Sloths

People own sugar gliders and poison dart frogs and all sorts of weird exotic pets that probably should never be inside of a home. Yes, sloths are endangered, but that doesn't mean I can't take one that's already in some sort of slothy foster home, right? I mean, there's a pet shop in Florida that sells sloths and it's not like those sloths will get released into the jungle of Miami if they aren't purchased. They'll just stay in the pet store forever until they die. Unless I buy one for $2,000 (yes, that is the actual price), take a plane to South America for $5,000 (no, that is not the actual price), and return said sloth to the Amazon Rainforest, I'm not actually going to be helping with the whole endangered thing. I should probably just go to Florida and get a pet sloth, right?

Do you know that sloths only go to the bathroom once per week?! I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING. I did my research and internet sleuthing and this is a fact. Not only do their outsides move slowly, but so do their insides (i.e. digestive tract). Also, they have to climb down from their tree and go to the bathroom on the forest floor because I guess they don't like to poop where they do nothing productive. This leaves them incredibly susceptible to predators since their "fight or flight" response is more like a "just flight, but very slowly" response. It seems that because of these reasons, they've adapted and evolved over time to only excrete waste once per week. This means that they are the BEST. PET. EVER. My bunny, House M.D., shoots little BB poops out his butt about every five seconds. A sloth would be a definite upgrade on my pet-related fecal clean-up (even though there is no word on how large this once-a-week doodie [best word ever] break is).

From reading various sloth-owner stories, I found out that sloths love to cling onto you like they're hugging you. I can't even deal with the abstract idea that I could have a pet that's this affectionate. Normally, I just beg my cat to come to me with kissy noises while she sits just out of reach, staring at me mockingly. That, or I pet my rabbit while he looks at me with robotic, unfeeling eyes (if you ask me, rabbits are just above fish on the affection scale). Also, sloths can barely cause any issues with destruction like most other pets. Think of how many times your dog has eaten or peed in your shoes, how often your gray cat pukes everywhere (oddly specific), or that time your bunny ate your roommates' new headphones and then she yelled at you (even more oddly specific). Would that have happened if they were moving just a fraction of the speed that they normally do and hugging your torso? Probably not.

Anyway, moral of the story is that I need a sloth. NEED. I woke up the other morning, bleary-eyed, and asked my boyfriend (Sam, as some of you may know him) where sloths come from. He started going on about how when two people love each other very much something something something and then suggested we practice sloth-making. I'm not really sure what he meant so I just ignored him and did my slothy research. That's how I found out about that pet store in Florida that sells sloths for two G's and now I know exactly where my bonus money is going!!!


In addition to that Bradypus variegatus (that's "sloth" in science talk and I'm also thinking that I'll name my sloth "Bradypus" now) tangent, I discovered some news about my blog today:

Upset most of the time?! Well, now I am! Thanks a lot. Not only that, but I'm only 24. The analyzer not only told me that I was a whiner but that I'm an old-ass whiner. Way harsh.

I guess it's not as bad as Sam's analysis though:

Now that is just plain hilarious rude.