Nothing makes me hungrier for ten rare pounds of feed-lot steak than PETA. Every time I learn about one of their “confrontational” new campaigns, sales I want to cram foie gras in my mouth, wear veal earrings and slip into a bikini made entirely of tuna. Then, I want to order dolphin sashimi, dress my cats in ermine and, in short, behave in a manner that distances me a million miles from this sexed-up Hello Kitty turn on food ethics.
PETA describes itself a “Sexy Celeb Supporter“. That this mission statement might be applied equally to push-up bras makes sense. Frilly and precious, PETA is far too tied up with its appearance to, say, take any practical steps toward animal welfare in the Gulf of Mexico.
You’d think an organization like PETA might want to roll its sleeves up and help manage this habitat calamity. No. But they did release this intriguing press statement. PETA says that if we want to help injured Gulf animals, what we really should do is stop eating meat.
According to PETA, the devastation of marine animal populations is the result of the pot-roast you ate last Thursday. It has nothing to do with BP.
No. I don’t understand it either.
As oiled seabirds die a slow, painful death, PETA turns its attention back to core business: titties.
PETA’s newest Rad and Refreshing billboard takes a slice of British cheesecake to make the claim that a high-fat diet ends in a low-fat penis. The model, by-the-by, is called Chantelle and she started her climb to vegetarian stardom on the greasy poles of motorcycle trade shows. Then, she won a Reality TV contest. Now, she’s here to school you boys about the health of your omnivorous dongs.
Chantelle might be very nice and I’m glad she’s turned her charms into cash. God knows, I’d hold a flaccid wiener for money if I had the décolleté for it. It certainly looks easier than writing. Far be it from me to go on and interminably on about the objectification of flesh; processed into a sausage skin or otherwise. It’s not Chantelle I find repugnant. It is the sex reflex of her current employers.
WTF is it with PETA? Who among their number holds a sub-standard MBA and the shop-worn conviction that “sex sells”? Sure, sex sells some stuff. Sales of cars, footwear and quality linen can all be improved with sex. But, sex doesn’t sell everything. There’s a range of goods and services that cannot be convincingly promoted with sex. These include, but are by no means limited to, bank loans, floor coverings and responsible eating.
It’s easy to change into a pink pair of frilly panties. It is far more difficult to change what’s inside the pantries of the world. When it comes to what we put in our mouths, we tend to resist good advice. Sometimes, though, we might hear something so rational that we begin to think before we shop.
Personally, I could not resist the plain talk and neat thought of Michael Pollan. It was Pollan who drove me to buy only ethically grown meats. In small portions. And it was Pollan who alerted me, and many vegetarians, to the shocking practices of agribusiness. In short, we learned that the production of plant foods can be just as unethical, unsustainable and crap as the raising of meat.
But. The ethical flaws of a vegetarian world-view aside: Pollan got inside my gut. And he did so with reason, research and argument. And I have no wish to know what color panties he wore when he wrote The Omnivore’s Dilemma.
This is how you change consumption for the greater good. You just can’t achieve it with a pair of tits and the threat of a floppy wang. And, you can’t achieve it by being racist tools.
Did you see this PETA dump on first nation people from back in February? The same “consciousness raising” vegans that used several of the world’s most expensive titties to save a few contaminated rabbits were making fun of the Inuit. Seriously. Who gives a flying frankfurter if the Inuit club a few seals? They don’t have nationhood, dental care or iPhones. Who in their right mind would begrudge these people a few dozen marine mammals?
For years now, this organization has colluded with famous idiots. Using the vacant mechanism of celebrity, it has attempted to jam the machine of animal slaughter. It has asked Naomi Campbell (still an unapologetic fur-wearer) to pose nude for its anti-fur campaign. It has lured vegan Playboy models into its employ and draped them publicly in lettuce leaves. Yes, girls, it’s apparently fine to inject poison into your tits and show your asshole to Hef and the world for money. But eating little lambs is Just Not Cool.
I hope Gaia is sick on them all.
But, aside from leaving all those animals to die in the Gulf, PETA’s saddest fail is its stupid beauty pageant.
Every year, it unstraps the bong from its smug vegetarian face and names Sexy Vegetarians. None of whom, as it happens, this guilty omnivore wants to eat. (OK. Except for Alyssa Milano.)
This is the problem with using one-size-fits-all sex. When mass culture spews out its sausage feed of lust, it can look as appetizing as head-cheese.
PETA, I am a principled eater and my omnvorism is certainly up for sale. But you simply will not buy it with your sexy, celeb-supporting processed meat.