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I swing vine to vine, searching for my next meal.

Sometimes it’s a restaurant, other times it’s a carcass collecting flies. At the turnpike McDonald’s on 87, you wouldn’t know the difference.

When I prowl the jungle, only one thing is sure: cooks retreat to their herd for safety in numbers.

Because I’m a Yelp reviewer, read me roar.

My contemporaries mark their territory by peeing on logs. I highlight my territory one “undercooked and underwhelming” critique at a time.

They use fangs; I use fiction.

They howl with their mouth; I scream with my pen.

I’m a Yelp reviewer; read me roar.

I’ve been hunting prey my entire life. Instead of sharpening my claws, I’ve been chiseling my judgment.

As a youth, I viciously tore into my Grandmother’s Turkey, calling it “All gobble and no gravy.”

As a teenager, I swore off chicken fingers and macaroni & cheese; my middle-finger-manifesto to America.

As an adult, I conquered The Mount Kilimanjaro Burger Challenge and was officially crowned The King of the jungle.

I’m a Yelp reviewer, read me roar.

Please know, in my line of work, It’s not all mimosas and meatloaf. I constantly deal with the laughing hyena or endure the scorching eyes of the judgmental owl.

But it’s a sacrifice I make for you.

After years of showing up to kill, I have achieved the ultimate goal: rebranding gluttony into greatness; I am the alchemist. I am Yelp Elite.

Next time you see the King of the Jungle, phone out, documenting the back-breaking work of ordering an obscure dinner and waiting for it … take a knee, and kiss the ring.

I’m a Yelp reviewer, read me roar.