OK, people. Listen up. It's called a KILLER whale. You know why? Because they are KILLERS. Don't act all shocked and awed and, like, whoa when one KILLS YOU. I don't care if you pet it and feed it and make it spin circles and do tricks. It's still a whale. A KILLER whale. You're all up on the news talking about the "predator" and the "tragedy." Duh. YES, it was a tragedy. A poor woman was killed by a wild motherfucking animal. Doing what it does naturally. Being a predator.
I haven't heard any word of this, but if the lords of Sea World even consider for a brief minute putting that whale down for what happened, I'm going to drive my whale-hugging, cat lady ass down to the world of seas and throw the hell down. Don't think I won't.
Sure, I'd love to have a pet killer whale, I'm not even kidding. They're so big and cute and precious and always look so happy. I saw "Free Willy," OK? Whales = BFF, obviously. But you know what? I'm not gonna be surprised when it eats me for lunch. Lock me in a cage and make me swim around you with your ass on my nose, and I'd eat you, too. Shit.
I'm just sayin.