Back in 1972, I was at the San Francisco Zoo. Walking by the orangutan exhibit, I came across a female specimen playing all by herself. Away from the other orangutans.
So I asked the zookeeper, “why is that poor little orangutan playing by herself?"
The zookeeper said, “that orangutan is retarded."
I shook my head in disgust, and asked the zookeeper, “how you know that orangutan is retarded?"
The zookeeper said, “Look at her! She flings shit at herself! When we feed her bananas, she peels the banana, throws away the banana, then eats the peel! Then, when she shits out the peel, she flings the shit at herself! She has all the symptoms of a retarded orangutan!"
I shook my head in amazement, like, “wow, that's one retarded orangutan!".
So I asked the zookeeper, “is there anything I can do to help that poor little orangutan?"
The zookeeper said, “just give her a nice home. Keep her away from numbers, colors, baths, dogs, cats, and bananas. Those things confuse her."
So I took that poor little orangutan, shaved her, sprayed her little dirty ass with my water hose to clean it, then I have her a name. I had to give her a name, everytime I asked her what was her name, she kept repeating, “I'm a 22 year old bride!" Over and over again. And I had to keep reminding her that no, you're not a 22 year old bride, you're a retarded little orangutan.
You are unable to function in a zoo, where people take care of you, therefore, you are retarded. But she kept repeating and repeating “I'm a 22 year old bride!"
Finally I said, “whatever bitch, do what you do. If you want to be @tha_bride22, then all means."
So that's the story of that dirty little orangutan who I shaved, cleaned up, and named. Because without me, she would still be flinging banana peel shit at herself and giving orangutan hand jobs for more banana peels.