So, how many times have I wandered by Macy's or some other clothing store to see demonstrators show graphic pictures of animals' bodies without their skin, in an effort to inspire guilt in customers through some sort of mind-fuck? Or how many times have I heard PETA or some closely affiliated supporter yell and whine about animal rights? The answer: way too fucking many. Though it gives me an oh-so-warm feeling to know that these people care more about some animal's ass than me or another fellow human being.
Of course, I really do think that a great many of them are only saving the cute animals. I mean, really...how many times do you see PETA members outside of a grocery store? Or outside of a butcher shop to save Bessy the cow? It just doesn't happen, folks; Bessy always seems to end up as a Slim Jim or a Big Mac. Of course, those demonstrators can always say about the cow: "At least it's for a need like hunger...but fur isn't necessary. What they don't figure is that if I met an attractive member of the opposite sex who's willing to make a certain trade based on a fur coat, you damn well know that the fur coat has just been bumped up to need. However, the argument does go deeper than just fuzzy ears, beady eyes, or some primo hot ass. No, the argument comes down to something more abstract: the supposed rights of the animal.
Now, before we go on, let's quickly react to the phrase animal rights, like they do in those crazy psychology experiments. I don't know about you, but the phrase just leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Of course, when I really think about the word "right", just by itself, I always seem to get grandiose pictures in my mind. Like the image of people setting up a country based on the idea of freedom. Most importantly, I see an image of an individual man who demands that other men respect and acknowledge the fact that he is a human being.
Now, for the hell of it, let's just add in the word "animal" to "right", and let's just say that phrase. Hmmm...I see...that little dog from the Taco Bell commercial with the Che beret on top of his head, announcing to a crowd the new flavor of a soft shell taco. No, wait...I see something else...hold on...okay, we're at the signing of the Declaration of Independence...except something is different. I see a monkey at a podium wearing an old English Parliament wig.
For some reason, those pictures just don't strike me as particularly serious. So neither does that phrase.
