literally, for around five minutes. This pair of fa-hools just stood there in awe of the almighty clam shell, debating its authenticity, scratching their asses, and generally making the biggest spectacle anyone has ever made over an old, empty clam shell. As a final note, and to really illustrate what my trip to the Snake & Animal Farm was all about: when I walked up to the shell myself, I noticed an unhealthy amount of discarded M&Ms wrappers inside. If I ever have kids, I don't think I'll be paying off the place to have their birthday parties inside.
Well, that's interesting. A stage area, presumably once used for some kind of animal show, now takes up 60% of the zoo's available space with absolutely nothing. Remnants of past activities still littered the stage -- a cedar trunk, microphone stand, various boxes and stale coral, you name it. Everyone was puzzled, especially after noticing what was at the far corner of the setup...
Yep, a pile of animal heads, shellaced and posed to kill. Gators, Komodo dragons, pythons, horses, monkeys, whatever. Just a big pile of disgusting heads, evidently there simply to make children cry. For those keeping score, so far we've seen a half-dead turtle, a few snakes that once murdered people, a big clam shell, and a bunch of animal head hunting trophies. Some have argued that Heaven is on Earth. If true, we've found the accompanying Hell.
There's a long aisle outside the main building for the larger animals -- cougars, wolves, ostriches and so on. The prime attraction though, of course, was a bunch of howling, screaming, filthy monkeys. Even counting Monkey Shines, I've never seen such evil apes in my life. Whether pounding on their cages to get at any passerby or managing to scream what I'm sure was a few expletives, these monkeys were out for blood. The only way to halt the oncoming rampage? Feed 'em...
Yep, you can feed the monkeys. You can feed the monkeys cereal. Remember that "Donkey Kong Jr. Cereal" I showed you last week? The one from, like, twenty years ago? I swear to God, I absolutely swear to God, the shit in that vending machine WAS Donkey Kong Jr. Cereal. Long ago, some genius put two and two together and realized that monkeys should only eat food with cartoon monkey mascots. I didn't think it'd be right to feed the monkeys decades-old cereal, and I don't think I was alone -- the coin slot was rusted to the point of being unusable, so if you were serious about feeding the monkeys, you had to sneak in your own edible offerings. This also explains why so many of the cages had empty bags of Wise chips laying on the floor grates.
(click pic to enlarge)
Easily the coolest of the exhibits was a pit of alligators -- we're talking dozens of alligators, all laying out in one big supercroc pile of doom. The best part? The only thing separating you from certain death is a creaky old bridge just a scant few feet above the monsters. Even with just any regular old broomstick, you could poke at and annoy the holy Hell out of 'em. The gators looked less than enthusiastic, and who could blame 'em? Sharing their small pond and living quarters was an equal number of much smaller turtles, which seemed a bit odd. You'd think there'd be at least a few incidents where a gator chomps a turtle, but then again, there were a lot of turtles in that pit. Certainly enough to spare a few to maintain the integrity of the food chain.
Oh, remember those M&Ms wrappers inside the GIANT clam shell? I saw a few more in the gator pit. Could mean one of two things: either one of the Farm's visitors was a really idiotic messy fuck, or the gators enjoy perusing the other exhibits while eating snacks during the zoo's off hours. While the latter possibility fills my heart with warmth and chocolate, I tend to think they need better on-premesis security to keep morons from throwing trash at everything. On the plus side, they were peanut M&Ms. The person who threw the wrappers around might be a piece of shit, but at least he knew the right candy to pick.
Well, that's pleasant. You can even rent out baby bottles with which to feed the pigs, though it's admittedly more fun watching poor mothers try to puppet their young kids into performing that activity. Not pictured is another pen containing a pig with some kind of virus that's left him either without eyes, or with eyes so covered in filth that they're no longer visible. Hampering matters further was the warning above his pen, telling people not to touch the animals if they're afraid of contracting Ecoli. I'm serious.
And this is supposed to be the "petting zoo" portion of the farm. I'd feel safer stroking the gators, or hitching a ride with that couple who couldn't get over the big clam shell.
The last exhibit was a series of unused and/or broken cages, all of which are capable of aiding you in experiencing the scent of most any animal's urine. This was a pretty pitiful exhibit to nail top billing, but at least I was free to go outside and breathe air that wouldn't give me cancer now. Oh wait, not yet. Conveniently enough, the exit leads you right into the Farm's souvenir shop. If you've got a hankerin' for rubber sharks and toy frogs that grow SEVEN THOUSAND TIMES LARGER IN WATER, look no further my brothers!
Hmm, interesting. They stuck a cage full of Emperor Scorpions right in the middle of their T-shirt table. If someone devoted their lives to archiving and recording every good idea in history, I'd have to think this one would fall short of the final cut. Okay, this is bad for two reasons -- first off, I assume the place wants to sell their T-shirts. That's the point, right? Well, you're already diminishing your clientele by forcing people to go near a tank of spooky scorpions. Secondly, if there's people that don't mind being near scorpions, you can bet they'd be all over that tank, with their grimy hands soiling the neatly arranged T-shirts. Either way, the shirt sales are fucked. Good going you stupid snake farm...couldn't even get the damn GIFT SHOP right. It's things like this that make me sick, and it's things like this that turn scorpions into poets.
Oh well, at least they had rock pencils. I guess the question is clear:
Does the fact that the Snake & Animal Farm's gift shop sells rock pencils negate the M&Ms wrappers, diseased pigs, stale monkey food, trophy heads, empty stage, tiny animal cages, killer snakes, amputee turtles and poorly placed Emperor Scorpions?
I guess that depends on how much you like rock pencils. Me? Love 'em. A+ for the Farm, huzzah and hooray.
RETURN TO X-E!
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