They strut, they flex. They try to look their best. This is what all the hard work was for. The early mornings. Toughing it out through the pain. Going on in the face of doubt. Would they ever measure up? Would you ever look their way and give them the nod? On the sand, they strike their poses, pop their muscles, show off the merchandise.
Never forget that these animals see themselves as objects. Not objects of admiration or inspiration. Not sex objects. (Let other animals—lots and lots of them!—inflame our sexual hunger.) No, they see themselves as food objects whose purpose is the stoking of our simplest hungers.
We confess almost total ignorance of this event and its $30,000. But we know enough to know the animals won't be seeing a penny of it. They know it, too. They're not in this for the money. It's something deeper for them, something more immediate. It's about the affirmation that they matter, the assurance that we care about them. Care enough to eat them, that is.
1 comment:
That chick is absolutely surreal.
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