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Tell Connecticut Gov. Malloy to Veto Sunday Bowhunting Bill

Loathsome members of the Connecticut Senate have approved HB 6034, which would allow bowhunters on certain state-identified private properties to slaughter deer on Sundays. The bill, which the state House approved on May 27, is now headed to Gov. Dannel Malloy’s desk. Please call the governor at 800-406-1527 and tell him to veto the odious legislation, about which I wrote on Tuesday.

Connecticut Bill Would Allow Bowhunting on Sundays

Photo by David Baron

Photo by David Baron

A heinous piece of legislation is pending in the Connecticut Senate that would lift the state’s longstanding Sunday hunting ban and give the barbarians among us additional opportunities to kill. Specifically, HB 6034 would allow bowhunters to slaughter deer on private property in Department of Energy and Environmental Protection-identified “management zones.”

“Wildlife management” is, of course, a euphemism for “sanctioned slaughter.” On May 27, HB 6034, championed by 22 heartless and sycophantic sponsors doing the bidding of a ruthless industry, passed a Connecticut House vote by an insulting 113-32 margin.

Should the House-approved bill pass a Senate vote before the regular session of the General Assembly concludes on Wednesday, it would move to the desk of Gov. Dannel Malloy, who should know there is nothing right about supporting more merciless brutality than is already inflicted on animals by state-enabled, bloodlust-full savages for whom killing is a sport.

He should oppose recreational cruelty and reject the dangerous belief that man is entitled to “manage” other species. He should refuse to jeopardize more animals’ lives just so the state can open for bloody business on Sundays. He should say no to more atrocities against wildlife and join the fight to stop the war on animals.

The text of HB 6034 can be found here, and the Connecticut Office of Legislative Research’s analysis can be found here. At the time of this writing, the Connecticut Senate had not voted on HB 6034. Connecticut residents should contact their state senators and tell them in no uncertain terms to vote against this loathsome piece of legislation. Connecticut Senate members’ contact information can be found here. Should the Connecticut Senate pass HB 6034 before its regular session ends on Wednesday, the legislation will be placed on Gov. Dannel Malloy’s desk. The governor’s contact information can be found here. Tell him, if the legislation is before him, to veto HB 6034. 

Hunter Being Killed by Elephant Was Not a Tragedy

Photo by Bjørn Christian Tørrissen

Photo by Bjørn Christian Tørrissen

On Wednesday, an individual named Graydon posted a response to a commentary I published here nearly three years ago headlined “Hunter Killed by Buffalo in Zimbabwe.”

“Hunters who obey the laws, who are the vast, vast majority, are in fact helping more animals than they kill,” Graydon wrote.

That, of course, is a nonsensical, self-serving rationalization rooted in arrogance. Brutally slaughtering animals is in no way altruistic.

Graydon would have us believe that Owain Lewis — the professional hunter who was killed in Zimbabwe by the buffalo he was helping to murder — and other serial killers like him, “help save these magnificent animals from extinction.”

One cannot be the problem and the solution. It’s an asinine argument.

According to Graydon, “Much of the money from gun, hunting gear, and hunting fees go to wildlife reservations and funds for endangered animals.”

Let’s be honest, the only reason hunters don’t want to see “magnificent animals” go extinct is because they want to maintain a supply of trophies.

At the time of his death in June 2012, Lewis was working for a sinister operation called Chifuti Hunting Safaris.

The same day that Graydon posted his ridiculous response to my commentary about Lewis’ death, Chifuti Hunting Safaris lost another member of its commercial death squad.

Tim Danklef and Dave Fulson from a Dallas-based company called Safari Classics, which represents Chifuti Hunting Safaris, posted a comment on a website called that reads, in part: “It is with deep sadness to announce the passing of Chifuti Safaris professional hunter Ian Gibson. Ian was tragically killed by an elephant bull earlier today while guiding and elephant hunt in Chewore North (lower Zambezi Valley).”

Huffington Post UK report points out that “it is not known if the animal was injured or killed in the incident.”

In 2012, Paul Smith, of Chifuti Hunting Safaris, told The Daily Telegraph that Lewis’ death “is a tragedy.” On Wednesday, Danklef and Fulson used the same word to describe Gibson’s death.

