Tötungsdelikt - Homicide

I’m not really a fan of murder. Not that I’ve ever had a go, but it seems most people who turn their hand to it aren’t that nice. Or have much of a sense of humour. Unpleasant and deadly serious makes for a boring person, and if by offing someone there was a chance I’d turn into one of those, it’s just not worth the risk. Oh, also the idea of ending someone’s life doesn’t appeal either - call me a lefty-liberal-peacenik-hippy, but even killing in the name of a respectable Christmas number-one wouldn‘t sit right. In actual fact, at the thought of bumping off anything from the hugely irritating flies in my kitchen to big game in the East African savannah (if you misread, that’s game, not gay - that would be…wait for it... this’ll be so worth it…. homocide! Urgh. It really wasn’t), my conscience kicks in and won’t allow even the smallest amount of fly-swatting or rhino poaching.

Now, as a meat eater, I understand I’m indirectly responsible for the slaughter of millions of animals each year, but somehow, like 99% of all other human carnivores, I’m mostly able to keep that thought well out of mind. We’re so well conditioned that images of cramped-up, light-deprived calves and rivers of mooey abattoir blood rarely, if ever, show themselves when we’re scoffing a Double Whopper or a posh veal steak in a nob’s restaurant. In this meataphile’s opinion, the reason most of us munch on bits of animal is flimsily similar to why religion is still so popular and widespread. The vast majority of kids are raised on meat and so accept its consumption as the norm once they can think for themselves. Likewise, the offspring of god-fearing parents are force-fed Christianity, Islam, Judaism or whatever, and so end up believing in an all-powerful being by default. Vegetarians are the atheists of the dietary world, considered freaky by the masses because they’ve had the balls to question one of the thousands of things humans accept purely on the basis of tradition. Not that I can talk. Recognising this and still eating meat probably makes me even worse than those who couldn’t give a shit. And this piece has just slammed into a comically-devoid brick wall faster than…well it‘s devoid of comedy, so there‘s no hilarious simile to make. No spray-painted penises or filthy slogans, no homeless man slumped against it in a sleeping bag quaffing white cider. Only a stack of Adam Sandler DVDs, the crumpled remains of this article and an A2 promo poster for cancer. That’ll do pig. I’ll just try to keep it off the barbecue.