Be yourself in every way
So the friends you have can truly see
The most inward part of thee
For friendship is built upon truth like a rock
Not sand which in the life’s own tides washed away by the sea
People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Sounds pretty impressive until you realize that these people, basically, want to rid the world of human beings and turn it over to the animals.
The name Chris Garnett probably doesn’t mean anything to you. This is the fool who changed his name to KentuckyFriedCruelty.com to support the group’s anti-KFC campaign. He is 19 years old and obviously still has a lot of growing up to do
North Americans eat a lot of chicken. According to one source, 6 billion of them a year. Yes, that’s billion with a ‘B’. PETA has launched a campaign against KFC, saying they use cruel and unusual methods to kill some of their chickens. KFC, according to another source, uses 736 million chickens per year. This begs the question, where are these massive chicken farms run by KFC? Look closely and you won’t find any. KFC is in the restaurant business, not the chicken ranching business. They buy the goods from their suppliers. Why doesn’t PETA go to the source for its protest?
To process this amount of chicken, it would be nigh impossible to give every chicken a last meal along with last rites before it is eviscerated and cut up. Let’s face it, chickens aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed and they don’t really know that the sole reason for their existence is to die in order to feed us. If they did, don’t you think some of them would have gotten together to stage a revolution? Something along the lines of the civil rights marches of the ’60’s, perhaps?
PETA proposes setting up billboards in Kenora, Ont. to try to get anglers to lay down their rods and reels. I have seen some of these billboards down here, where I suspect they had little to no influence. It shows a dog with a fish hook through its lips and asks, “If you wouldn’t hook a dog in the mouth, then why would you do it to a fish?” Kenora outdoor advertising agencies wisely turned PETA down, knowing full well that fishing plays a major role in the local economy. Besides the whole thing is silly to begin with. For every study that PETA claims shows that fish can feel pain in their lips, you can find one refuting that fact. And even if they can feel the pain, I don’t know of any fishermen who catch more than their limit and leave the excess carcasses on the shore to rot. Anglers catch enough to feed the family and come back later to get some more. That’s part of the joy of fishing. You have to do it over and over again if you want to eat. Some anglers practise catch and release and again, I have never seen a fish returned to the water any the worse for the wear.
If PETA is so concerned about animal rights, why don’t they go after saving some of the less cute ones? The harp seal hunt is always one of their favourites, but when did they ever speak up for the warthog? Or the centipede? The black widow spider or the aardvark?
There are plenty of animal rights groups that do a world of good. PETA is not one of them. They are the sort of organization that frees farm raised minks, only to have them slaughtered in the wild because the minks don’t know how to cope.
We can do a lot better without the likes of Chris Garnett and his ilk.
We shouldn’t speak so oftly.
My conversation lapses; breaks
And each time you pick up the pieces,
Sarcasm and hints of sexuality
Weakening me in octaves
Speak to me again, and forever, and again,
Deliver me into this sensuality.
Your jests, stroke my confidence
Are you nervous?
Are you anxious?
Your smile is infectious.
I have a thought to share
But it’s gone quickly from my tongue
Leaving merely the lustful taste
Of an introspective moment.
And there are too many like this…
Too bold or sinful to share.
Ah… the games we seek to play.
The difficult dares and rules we’ve vowed
But find me again, and soon, and again
Recklessly I await, inspired for more
We shouldn’t speak so oftly.
(I’ve never wanted someone so badly as you.)
I kept my closet locked for months, because I couldn’t take the sight of that dress. It hung there taunting me. I ran my fingers over then silk ribbon that laced up the sides. It was as cold as my heart felt, because that night was gone, never to return.
A tear fell from my eye and splashed onto to blue rose that was pinned around the hanger. That was forever marked by the silence of everything it used to mean. I cried for the loss of the joy I had once found in that dress, and the blue rose that matched his eyes.
I remember a time when I looked into those eyes, and all I could see was love. Like a baby blue jay chirping after a summer shower, they lifted me gently to the other side of the rainbow where unicorns run free, and I flew on the wings of a golden eagle into the sunshine.
Now all I have is a picture, and those eyes have become so cruel, like a ghost of the past. They crush me with the force of a thousand waves in a stormy sea. I would give anything to see that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow again.
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