A reptile dysfunction

Consider the term, "alligator trainer."  Here's a story from ABC News about a guy who works for a traveling carnival attraction called "Kachunga and the Alligator Show." 

There must be a market for this; people just about break their necks reaching for their wallets to plunk down money to see this show. 

(And all I ever hear about is how the economy is so horrible that people "can't hardly make do no more." Sic.)

So, watch the video.  You get to see a bored-looking kid craning his neck around to see what else is going on at this carnival and then you hear the master of ceremonies ask the crowd if they, indeed, wish to see Dan stick his arm in the animal's mouth.  And the first time, Dan's cat-like reflexes don't fail him.  The second time, now, that was a bite.

I am hardly a PETA member, for such is my love of meat, fowl, seafood, and my leather jacket.  But common sense would tell us that alligators don't really enjoy having a human hand crammed into their toothy maws, and are likely to chew the hand that feeds them if they're feeling a bit cranky that day.

On the ABC video page, you'll also see a story from Las Vegas, where people have had the inconvenience of having first two, and then one, chimpanzee run through their neighborhood.   Again, people?  You want a pet, go to the Animal Shelter and pick yourself a dog or cat or one of each, for added family fun.  Chimpanzees, possessing seven times the strength of humans, make poor companions, and the only place an alligator belongs, outside of a swamp, is on your shirt.