“What is tragic,” I wrote in my 2012 commentary, “is that magnificent creatures suffer violent deaths at the hands of savage men seeking spiritual and financial reward.”

Neither Lewis nor Gibson was an altruist. Neither was acting in the interest of another species, as Graydon would have us believe. Neither’s death was tragic.

Each was a heartless butcher driven by bloodlust and greed.

“Wildlife Management,” As Sickening a Euphemism as There Is

Photo by Stephen Jones

Photo by Stephen Jones

A loathsome knuckle-dragger named Ian Clark took to the pages of the Belfast Telegraph on Tuesday to whine about “animal rights extremists,” and, not surprisingly, to betray his own monstrousness.

“The animal rights extremists are beginning their annual spring rant about shooting — full of the tired old cliches about how cruel it is to kill things and equally full of stupid mistakes which only show how little they know about running the countryside,” Clark complains in a poorly written and unreasoned letter to the editor.

Clark, who serves as the director of the Scottish Association for Country Sportstells us that predatory species and those on which they prey suffer terribly in natural death, as if gunning them down is doing them a favor. Then he explains that since human behavior has upset the balance of nature, he and his like-minded ilk have taken it upon themselves — “at no expense to the public” — to make sure their fingers remain on the scale.

Finally, Clark boasts that serial killers like him “do not inflict unnecessary suffering on anything — if something has to be killed, we do it as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

Clark’s arrogance is breathtaking.

He claims in his ridiculous op-ed to “love” wildlife, while in the same letter he refers to animals as things that sometimes have to be destroyed.

This is nothing new. It’s what government agencies in the United States describe as “wildlife management,” as sickening a euphemism as there is.

Callous bureaucrats and the violent thugs (like Clark) for whom they bend over insist with straight faces that killing animals is an act of altruism — that their murderous interests are in line with what’s best for all species. In fact, the only beneficiaries of sanctioned slaughters are those humans who derive spiritual or financial reward from the suffering and brutal deaths of animals.

As The Dodo reported on Tuesday, citing government documents, USDA killing squads slaughtered more than 2.7 million animals in 2014. Those animals were just living their lives when they found themselves in the crosshairs of the humans who’re “running the countryside,” to borrow Clark’s obnoxious words.

Killing is cruel, and there’s no way for Clark and his like-minded ilk overseas or here in the United States to get around that, no matter how many lame euphemisms or what self-interested rationale they use to excuse their violent and bloodlust-full behavior.

It is the height of arrogance to believe that man is entitled to make the all rules. If there is a population that should be “managed,” it is ours.

Hunter-Education Instructor Grooms Generations of Serial Killers

Photo by Jeremy Weber

Photo by Jeremy Weber

For 50 years, Leonard Howke has been teaching young people how to kill without hurting themselves or other humans. Howke is a 72-year-old Whitefish, Montana, resident who, along with other degenerate lowlifes, was recently honored by the Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks agency for his half-century of volunteerism.

The Daily Inter Lake, a Kalispell-based newspaper, saw fit on Sunday to publish a story about what reporter Samuel Wilson described as Howke’s “service” as a hunter-education instructor. Not surprisingly, the piece is a narrow-minded encomium that presents Howke as some kind of hero who triumphed over adversity nearly 35 years ago, when a tree he was cutting down fell on him, to spread goodwill around the hunting community.

Wilson quoted a man named Jack Cochrane as saying, “Leonard’s an example of a guy who just gives and gives and gives.”

Meanwhile, the aspiring serial killers that Howke and his fellow volunteers have trained go on to take and take and take, violently ending animals’ lives and feeding the twisted belief that nature and wildlife exist to be used and abused by our wretched species.

According to Wilson, Howke finds reward in seeing young killers with their first victims.

“Their excitement keeps me going,” Howke was quoted as saying.

That he’s still “going” is very bad news for the area’s animal populations. In addition to teaching youngsters how to kill responsibly (a sickening notion if ever there were one), Howke, Wilson’s article explains, teaches people how to drag fish from their natural habitats and helps the Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks agency exercise brutal control over other species.

