I don’t know if you heard about the tragic case that happened in England a couple of weeks ago where a man was bitten by his favourite Egyptian cobra and died on the spot. His name was Luke Yeomans, and he seems to have been a committted and decent sort of guy, dedicated to protecting endangered species of reptiles.
Why do I pause?
Because it was England, not Egypt. Why would someone have a zoo full of venomous North African snakes in England? When I first heard the story about a man with a snake sanctuary, I just assumed for some reason that it was in India or Africa where the snakes live, but no. It was in Nottinghamshire.
Listen. These things are fucking deadly. One shot of cobra venom can kill an elephant, and yet, according to newspaper reports, Luke Yeomans was in the habit of kissing his snakes. Why would you do that? Why the fuck would you go anywhere near an animal that has no feelings, no empathy, no interest in you and the ability to shoot you full of deadly poison faster than, well, faster than a slow snake, which would still be too fast for you?
Yeoman, it seems, had a fascination for snakes since he was about 11, and he grew up with a bedroom full of cobras when he was in his teens, eventually ending up with his own pet shop. I bet that wowed his girlfriends.
This man knew snakes and yet one of them killed him, but he also knew the risks.
Imagine if a teenager was obsessed with herds of wildebeest. What kind of a life would his parents have? But we have to protect these herds of wildebeest from crocodile attack. They must live in my bedroom.
How far do you go with the urge to protect wild animals from Africa, Asia and the Antipodes when you live in Nottinghamshire? We all agree it’s a terrible thing that animals are becoming extinct due to the activities of poachers, multinational energy companies and unscrupulous governments, but are we going fill our homes full of Polar bears and wolverines?
Come on now. Would you kiss a fucking polar bear?
What next — Love a Hyena Week?
If you make a habit of kissing deadly, elephant-killing snakes, sooner or later one of them is going to bite you in the face and fucking kill you.
Yes. It makes sense. Don’t kiss a venomous snake. It doesn’t take Einstein to figure this out.
I thought pretty much the same thing when Steve Irwin got skewered by a manta. What are you doing, you fool? Why are you pulling alligators around by the tail? Why are you teasing Komodo dragons when you know full well their saliva is filled with deadly bacteria?
Are you mad?
Well, yes. That’s the answer. These people are fucking nuts.
After all, it’s not like Bear Grylls, where you slide down a glacier with your entire film crew, your personal trainer, your therapist, your mother and your hairdresser while a French waiter hands you garlic cockroaches to nibble.
This is real shit. A cobra biting you is pretty much a guarantee of a free pass to the afterlife, which of course means no life at all. You’re dead. What is wrong with these people?
I’ll just kiss my pet Tasmanian Devil and hope it doesn’t rip my face off.