|PETA is an organization that fights for animal rights. I'm not in favor of treating animals humanely -- because humans don't treat anything with mercy or compassion. I'm in favor of not treating animals like foreign prisoners of war (you know, waterboarding them, making them roll around in their own excrement, forcing them to listen to Celine Dion, etc.).|
I don't hate animals. Readers of this blog (if, indeed, anyone exists who reads my blog at all) know that I use the word hate quite a bit. I don't have a lot of hate in my heart, however. I keep my hate in my spleen, where it belongs. And my spleen doesn't secrete any hate whatsoever for the lower members of the animal kingdom.
PETA is a different story. They only represent the rights of the lower members of the animal kingdom. What pisses me off so much about PETA is that they take things way too far. I don't believe animals should be tortured. I don't believe calves should be kept in a crate to force it to become anemic so we can all enjoy the splendid taste of veal. I don't believe the unhealthy practice of cramming a thousand cows into an area that wouldn't be considered habitable for two hundred cows is a good thing. Undoubtedly, there are many practices humans (specifically, the humans who work for food processing and farming corporations) engage in that I find repulsive, unethical, vile, disreputable, dangerous -- practices that are grotesque examples of profiteering at the expense of human and lower animal health. But PETA doesn't just want ethical treatment for animals; they want to make animals equal to humans in their worth.
Animals are not equal to humans. Sure, there are some animals I'd gladly exchange for some humans -- but only in theory. Some humans annoy me so much I don't think they should be given the same elevated status as cow dung, let alone the status of a cow. I'm being facetious about this, of course (sort of), but PETA doesn't seem to me to be too ironic in its incessantly disturbed valuation of animals over people.
I saw a sign once where I live that showed a fish being hooked by an evil human with a fishing rod, and the caption beneath read, "FISH HURT." You know, fish feel pain. Okay, fish feel pain. I'll accept that. But then what's to say that flowers or wheat or those roses you cut out of your neighbor's garden to give to your wife on your anniversary so she'll give you some poontang for once in your pathetic human life don't feel pain? Where does it end? Do your dirty gym shorts need equal protection under the law because the billions of stinking, putrefied germs in them are equal to human life?
PETA is ridiculous. They are over the top and under the bridge. I'm against animal cruelty -- totally. But if I were stuck on a desert island with a pet German shepherd that I'd raised from a pup and the can of Spam I'd scrounged from the rocky beach was getting low, "Shep" would get a few humane hugs and pats on the head ... and I'd twist that motherfucker's neck and eat him faster than I could a bag of beloved Doritos. Because Shep's just a dog. I'm a human. Sorry, Shep.
I loved you so much, Shep.
And you were such a tasty bastard!
(My thanks to Skipper Dick for the above photo link.)