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The frontrunners are snakes, because duh, but frogs seem like they have a chance to be the sleeper hit. Walking up, we see a man walking toward us holding a reptile show bag. There's a young woman inside the enclosure, sitting on a chair, thumbing through her phone. On the far right are the newborns—a tray of squirming, pulsating mice fetuses, really.

I wonder what trouble you have to get into to be busted down to tortoise duty. The guy in charge doesn't want to give us all press access to the show, but Kinsee is steadfast in her demands, and it's cool to watch her haggle for free access to the snake show.

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I find there are few things more relaxing than being cocooned in a vehicle, away from computers or screens, drowning out the outside world with music. It's during these times when I can contemplate the big abstractions in life: What should I be doing with my life? The billboard is the color of a highlighter—yellow or green, I don't know. Stark, black lettering states that, yes, this sign that is burning into my retinas, my soul and my sense of judgment is the "Reptile Super Show." I try to be nonchalant when I bring it up at the office, since "falling for billboards" is not a quality I want most people to know about me. By the time I come back, Kinsee's already got the reptile show's head honcho on the phone and is securing us press passes (or pressssss passssesssss , I think, because snakes).****I can't blame my wife for being confused and perhaps a little bit perturbed when I—a man with no past interest in reptile shows, who has displayed no desire to attend a reptile show, and has, in fact, previously regarded the idea of a reptile show with fear and aversion—suddenly want to go to a reptile show. " I say, surprised at myself to realize I'm only partly joking.