BY TED NUGENT
I first encountered the culture-war freaks way back in the 1960s on rock-n-roll radio. During interviews about my frightening Amboy Dukes Motor City Madhouse R&B & R&R fun music, the DJs would feign shock and dismay when I articulated the source of my inspiration and high energy animal breeding soundtrack to my soul cleansing, magical time in nature as a bow hunter. After all, there is no more demanding scenario than stalking within arrow-range of high-strung whitetail deer designed by God to evade sharp-stick bearing BBQ addicts such as I.
I am certain Chuck Berry and Bo Diddly had that truism cataloged solidly in their ancestral mental library as their ingenious sonic bombast erupted.
Of course, 99% of the interviewers in those days were stoned out of their minds on various self-inflicted brain-altering chemical warfare trends of the “drop out, fade away” hippie era of disconnect and cowardly abandonment of individual responsibility. The Bambi cartoon syndrome made perfect sense to these fantasy driven dolts, and to witness them try to rationalize their big animal rights-lie made for better comedy than the eventual catching fire of Richard Pryor’s afro.
Then we sat down to some sushi and ribs, as in dead sushi and ribs.
As a gung ho, disciplined hunter from the Fred Bear mystical flight of the arrow camp, I knew well what my wildlife stewardship responsibilities were and why we give thanks to God every November near the end of the natural, annual season of harvest, for His miraculous renewable bounty.
The dumbing down of America was already on the fast track, and witnessing the abject ignorance about “sustain yield” wildlife management, habitat-carrying capacity, and ultimate organic venison nutrition was hopelessly lost on the city kids and their suicidal “party” of “getting high, drooling, puking, and dying” make-believe insanity.
And from this festering lie came the likes of Peta, the Humane Society of the United States, the so called Animal Welfare League, the braindead crazies and scam artists like Ingrid Newkirk, Peter Singer, Cleveland Amory, Cass Sunstein, and Wayne Pacelle. You know, the hate-filled “A rat is a pig is a dog is a boy” freaks.
Lovely, isn’t it? We clearly love our dogs, and cats, and horses, and pet pigs, but who doesn’t know that our Asian and French friends and people around the world eat this stuff and sustain their human lives with animal protein? Have I struck onto something here? Is this a Ted thing?
Of course not. BBQ is BBQ is BBQ is BBQ. “Kill ‘em and grill ‘em,” I always say, and so do a few billion fellow human beings, including the hypocritical animal rights freaks themselves. Even the tofu warriors pay out a portion of every salad they devour to farmers and ranchers waging total annihilation war on all living creatures interfering with their no-kill tofu production with weapons of John Deere and Mansanto mass destruction. Nothing, not a single living thing gets out alive from the indiscriminate mass slaughter that is tofu production. It’s just that the rest of us don’t scam naïve people and make a dishonest living off of their embarrassing emotional denial.
I am not condemning Deere, Mansanto, or the wonderful American farming/ranching families out there. To the contrary, I salute and thank them for their incredible hard work and dedication to feeding the world and sustaining human lives around the globe.
I kill one deer per arrow, whereas a bowl of salad represents the mega-death of every snake, vole, shrew, ground squirrel, quail, turtle, frog, pheasant, rabbit, ground nesting songbird, and every other critter so unfortunate as to get in the way of the plow, the disc, the herbicide, and pesticide jihad, all for vegetable production.
And be sure to enjoy a nice chalice of red wine with that vegan meal, for every vineyard operator is more deadly than little ol’ Whackmaster me if I were to trade in my bow and arrow for a GE Mini-gun.
From death comes life. Vegans, there is blood on your hands. Know it. Anybody?
The vast majority of vegetarians and vegans of course know all too well the process by which their preferred cuisine ended up on the table. I do not disparage them.
But when the goofball scam artist at Peta sues the British wildlife photographer to administer the proceeds of selfies taken by a monkey, the president appoints a crazy animal rights dweeb to be Regulatory Czar, dangerous people-hating animal-lovers threaten to kill me and my family for eating venison and doves, and other assorted bizzarro shenanigans by gangs of loons, Verizon drops The Sportsman’s Channel while retaining Al Jezzera, the jury is not still out why Barak Obama was twice elected president. There are that many numbnuts out there.
Meanwhile, right now, tens of millions of American families celebrate the pure, perfect, essential, natural season of harvest as hunting season 2015 throttles on, preparing for yet another glorious Thanksgiving of venison, fur, fin, and fowl, balancing the amazing and unstoppable production of organic protein on the hoof, making room for next year’s new production in the thriving, healthy habitat that hunters, fishermen, and trappers have always demanded, paid for, and celebrated.