“I do anything I can to volunteer with wildlife,” Howke is quote as saying, by which he means he does all that he can to exercise the dominion over animals that so many humans believe our species is entitled to.

And for that Howke has been identified by the monsters at the Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks agency as a model human — and by The Daily Inter Lake as an altruist — when in fact he’s a twisted old man who’s dedicated his life to grooming future generations of serial killers on behalf of a government agency that caters to and profits from bloodlust.

There’s no way to know just how many brutal deaths Howke has contributed to, or how many psychopathic smiles he’s worn watching young people celebrate their first kills.

Shame on The Daily Inter Lake for giving the loathsome old man a pat on the back.

“Squirrel Slam”: The Holleycaust Continues

Photo by Laura Perlick/U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service

Photo by Laura Perlick/U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service

As I write this, numerous barbarians in Holley, New York, are on a killing spree, each slaughtering as many squirrels as he or she can for the chance to win cash and guns. They do it every year as participants in a killing contest called “Squirrel Slam,” a fundraiser for the local fire department, whose slogan might as well be “saving lives through slaughter.”

According to WHEC-TV, the Rochester, New York, NBC affiliate, tickets to participate in the killing contest sold out earlier this month. Fran Gaylord, the president of the Holley Volunteer Fire Department, is quoted in the February 19 WHEC-TV report as saying, “We sold 600 tickets since the beginning of February and people want more tickets but we can’t sell any more because of the size of the venue. We just don’t have enough room.”

“We’re told $6,000 has been raised for the fire department from ticket sales alone,” the news report tells us.

As I wrote in a February 2013 commentary, the animal-rights organization Friends of Animals “made an offer to town officials, prior to the start of the family friendly competitive slaughter, to take over the fundraising effort – that is, to keep the fire department’s coffers full, but free of blood money.”

Edita Birnkrant, Friends of Animals’ New York director, said at the time that the offer “was completely rejected.”

That’s because, for the Neanderthals who participate in “Squirrel Slam,” it’s not about raising money. It’s about the chance to kill for guns and cash. It’s about killing, period. It’s a way of life for those who participate in and defend the competitive slaughter, as they remind their critics. Live and let live is essentially the mantra they so insultingly espouse, in much more mangled English, of course, while gunning down as many squirrels as they can for the chance to win cash and killing tools.

They don’t like light shining on their sadistic culture, preferring to practice barbarism in the relative dark obscurity of Orleans County, New York. But exposed they are, marauding about their town and unleashing all the violence their led-filled phalluses will allow.

Today is a day that many squirrels will die and a few residents of Holley will be declared “winners.”

It’s a twisted and backward society that lets this kind of savagery stand.

Ask your state legislators to support or introduce legislation that would outlaw wildlife-killing contests, and support the efforts of organizations like Friends of Animals and the Committee to Abolish Sport Hunting to bring an end to such savagery.

Listen to and download “A Holleycaust Story,” a protest song produced in February 2014 by The Daily Maul.

Actor, Not Fish, Should Have Been Used for Asthma Ad

Perhaps you’ve seen the 30-second television commercial included above. In it, a child’s voice, describing what it’s like to experience an asthma attack, says, “I feel like a fish with no water.” The voice-over plays while an actual fish out of water struggles to breathe.

The ad was produced by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, which insists that “no fish were harmed during the making of this public service announcement. Fish handlers were present at all times during the shoot to manage the care and well being of the fish on hand.” That same language appears on the website to which viewers are directed,

The EPA’s claim that “no fish were harmed” is as absurd as it is insulting. The fish in the ad is struggling to breatheThat’s the whole goddamned point.

The creeps behind the PSA tortured a fish to show people what it’s like to struggle for breath and then hid behind a pile of total nonsense.

Obviously, the heartless bastards who created the ad weren’t about to film and show a child having an asthma attack. They chose instead to cause another species to suffer, needlessly, and for that they ought to be ashamed. The very inclusion of the above-mentioned disclaimer is an acknowledgment of exploitation. The language itself is an outright lie. The fish in the commercial certainly isn’t acting — which begs this question: Why didn’t the folks who made the PSA simply hire an actor?

