Just like anyone else, there are a bunch of things about me people would probably never guess. Example one: I love the History Channel, despite my nearly complete aversion to history in an academic setting. It's the sleeper pick in my favorite channel listing on tv.
Example two: I learn something new about myself every time I watch Meerkat Manor on Animal Planet:
So the Whiskers -- yes, they have a last name -- are just chillin'; trying to get their lives together. Shakespeare has got a heart bigger than anybody I know and after taking a rattler's double-bite, has managed to get himself home and underground, struggling to survive a dose of venom the narrator tells me I'd struggle to survive without immediate medical attention and screaming like a punk.
Then the Lazuli, led by some bastard named Carlos who'd been scouting the Whisker's camp for a minute*, ignore the Whisker's blatant territorial markings, spring a full-fledged war on the plains similar to the hyena-lioness fight in The Lion King 2 (but without the awfulness of a second-rate sequel surrounding it). In a wave of fur and fury, signifying the essence of gangstardom, the Whiskers send the Lazuli retreating, back where they belong; probably to the same kind of unkempt sty that Scar was reduced to in the original Disney classic.
You cheer! The Whiskers kicked the Lazuli's lazy, scavenger asses, even without the help of young male Shakespeare who's leg and face are literally rotting because of that maniacal snake.
But then, the unbelievable. Even in defeat, Carlos decides he hasn't had enough. He comes creeping back, slinking through the field. And you're thinking, “When is this dude gonna learn? How many times does matriarch Whisker, Flower, have to punch him in the mouth before he gets the point?”
But this time, Carlos wants not war, but piece; a piece of ass, and he's grilling young Ms. Daisy Whisker from a distance with the sex eye and all the persuasion of a Razor Ramon. But instead of shutting him down cold, Daisy sneaks off and gives him some in a tryst the two of them wished reminded brother meerkat, Shakespeare, of Romeo and Juliet, when they really are more deserving of names like “Ho-meo” and “Booty-sweat.”
Daisy eventually gets back home, worn-out and funky, reeking of sex and tries to play Flower for a fool. But everybody knows that that smell doesn't wash off that easily; especially when instead of washing, you roll in dirt and your mom's got the nose of, well, a wild animal who smells sex for survival.
And you guessed it: Daisy might be with meerkitten. And if she is, Flower, grandmother-to-be, may be forced by Mother Nature to kill her own grandmeerkittens if she fears they'll steal critical attention from her own new babies (it's true: the narrator said so).
...
Daisy went against the family with a meerkat who'll probably never amount to anything more than a nappy ball sack. Now grandma may have to slaughter her own family to keep it together. So, lesson: don't screw your family by screwing a nappy ball sack.
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*That's young-people talk for a really long time.
