Killing, Get It?

Enormous beef plants are designed to process large volumes of arriving cattle. After cattle are stunned, they are bled out on the Cargill production line in Dodge City, Kan. They then go through a "carcass wash;" their hides are removed; and the cattle are cut into pieces. (Keith Myers/The Kansas City Star)
Enormous beef plants are designed to process large volumes of arriving cattle. After cattle are stunned, they are bled out on the Cargill production line in Dodge City, Kan. They then go through a “carcass wash;” their hides are removed; and the cattle are cut into pieces. (Keith Myers/The Kansas City Star) [How lovely.]

Fellow earthlings hang. Excited hearts now pump faintly their last drops of life as blood flows a river inside the abattoir. White-robed overlords oversee with heartless glee the demand the people place upon them.

Killing.

It’s what humans do. I get it, now.

The government gets it. Man, do they ever.

Hunters, anglers, trappers all get it, and they get it well.

Every flesh-eater gets it; they cause it, abnormally so, and to their liking.

The slaughterhouse business is a boom, and they get, and take it all the way to the bank, who gets it.

The prison system gets it, with itchy fingers can’t wait.

Cops and soldiers get it, they signed up to get it.

Kill. Kill. Kill, for fuck’s sake.

It’s everywhere, and it’s 24/7/365.25.

Killing.

No big deal, right? I get it.

But hey, let a news story break, a tragic accident, a natural catastrophe, shooting, people killed, animals hurt. An empathetic twinkle sparks inside an otherwise numb-skull, and suddenly the Androids get all emotional, teary eyed. Heartfelt.

Really?

What the hell?

Somebody got killed.

So what?

Who cares?

Nobody. That’s who.

After their obligatory sorrow drowns in its evanescent grief, everything’s hunky-dory. Enervated emotions are restored. Now back to the business of kill and let kill until the next spate of death hits the public airwaves. Then guess what? Suddenly sparked, fleeting superficialities ignite once again with an emasculated flare-up.

Why bother with silly transitory sentiment?

Killing.

It’s what humans do, by fuck. They KILL!

Rejoice!

Killing, a tradition we can’t live without, by participating within.

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Hunters, Trappers, Anglers Alike

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Bear murderers and turncoat hounds – image public domain via Wikipedia.org

Hunters, Trappers, Anglers Alike

Psychopathy is an equal opportunity debasement. Spawned in every shape, size, and social order while infesting every sphere of human involvement. But fortunately not every human.

Among the top of the psychopathic pecking order, you’ll find the redneck, dimwitted hunter, trapper, angler. Just one small, nearly imperceptible prick below the ruling elite in psychotic potential.

To murder any non-threatening, innocent earthling struggling to survive among the infestation of humanity requires a psychopathic reasoning.

Period.

Killing is deplorable.

It is a violent, heinous act of delusion, hate, irreverence, and war. It is the last resort to an extreme adversity, at very best.

To view hunting, trapping, angling as a sport is the twisted logic of a psychopath, a madman. Or, as is often the case, a madwoman.

Participation in a so-called sport by so-called sportsmen where the odds are so incredibly overwhelming that there exists no possibility of failure, no threat of defeat, no risk of life or limb, where then is the thrill, the excitement, the challenge of the game?

There isn’t any.

It’s all a coward’s sadistic amusement, a psychopath’s recreation.