Tiger Hawk King: Murder, Mayhem, and the Iowa Hawkeyes

Greetings, dear readers! It seems years ago that Nebraska was losing basketball games and Fred Hoiberg was freaking out everyone at the halted Big Ten Championship Tournament with his striking pallor. It turned out to be just a case of influenza, which seems almost quaint in the current hellscape.

I’m in education, and am deeply, deeply thankful that I currently have a job, but moving online has meant that I’m working more hours than ever, but also that I have the freedom to have a multi-hour 90s lipsynching dance party in my living room alone, which is how today went down.

Anyway, in spite of mostly being a snarky b on here, I sincerely hope you’re all well and sane. This is hard, but as I try to keep reassuring my students, you can do hard things. And also, stay the fuck home if you are able to do so!

Obligatory Covid-19 stuff out of the way, let’s get on to the only other thing anyone has talked about in the past three weeks, namely... TIGER KING, the bizarre Netflix documentary surrounding three deeply disturbing/ed individuals, who combine a passion for exploiting wildlife with other very weird obsessions. A man (the titular Tiger King) marries two straight men in a triple wedding that is pink and cowboy themed, and it’s one of the least-weird moments on the show.

The weddings are actually sort of a mini thematic element of the show, and I think you could make one hell of a wedding inspo Pinterest board based solely on this series. For example, nothing about the following photo is ever explained, and the genius of the show is that it absolutely doesn’t need to be by the time it shows up:

Then again, I’m not sure there’s one sound decision represented in the entire seven hour affair, unless you count the woman who left the tiger breeder who also appears to be running a sex cult and is a doctor of “mystical science” and also a 9th-grade dropout. I mean, just look at that sentence I wrote, you guys. Who knew that combination of words would ever have reason to exist? I think that’s one of the most striking things about “Tiger King”—you and your quarantine buddy should just keep a running list of the bizarre things the show forces you to say as you’re watching.

The single least surprising thing about this show is that its main players are located in Oklahoma and Florida, and they both embrace a lot of stereotypes about both of those places. You may have thought that from the title of this, the Tiger King might turn out to be straight out of Coralville or something. Alas, that’s not the case. There’s no way that even Iowa, which proudly houses Council Bluffs could have anything remotely approaching the whackery of this crew. True, they do have Steve King... but no Tiger King. Good job, Iowa!

But wait.

I spy, with my little eye...

...is that...

...no, surely!

...

Oh NO.

Dammit Iowa.

Given the weirdness of the timeline we’re currently living, I won’t be surprised at all if Kirk comes out of quarantine this summer with a precariously situated eyebrow ring. It seems there’s already SOME kind of connection there. And even if he doesn’t, you know damn well I’m going to photoshop it.

As much as I enjoyed this acid trip of a documentary, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that everyone involved with the exotic animal trade is terrible, and you should certainly not support these enterprises. If you want to pet a feline so you can have endless photos for your ‘gram, get the normal housecat kind. They’re really cute too, I promise. And you don’t even have to feed them rancid leftover meat from Wal-Mart, which is definitely a perk.

I still feel I have more to say about this show. What do you think? Do we need a Tiger King basketball Power Poll? It’s either that or brands of toilet paper, you guys.