Life of Riley: An excuse for butchery
Do you know what the quintessence of sheephood is? Shearin' and slaughterin' — that's what it is. In a word: sacrifice.
We're sentenced to live our lives for the sake of others.
For many, the meaning of our existence is only fulfilled when our throat is slit. That's our function: the lot of a sheep is to bleed. We are then disembowelled, limbs and head are hacked from the torso, the skin flayed off and our flesh portioned into morsels. Chopped into still smaller pieces, our bodies are grilled, roasted, fried or stewed.
Then someone eats us.
[General outbreak of bleating.]
That's right! Our bodies — ourselves — are mixed with saliva, masticated and set upon by intestinal villi!
[Outbreak of angry baa-ing.]
That's what sheephood is. That's all they reckon sheep are good for: a lamb roast, grilled chops, shish kebab, or qouzi mahshi aw kharouf mahshi.
[Cry of: Not roasted baaaa-by milk-fed lamb!]
Yes, I'm afraid it is. Disembowelled and stuffed with pistachios, almonds, walnuts, raisins and saffron; lightly spiced and then the dear little baby lamb, just weaned from its mother's breast, is baked for two hours ... in a slow gas oven!
[Baa. Baa. Baa.(Yum!)]
But now fortune smiles on the sheep. Revenge is nigh.
Iraq, a country whose cuisine rests on dead sheep, is to be dealt with. For crimes against sheep, Iraq is to be bombed, perhaps invaded, have its economy crippled and its citizens punished for their dietary preferences. There'll be blood in the gutter, I assure you, but it won't be sheep's blood!
So rejoice. This year is the year we get our own back. This year is the year we begin the crusade. This year, lamb is coming off the menu!
[Rapturous bleating.]
And we don't care how many we have to kill to do it! This year, my friends, is the year that we can do what we like because we are mean arsed enough to get the US of A to do it for us.
So when our butchers go after Iraqi butchers, we can sit smugly back and laugh because their butchers were taught butchery by our butchers (because, once upon a time, their butchers were our butchers).
By Dave Riley