VEGETARIANS ARE DANGEROUS

09/11/2011

 

Don’t get too concerned just yet.

I’m not suggesting they’re roaming the streets of suburbia with AK-47s chanting “Meat people, prepare to die”.

It’s more of an unintentional, long-term type of danger.

Irish comedian Dylan Moran made the astute and very critical observation that if the whole world turned vegetarian cows would take over the earth.

While not elaborating too much upon his comment, Moran obviously ascertained, with The Ruling Vegies in power, and their Fundamentalist Greenie allies in tow, the likelihood of them implementing a Bovine Eradication Program or a One Calf Policy would be on the other side of zero. Cows, goats, chickens, crikey, there’d be a zillion chooks roaming the countryside as part of The Free Range Release Treaty.

This is why we have to eat meat – to protect the future for our children and our children’s children.

And this also highlights the somewhat selfish attitude of The Vegies and The Greenies – or some of them at least – in that they don’t consider the consequences of their actions. They know what they don’t want but haven’t got much to say when it comes to viable alternatives.

You get my drift. They are, in my humble opinion, a bit selfish and a tad one-dimensional.

They love the benefits of power but don’t want coal. They don’t want Nuclear Power either. Mention Nuclear Power and they scream “Chernobyl”. C’mon. It was 25 years ago and the Russkies were running 24 leads out of the one power socket. It was always bit dodgy.

But if The Greens were to get their way and shut down the coal industry, all you’re left with are a few wind farms, some solar panels and a heap of people on exercise bikes pedalling like mad in a desperate bid to get a bit of charge into their Iphones so they can make a call to Bob Brown to scream out “Bring back the bloody coal!”.

But protected by the electric blanket of his own power provided under Parliamentary privilege, Bob would possibly ignore the calls. See it’s my belief Head Green Bob Brown has been running with the foxes and hunting with the Faux Fur for a long time.

So until I see Mr Brown arrive at Parliament House in a cart pulled by two flatulent-free oxen, until I see him step down from the cart in moccasins crafted from freshly fallen palm fronds and until I see Bob in a suit woven from the urine-soaked wool of a non-mulesed merino, I refuse to take him too seriously.

 

Anyway, I’m off to the butcher – that’s if I can get through all of these chickens. Where the hell did they come from?