So our holy of gastronomical holies has been accused of stocking incorrectly labelled meat products. We have two options, hunt our own meat or acquire an epicurean palate that includes a petting zoo.
The latter is feasible, but the former is far more practical and easier to apply, we get our bilateral trading partner to do a touring seminar on the upside of eating everything, sign a declaration and everything will be sorted before you can say meow. The third, laughable, alternative is that these multi billion Rand corporations play fair. People are powerful and rich for a reason, they’re for sale.
Cutting the whistle blowers into their exotic meat flavoured pies will shut them up in no time. We’ll stop hearing about it, because private Dassie free cellar butcheries will pop up in every meat inspector’s compound, or at least the compound of the people they report to. I wouldn’t want to shop at a multi-national chain that doesn’t have the power to shut a few angry hippies up anyway.
Carnivorous inclinations have always, historically, included an element of danger. Where our ancestors fought off claws and poison, we’re faced with a different kind of danger. Emotional danger, as our gun toting lead stories will prove, is far more insidious than the physical kind after all.
Since corporations don’t have the flair to lie to us properly, we’ll have to lie to ourselves. Communist China might be an industrious freedom killing machine, but they know how to make eye contact with their food. I’ve never been one to share the need to pet and eat something simultaneously, but I’m willing to put the work in for the greater good.
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