Drinking Milk Hurts Cows Somehow
Friends and Living Creatures of Earth, you all probably know by now that I am a very tolerant dude. I'll admit that there are people who do things that aren't exactly cool with me, but what I usually try and do is take a deep breath, pull out whatever peace pipe I have that has the most colors on it, take another several deep breaths using the peace pipe, and relax. To each his own, is what I'm trying to say. But if there's one thing I try and be, like, U.S. government-style fascist on (that's right, pigs, I didn't pay my taxes, because I don't believe in it. I thought this was the land of the free!), it's eating our loving, caring, Animal Brothers and Sisters.
After all, when you get right down to it, animals are our Brothers and Sisters. Take a look at your human Brother or Sister -- it doesn't even have to be someone blood-related, since we're all connected by the sun's majestic beams of love and nature. Now: can you imagine yourself eating them? If you're on some seriously mind-freaking stuff, probably. But that doesn't mean you would eat them. At most, you'd probably take a small bite out of them, just to try it out, and they'd be like, "Hey, man, I love you, but that did hurt me, and I don't appreciate being eaten," and you'd say, "Sorry, man, I just got really hungry and I don't exactly know what I'm doing right now," and they'd go, "Sure, man, I can relate, because yesterday I did the same thing and I just now realized where I was, so there's, like, 42 hours of my life that are missing," and you'd be like, "Wow, that's totally weird, do you think the government used that missing time of your life to program you to assassinate someone in order to keep down the grass-powered car?"
Wait, so yeah. Eating an animal is like eating your Brother or Sister -- not cool. I'm sure most of you knew that. But guess what else isn't cool? Freaking Phish breaking up, man, talk about something that makes a dude think life isn't exactly worth it anymore. I know at least a few people who are planning on suicide because of it, or at least thinking about starting to shower now, and settle down and work for The Man, which -- let's face it -- is pretty much equal to or worse than dying. Actually worse. A lot worse.
But anyway, what's worse than that? Eating a by-product that an innocent, caring, loving, sharing animal made. I'm talking about stuff like milk, or cheese, or ice cream, or anything else that comes out of any number of animals. While it may sound un-natural and disgusting to you and me, there are actually some seriously uncool people out there who commit these atrocities against the animals. And as much as I try to be cool with other people's life decisions, I just couldn't bring myself to let this one go.
That's why this past Tuesday, on one of my six out of seven days off (Wednesday is the day I watch the Petting Zoo staff and make sure they're not hurting our Animal Brothers and Sisters in any way, which they pretty much always are, like when they feature them on some kind of sick display for little kids to look and laugh at as the animals play and frolic in their cruel cages), I went down to the local Establishment Grocery Store to stand in front of the dairy case and protest people getting milk to drink. It wasn't easy, because people are practically addicted to their murderous ways, and so some of them got pretty testy with me, like this one poor 40-hours-a-week Slave For The Man suburban wife, who was probably picking the milk up for her kids or husband or whatever, since she is doomed to a life of servitude that she almost definitely had no say in.
"Drinking milk is murder, ma'am," I told her, trying to stand in her way but being brushed aside when she reached for the milk and the air waves from her arm blew me to the side. "You should seriously not do it."
"But cows need to be milked," she told me. "If they aren't, it can cause them serious problems. Besides, even if it wasn't necessary to milk them, doing it doesn't cause them any harm."
"Wow, I can't believe you believe that you believe....that I can't...you believe," I said, shaking my head, almost falling into her run-around circular argument but catching myself. "I guess you also think that 'chicken' is made by the Perdue company, don't you? Well, guess what? It comes from a real animal, man. And you're eating it. Surprise!"
But I guess my karma caught up with me for being so negative just then (either that, or it was the fact that I hadn't eaten any delicious clovers or alfalfa for a few days because I couldn't find any growing outdoors), because I blacked out for a little while, and woke up outside the store, with an Establishment Tool telling me, "Don't come in here again, hippie."
"Don't label me, man," I told the Tool, trying to give him a gift of a piece of gravel I found underneath me. "I love you, but seriously."
The Tool didn't take my rock, but hopefully I taught him something, along with the lady from the store: milking cows, despite it being apparently "good" for them and not hurting them in any way, is wrong. If you think it's right, I totally respect you, but I also think you're incredibly ignorant, and I pretty much disrespect you. It's all good, though. We're cool. I love you.
