Hello! My name is Fiona and I’m the brand-new baby hippo at the Cincinnati Zoo!
People are a little worried about me right now because I was born about six-weeks early. I guess I just couldn’t wait to meet all of my new friends at the zoo!
Everybody here has been working been working around the clock to help me get my strength up. I know you all want to see me pull through real bad, but please let me die!
It’s not that I’m not grateful. It’s just that I was birthed into the burning hell-scape that is Donald Trump’s America. In just over a week of consciousness, I’ve already come to realize that even if the zoo vets manage to get me standing and feeding on my own, the rest of my life is sure to be a constant stream of suffering at the hands of our new fascist state.
Sure, things won’t be so bad at first. I’ll probably spend all day splashing around in my pool and chomping on big, juicy melons. Cantaloupe is my favorite!
But as President Trump continues to fan the flames of anti-intellectualism in this country, the public will come to regard zoologists as “animal elitists.” Zoos, they’ll argue, should not be “bubbles” where “scientists” can come to advance their “agendas” of “education.” Soon, zoos will be run by “the will of the people” and a small team of everyday citizens will begin to carry out public-approved research on me, like seeing how much beer I can drink or if I can get pregnant from “bear spunk.”
However, as more and more of our country’s wealth and resources are funneled towards our armed conflict with China, popularly known as “The ‘We Make The iPhones Now’ War,” even these “Populist Zoos” will be forced to close their gates.
Hopefully at that point I can escape into the wild where I will die a slow, but private, death drinking river water tainted by the run-off of Trump’s shoddily constructed Keystone Pipeline.
More likely though, I will be captured and brought to Washington DC where President Trump will be celebrating the completion of his Muslim registry with a “Grand American Purity Parade.” I will be forced to carry Steve Bannon on my back down the streets of our nation’s capital because he’s too much of a fat fuck to ride a horse.
Give me death now, so I won’t have to beg for it then.
As dissent begins to grow among the citizens, Trump will try to boost his popularity by hosting nightly broadcasts of a The Apprentice”/blood-sport hybrid where C-List celebrities assemble teams of prisoners and pit them against the world’s most dangerous animals in a gladiator-style fight to the death. You can hand-nurse me all you want, but in a few years I’ll just be beat lifeless by a cell block of child pornographers while Clay Aiken cheers from the sidelines.
Even if I manage to chomp all those perverts to bits, my outlook isn’t much rosier. When Russia finally releases Trump’s piss-play tapes the resulting nuclear war will leave our country’s farmland barren and our citizens stricken with famine. If I’m not somehow turned into atomic ash, I’ll be stuck on a spit, roasted over the flames of the Constitution, and hand fed right into Trump’s pink little asshole mouth by a chained-up Megan Kelly.
That is no life for a hippo. So, please put no more time or energy into keeping my malformed heart from stopping. You must use whatever strength you have to resist.
While I wait for death’s cold embrace, I’m going to play in the water with my mommy! Her name is Bibi and she loves to kiss!