Selling Caskets to Hunters, A Dream Job

Screenshot (click to watch)

Screenshot (click to watch)

For the past 24 hours or so, I’ve been enjoying a beautiful daydream in which I’m a clairvoyant casket salesman pushing a new product on a soon-to-be deceased Ted Nugent.

The daydream was inspired by an story titled “More Hunters Opting for Hunting-themed ‘Camo Caskets,’” which explains that “one of the designs on the market is a hunting-themed, camouflage-lined casket.”

One company that’s producing burial boxes for the drooling class is an outfit called ’Til We Meet Again, whose name is as ridiculous as some of the products it sells. In a video advertisement for a “hunter casket,” a voice-over encourages potential future customers to “be remembered as you lived.”

Naturally, I think all hunters should be remembered as the worthless, bloodlust-full psychopaths that they are. Their ugly carcasses should be left to be snacked on by scavengers, burned with other types of trash, or stuffed and mounted in the Dead Hunters Museum Theater.

But I digress.

In the above-mentioned ’Til We Meet Again video advertisement, a shotgun-wielding knuckle-dragger standing in front of a “hunter casket” and identified on screen as “Steve” says, “I’m a hunter, and when it’s my time, this is how I want to go.”

Believe me, Steve, I can’t wait till it’s your time. In fact, I sincerely hope that demand for these burial boxes greatly outpaces supply.

I should be honest here and admit that in addition to inspiring my most enjoyable daydream, the story has given me an idea for a business venture that would involve designing caskets for hunting-accident- and animal-attack aficionados like myself. The caskets I would market and sell through The Daily Maul, as part of a product line called the “Eternal Schadenfreude” series, would be wrapped in and lined on the inside with photographs of hunters who were fatally mauled by their would-be murder victims or who died as the result of shooting themselves or being gunned down by one of their fellow savages. The casket wraps and linings would reflect the design of the wallpaper with which I hope to soon decorate my office.

(Note to self: Get into the specialty wallpaper business.)

But let’s get back to my beautiful daydream, which finds me on the phone with Mr. Nugent, letting him know that he’ll soon suffer a glorious death after accidentally blowing one of his own legs off and then being disemboweled by angry and opportunistic hogs.

“What’s it going to take for me to get you into one of these?” I ask him, gleefully.

For Royal Savages, Boxing Day Shoot Goes Wrong

Screenshot (click to watch)

Screenshot (click to watch)

NORFOLK, ENGLAND, TOMORROW — Law-enforcement officials in Norfolk, England, are searching for a man they suspect had something to do with an “unfathomable” Boxing Day hunting accident at the queen’s estate in Sandringham that claimed the lives of all the royals who participated in an annual pheasant slaughter. Police on the scene also believe that the editor of an irreverently provocative animal-rights blog called The Daily Maul was somehow involved in the incident.

“At first glance, it looks like they turned their rifles on one another,” one constable said. “But no one here believes that’s how it happened.”

“We don’t think it’s a coincidence,” a detective explained, “that on this day last year The Daily Maul ran a commentary telling Prince William, ‘It’s time to put an end to your family’s barbaric traditions. The next-best thing, of course, would be for you and your bloodthirsty kin to gun one another down in a hunting accident of royal proportions.’”

Monty Gelstein, a mentally unstable animal-rights activist and a good friend of The Daily Maul’s editor, David Brensilver, is suspected of orchestrating the bloodbath.

A semi-trustworthy local drunk named Malcolm Stisp told detectives that Gelstein bought him several glasses of whiskey at a nearby pub on Christmas night.

“He kept saying, ‘Brensilver’s right. The only thing that’s going to stop this madness is a hunting accident of royal proportions,’” Stisp said. “He seemed particularly incensed that Prince William would ‘prance around the world speaking out against the killing of certain species while personally slaughtering others.’”

Stisp said that Gelstein kept mentioning a December 17 Daily Mail story that chronicles the royal family’s murderous legacy and features photos from the “trophy room” at Sandringham House.

Gelstein was “downright frightening,” Stisp told detectives, explaining that “he kept making reference to a ‘very special .22 caliber circle jerk.’”

