This is a case for the FBI!
This whole flattening of the curve begets a lot of screen time, which isn’t all bad. And so, on the seventh day of quarantine (or something), Netflix looked down upon us helpless and disgruntled plebs and said: Unleash the tiger show. These losers are ready.
And ready we were. I consumed all seven spellbinding hours of Tiger King in one (1) sitting. I know I’m not alone.
The show is wild, and not just because of the prowling pussies. It’s a convulsion of emotions, complex layers, mullets, meth, chunky highlights, whodunnit conspiracies, country twang and, of course, flower crowns.
Which is why I know it’s the lord’s work to unpack a few theories on *why* Carole Baskin frolics around with a multitude of foliage-derived dressings. Not sure about you, but I’ve got time….
every time I think I’ve finally…