The Daily Maul

Photo by Stuart Bassil

A friend of mine, whom we’ll call “Jim,” told me over dinner recently that he was analyzing the “demand for dead poachers’ bones” in the Chinese marketplace.

We’d been wondering — over plates of vegan lasagna and bottomless glasses of whiskey — why it isn’t more common for people to stuff and display their deceased loved ones, when Jim asked what I thought about a business venture he was considering.

“If there’s a market for ivory among China’s wealthy assholes,” he speculated, “there’s got to be a demand in that country’s anti-poaching community for dead poachers’ bones.”

While Jim admitted that “there might be some legal issues to deal with in terms of slaughtering poachers and having their bones mailed to China,” he didn’t let those details darken his optimistic, can-do attitude.

No sooner had Jim flown to Shanghai to explore his options than a story in The Daily Telegraph (London) indicated that “a suspected poacher has reportedly been trampled to death by an elephant as he tried to shoot the beast in Zimbabwe. The bloodied remains of Solomon Manjoro were found by rangers after what was thought to be a botched poaching trip.”

Another friend of mine, whom we’ll call “Joe,” linked to the news story from his Facebook page.

Naturally, I added the following comment and question to Joe’s post: “I was thrilled to learn of Mr. Manjoro’s death. Are there photographs of his lifeless corpse?”

“I wish,” he responded. “I’d probably make it my next tattoo.”

“I think you’re onto something, Joe,” I told him. “You could be a trendsetter.”

That’s when Jim called from Shanghai.

“I assume you’ve heard the good news?” he asked.

“Yeah, I just wish there were photographs of the bastard’s loathsome carcass,” I said.

“Forget about photographs,” Jim insisted. “We’ve got to get our hands on that scumbag’s remains.”

“We?” I asked.

Jim ignored that detail and told me to “get in touch with your people in Zimbabwe and have the carcass sent to my hotel in Shanghai.”

“My people?”

“Don’t you know somebody who can steal the body and mail it to me?”

I flipped through my Rolodex.

“I’ll tell you what,” Jim said. “I don’t actually need the whole carcass. If you can have the femurs, ribs, and skull delivered to me at the Holiday Inn, here in Shanghai, we’ll be in business.”

“Where, exactly, do you plan to sell these things?” I asked.

“At the goddamned Holiday Inn,” Jim said, as if answering a ridiculous question.

“I suppose you already have buyers lined up?”

“Better than that,” he said. “I’ve got investors who want to put poachers out of business by creating a massive demand for their bones.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “To make this work, though, we’re going to need suppliers in Africa.”

“I knew this would interest you, David,” Jim exclaimed enthusiastically. “All you have to do now is have your people in Zimbabwe and South Africa kill all the poachers they can and send me the savages’ bones.”

“I don’t have any people in Zimbabwe or South Africa — or anywhere else, for that matter,” I told him with growing disappointment.

“Well how the hell are we going to sell dead poachers’ bones to the Chinese anti-poaching community if we don’t have anyone to supply them?”

It was an important detail, even to Jim.

“I’ll put an ad on Craig’s List,” I told him, “something along the lines of: ‘Seeking Veterans/Ex-Military Types for Commission-Based Business Opportunity — Must Love Animals.’”

“That’s perfect,” he agreed. “Good thinking, David. First things first, though: Get me Solomon Manjoro’s bones. I’ve got a bidding war going on here.”