The important thing to know about this week’s episode of Zoo is that Bob Benson from Mad Men orchestrated a lion attack with his mind and that’s not even the main focus of this post. Like, he did. He and his ex-girlfriend were trying to steal a human-like hybrid that his secret sister created with her own DNA, but they were surrounded by rebels with automatic weapons (one of whom appeared to be a grandmother), so he called a pack of lions with his brain and the lions ripped the rebels to shreds. It was amazing. I have no idea why the rebels didn’t just shoot the lions. Whatever. We have other things to get to right now.
Another thing this post is not about: Mitch — the veterinarian genius who was in a coma for a decade and then woke up to discover his daughter is now humanity’s last hope against sterility and went full-on Liam Neeson to save her from a mysterious billionaire baby auction — turned out to be the mysterious and evil Mr. Duncan, a high-ranking figure in the group that is controlling the hybrid animals, including the screeching hellbirds that committed suicide-by-volcano the other week. But, Mitch might not have realized what he was doing, because while he was in the coma the group implanted a biodrive in his brain that controls his actions, and at the end of the episode Jamie figured it out so he stuck her with a tranquilizer dart. All fascinating and wild but again, not what this post is about.
What is this post about then, if not a telepathic lion ambush or a rebel veterinarian basically becoming the Winter Soldier from the Captain America movies? I’m glad you asked. Oh man, am I glad you asked. Because this post is about A GIANT INVISIBLE SNAKE THAT LIVES IN AN ABANDONED PERUVIAN FUNHOUSE.
Yup, the next hybrid animal they have to hunt down is a giant invisible snake. Well, not technically “invisible.” It just has mutated in a way that allows it to perfectly camouflage itself in any environment, including the forest and, yes, the abandoned Peruvian funhouse — complete with discarded terrifying clown faces — that it calls home. But, look. If there’s a 60-foot snake in front of you and you don’t see it until it’s hissing straight into your big stupid face, there’s no time to nitpick. Don’t “well, actually…” an invisible snake. If you take away nothing else from this post, at least take that.