And then Gelstein was gone, Stisp said.

Reached by telephone in the United States, Brensilver said he hasn’t “the faintest idea what Boxing Day is” and “had absolutely nothing to do with the royal savages’ deaths.”

“I’ve been home the past few days, eating vegan Chinese food,” he said.  “I haven’t heard from Monty since November.

Stuffing Chris Christie Into a Gestation Crate

Illustration by 11-year-old artist Zalthunya Brickledread

“Chris Christie in Gestation Crate,” by 11-year-old artist Zalthunya Brickledread

“When we first starting working together,” my therapist said, “you were the angriest person I’d ever met.”

Somehow, it pleased me to hear that.

“You’ve made amazing progress over the past decade and a half,” she said, “but today, I sense an old, familiar rage.”

I sipped my agave-nectar-laced tea and waited for her to ask a question.

She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a single piece of thick, white paper stained with an ink blot.

“What do you see?” she asked.

“I see Chris Christie stuffed into a gestation crate,” I told her.

“Do you see anything else?”

“I see pus oozing out from the massive folds of skin that the outsize bastard can’t see or reach,” I said, not needing to look again at the ink blot. “I see flies and other insects gorging themselves on his rancid flesh. And I see him slamming his ugly face into the metal bars as fear and depression grip his mind.”

I was being honest. It is, after all, the best way to make progress in these situations.

“That’s quite a vivid image you’ve described,” my therapist pointed out.

“I suppose it’s something of a waking dream,” I told her.

“Why are you so angry at Chris Christie?”

“Because he’s a fucking asshole,” I said.

I explained that Christie had for the second time in as many years vetoed a bill that would’ve banned the use of gestation crates in New Jersey. And I told her that in his insulting veto message, the arrogant prick suggested that “humane standards have put New Jersey at the vanguard of protecting domestic livestock from animal cruelty.”

“He’s just another monster who has no problem telling animals they’re allowed to range freely until it’s time for their execution,” I said, “just another heartless piece of shit who’d promise to cut an animal’s throat with a clean knife.”

After railing against Christie’s callous claim that Senate Bill No. 998 “is a solution in search of a problem,” I pulled out my smart phone and read aloud the following passage from his predictable veto message: “I have every confidence that the State Board (of Agriculture) and the Department (of Agriculture) will continue to closely monitor and study modern and appropriate techniques for the humane raising, keeping, care, and treatment of all domestic livestock, and will propose amended regulations if, and when, modern science and evidence demonstrates a need for modified agricultural practices.”

“I’m so sick and tired of the bullshit that distracts the majority of our society from the absolute evil being perpetrated without pause,” I said, infuriated anew that the word “humane” is good enough to make an unabated holocaust look, to those who are steadfastly committed to avoidance, like a goddamn Norman Rockwell painting.”

“Why do you think your anger is directed right now at Chris Christie?” my therapist asked.

“Because his callous attitude, which is shared by so many, begets unimaginable suffering,” I said.

“You need to work on finding a healthy way to process situations like this so they don’t trigger that rage.”

“I’m glad I feel the rage,” I admitted. “I wish more people did.”

“The darkness isn’t a good place for you, David,” she said.

“It’s not good for the animals who’re being bred into slavery and brought into this terrible world to be terrorized, tortured, raped, and brutally slaughtered,” I snapped.

“We’ve worked really hard to find productive and satisfying ways for you to live out each day,” she said, calmly asking, “Can you think of a way you can keep this from haunting you? Could you write a song about Christie’s veto?”

“I’d like to lock the loathsome blowhard in a gestation crate and let him rot there — like the scene depicted in the Rorschach test,” I said, matter-of-factly.

“Obviously, that’s not very realistic …” she began.

“Sure it is,” I said. “I’ll lure the pandering slob into the cage by telling him there are Iowa caucus voters in there, and a refrigerator.”

“You know that I’ll have to tell the authorities if I believe someone’s life is in danger,” my therapist warned.

Millions of lives are in danger, and millions more are being stolen,” I pointed out.

“Do I have reason to be concerned?”

“No,” I said, somewhat sadly. “I don’t want to be locked in a cage.”