A Slaughterhouse of Machines

And what do you do for a living sir?

I kill chickens.


For New Years I went to see a stand-up comedy show. It wasn't very good. Battle of the sexes jokes, besides being so 1990, don't really apply any more. And there always has to be the gay joke. Which now, due to wonderful PCness is alway prefaced with, "Now I'm not homophobic..." and followed, hypocritically, by something completely tasteless and homophobic. And don't get me started on the five minute montage/demonstration of "How to eat-out your woman."

Bad comedy aside, one of the comedians began asking the audience (strangely asking only the males) what they do for a living (*cough cliché cough*). We had the car salesman, the blacksmith, the seller of meats, and then one man who kills chickens.

But wait- when pressed further, it turns out he doesn't actually kill chickens. He works for Foster Farms, and manages "Machines that Kill Chickens."

I feel ill. We as a society are so out of touch with death. The meat we eat is faceless and lifeless. Sure we call it pig or cow or chicken (or some variation thereof). But we don't make the connection in our heads when we are eating it- of the sacrifice that was made to bring this sustenance to our table. The brilliant life force that was extinguished so that we might eat. And not even to survive. But to gorge ourselves to an obesity of excess and apathy.

And not only are these beautiful living beings being killed for thankless thoughtless Americans, but we can't even kill them ourselves, we push the job onto machines. A Slaughterhouse of Machines. That image strikes more fear and disgust in my mind's eye than any person with a butcher block, bloody apron and axe.

My opinion on eating meat: if I could kill it- I would eat it.

I can't kill a living animal, therefore I do not eat them. If I were able to kill an animal, I would be in awe of its life. I would give thanks for its death. And I would honor it by wasting none.

But since I do not and can not. I grieve for the innocent lives wasted and butchered, by cold unfeeling metal. The pain felt and dishonor placed.


And what do you do for a living sir?

I honor the life spark and force of all living creatures.