Animal Farm

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The words “I’m not really a park person” are enough to end the conversation with most Florida residents. It’s a shame as I quite liked the girl who showed me to the staff rest-room in Miami.

If you’ve ever been to one of the seemingly endless Disney owned parks you might agree with me. Animal Kingdom was my first and last park. I thought if it was naff I could nerd up on animal facts and perhaps feed an overweight cretin in a Mickey Mouse hat to a lion. The pictures would have been worth it.

Metaphorical alarm bells started ringing as they took my fingerprints at the door. Maybe they were on to me?

I’ll admit the Everest ride was exciting, and the Mickey Mouse hat wearing pillocks didn’t disappoint as they vacantly threw loose change at a distressed Himalayan monument. You could almost hear the droning of Mickey Moooooooooooouse, Mickey Moooooooouse in their heads as they did it.

The only other thing worth mentioning was the safari which started with the actor who played a stoner in Grandmas Boy trying unconvincingly to show how much danger the 1 lion (bastard was asleep) and 1 million flamingos were in from poachers. Who exactly these poachers are I have no idea, perhaps they wear Mickey Mouse ears. Not to worry though, if the masses did attack the animals would be safely ferried out wearing XXXL goofy t-shirts on bumper karts.