There you go. Alright, it was a tiger, I knew it was some patterned beast. I remember that photograph, too. Is that not Buffoons R Us?  I remember trying to figure out what was going on there, like, look at the patterned beast on the left? Doesn't he look...Doesn't he look like he'd have a little swish to his walk--Nothing wrong with swishy walkers! I just don't know if he would have been permitted in Sochi for the Olympics, you know?--Look at his coat, early Versace? Pretty face, nyet? Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, boy. Look how affectionately he is holding the tiger's paw. LOVingly. Like the tiger--That looks like a YOUNG tiger, too. Underage--Like the young, nubile, tiger was detected by Versace's gaydar, like there are infamous powers of bestial perversity on display here. The guy in black looks normal--Not that bestiality is abnormal!--it's just that he is looking at the tiger covetously, like he covets the tiger's anoose--Hey! I'm okay, you have sex with underage tigers, let's be friends. KKK or pope hats except for Ramzan's racoon. Look: call me a homophobic, beastialphobic male chauvinist oink-oink...Does the tiger look drugged to you? I don't know, I'm just a rube, a provincial hick, I don't know what goes on upon the cosmopolitan, metrosexual, Power Elite, the "lifestyle" beautiful people. I'm a missionary position preferred, hetrosexual. I don't go "both ways," I don't go that way. I don't get "excited" when I watch the Discovery Channel. They apparently do, or might, I don't know! We can still be friends.