Every
day, millions of Americans, salivating delirious, gnaw gristly cow meat between their
molars, much the way such meat-eaters as Adolph Hitler and Benito Mussolini once did,
savoring each ounce of bloody grease swishing across the quivering taste buds of the
tongue, thrilled at the notion of all that fat rushing straight to the arteries at the
speed of a US air-attack missile missing its designated target and taking out an Iranian
elementary school for the mentally retarded instead. But, just how does that undercooked,
disease-ridden meat get to your colon (in which it will spoil, as your body cannot digest
it for weeks to come) from the green, billowing pastures of America's Heartland? Well, now
it can be told.
There once was a day, oh, about thirteen years ago, when
God-loving cows walked across our beautiful country in peace and serenity, buying fruit to
deliver to homeless children on the streets of New York City and saving rabbis from the
third floor of flaming synagogues. But the bureaucratic Protestant white male could not
have this, and so, he crafted the invention of taking these beautiful creatures of God,
with lovely singing voices (see related article: The Censorship of Bovine Gospel Music by
the U.S. Recording Industry), and using them as a source of food.
At
first, Americans cried out in disgust and empathy. "We're disgusted and
empathetic!" they said. But then came the novel idea suggested by Ray Kroc (founder
of McDonalds, after the kiddie-porn snuff film business proved less profitable), to
embrace these beautiful creatures of God, with great tenderness, care and large metallic
hooks, and grind them to a juicy, meaty pulp, mask them within a bun, shrouded behind a
dubious facade of lettuce, tomato and perhaps pickle slicings as well, place beside it an
open box of fried potato strips drenched in fat, and a cup of highly acidic
caramel-flavored carbonated fluid, and fiendishly term this garish sickening concoction a
Happy Meal, which would then be forced upon our unsuspecting youth in order to raise a
society of apathetic citizens who are not only unabashedly carnivorous, but also morbidly
obese and sexually deviant (note: scientific proof of sexually deviancy being linked to
meat-eating still pending).
It almost seems as if this process of destroying the moral values
of a once proud and respected nation, now humiliated in the eyes of such pure vegan
continents as Africa and Europe (note: France notwithstanding), was almost too easy. And
yet, the "meat processing" industry, or as it was known upon its induction, the
"abhorrently senseless cow raping" industry, must take great strides to ensure
that proper and stringent guidelines are met when thoughtlessly violating these beautiful
creatures of God.
First,
experts on bovine psychology are brought out onto the pastures of our Heartland to
determine which cows have properly established deep-rooting emotional connections with
certain other cows. Once these bonds have been ascertained, the kindred cows are then
forcibly separated from one-another for the rest of their limited existence, thus greatly
decreasing their desire to live enriched, productive lives. Then, the cows are shipped off
to separate slaughterhouses, formerly called "Bovine Death Camps," but
rechristened after the second World War to then be labeled, the more appeasing
"Bovine Death Resorts."
The cows are horded into these "resorts" until so vastly
overcrowded that the sicklier cows are chewed to pieces by larger cows, simply to make
more standing room. Then, ten cows at a time, these beautiful creatures of God are hoisted
ninety feet into the air, by leathers straps on cranes, pulling relentlessly on the bone
structure of the cows so that legs and ribs often snap right out of place or shatter. The
cows are then swung about, crashing into metal walls and other cows, for three twenty
minute intervals. This part of the process actually has no practical relevance, but seems
to keep employees entertained and too preoccupied to consider the moral consequences of
relentlessly continuing the mass genocide of living animals for an unnecessary purpose.
After the "cow swinging" process, affectionately
known by industry insiders as the "mooing pinball," the cow is then moved by the
crane over to the grinder. A count of ten begins, and upon reaching the number seven, the
leather straps are prematurely released, sending the cow plummeting 63 feet into the
grinder. The grinder, much resembling the Sarlaac Pit from the opening act of George
Lucas' "Return of the Jedi," is a 70-ton machination of spikes, knives, saws,
hammers and nerf bats, designed to prod, slice, (logically) grind and virtually liquefy
the cow. The horns, hooves and all other cow-by-products are incorporated into the beef,
in order to eliminate excess waste and costly cleanup processes demanded by environmental
protection agencies.
The ground meat, after amounting into large piles on the unwashed
floors of unfumigated rooms for several weeks, is then shoveled into open dump trucks and
driven through the pastures of our Heartland, so that young calves' olfactory senses can
give them a vague, but grave, forewarning of their impending doom, while already, bovine
psychological experts have begun scouting the green, billowing meadows again, weeding out
any of these beautiful creatures of God that have found love with each other.
And as you read this article, these dump trucks roll
into your town, ready to unleash the remnants of what were once beautiful creatures of
God, and are now gruesome tendrils of an industry invading the minds, souls and arteries
of our nation's children. Those of us in this country who still believe in justice and
freedom should now feel involuntarily compelled to take whatever means necessary, even
unprovoked violence, in order to decimate this horrendously corrupt "industry"
of cold-blooded murderers. The future of our nation, of our entire universe, is up to you.
Yes, you, Eddie Lancaster of Madison, Indiana. We are all counting on you.
Published with generous permission of dear Patrick C. Taylor, our favorite screenwriter. We
became acquainted with Patrick some years back, having read his manuscript, "Until
the End" which intrigued us so (we nuts for theater of the absurd) to attend his
play, when it went into production. This young playwright and satirical writer, wise
beyond his years, is definitely one to follow.
Want more of The Keen Guy?
©2003 R K Puma
rk@rkpuma.com
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