Sarah Palin Has Found Her Niche with the NRA

The other night I watched the HBO movie Game Change, about John McCain’s selection of Alaska Governor Sarah Palin as his presidential running mate in 2008. After Tina Fey’s hilarious portrayal of Palin on Saturday Night Live I was half expecting a comedy, but this fact-based film stayed so close historical reality it should have been billed a horror flick. The thought of Sarah Palin a heartbeat away from the red button that could launch our 7,000+ nukes on a president’s whim is beyond scary.

While Julianne Moore usually doesn’t do anything for me, her depiction of Palin at her highest, lowest and airheaded-est was spot on. It was almost painful watching a potential American VP be so clueless about foreign policy, domestic policy, or any other policy for that matter. Ed Harris as Senator John McCain was a bit of a stretch, but Woody Harrelson did a great job as McCain’s strategist, Steve Schmidt, who was partly responsible for suggesting Palin in the first place—and who spent the rest of the movie regretting it and desperately trying to coach her. After she goes catatonic during a Q&A session and later tries to seize power from her running mate, someone asks Schmidt, “Have you ever considered that she might be mentally unstable?

Well I consider it every time I see her. To me she’s little more than a female Ted Nugent—especially when she dons her hunting garb.

Near the story’s end, Harrelson’s Schmidt asks Rick Davis, his co-conspirator in picking Palin, “Still think she’s fit for office?” to which Davis answers, “Aw, who cares. In forty-eight hours no one will even remember who she is.” Unfortunately, Davis’ hopeful prediction did not come to pass.

The film leaves you wondering how the hell someone like Palin ever got tapped for VP and how she thinks she has any credibility left after monumental blunders like her interview with Katie Couric. Well, apparently Sarah Palin has found her niche as a mouthpiece for the National Rifle Association—a group clearly unconcerned with credibility (and collectively as mentally unstable as Palin herself).

Sporting a t-shirt making the simplistic yet inexplicable statement “Women Hunt” (including an obscenely suggestive line-drawing that probably went over her head), she called the NRA crowd she spoke to Friday her “brothers and sisters” during her 12-minute speech in which she told the crowd that Trigger is her son Trigg’s nickname and that Remington is her nephew’s middle name.

The creepy thing is, she received standing ovation.
Although Sarah Palin came off in the movie as a power-tripping right-wing extremist bordering on evil, if anything, Game Change was too nice in its representation of her. What sort of woman hunts? A woman like Sarah Palin.

To Breed or Not to Breed

Yesterday I asked the question, “Who is the creeping cancer?” The choice was between the bison—a species nearly hunted off the face of the Earth that is still extinct over practically all its former range—or humans.

The answer is so ridiculously obvious it’s hardly worth asking; while the human species increases by over one million infants a day (1,000 were born just in the past minute), almost every other life form is on its way out of existence.

Thus, when the Seattle Times recently ran a piece by one of their columnists, Sharon Pian Chan, titled “Why I am not having kids,” I felt it was my duty to share the link here.  Chan brings up many good reasons not to breed, but the benefit to the environment was only mentioned once: “…not having a child is the most important thing I could do to reduce my carbon footprint, according to a 2009 study by Oregon State University statisticians. (Of course, like all parents, I believe my theoretical child would have grown up to become a brilliant physicist and saved the world from global warming, so this is a moot point.)”

Possibly…on the other hand it could have grown up to become the next Sarah Palin, Dick Cheney, Ted Bundy or terrible Ted Nugent.

Chan goes on to point out that by not having kids… “I will have a lot more attention and money to shower on real-life nieces, nephews, mentees and philanthropic causes.” Causes like educating the masses on just how many ways human overpopulation is ruining the planet, perhaps?

Those contemplating childbirth could always benefit from a bit of trivia, such as the fact that though it’s taken all of human history to until around the year 1800 for the world human population to reach one billion, the second billion was achieved in only 130 years (1930), the third billion in less than 30 years (1959), the fourth billion in 15 years (1974), and the fifth billion in only 13 years (1987). During the 20th century alone, the population in the world has grown from 1.65 billion to 6 billion.

The world population clock estimates that by 2025 the eight-billionth will be born and in 2045 the planet will be expected to feed and provide for nine billion hungry human beings. All the while the world will continue to see its biodiversity vanish.

Paul R. Ehrlich, author of the 1960s bestseller, The Population Bomb, foresaw peril in the ongoing disappearance of all other life forms except ours: “It isn’t a question of people or animals–it’s got to be both of us or we’re finished. We can’t get along without them. They could get along without us.”

Text and Wildlife Photography ©Jim Robertson, 2013. All Rights Reserved

If They Mated…

Those who watched Late Night with Conan O’Brien (that goofy red-haired guy who was going to take over the Tonight Show when Jay Leno moved to the 10:30 time-slot and then found out he wasn’t making enough money there and stole the show back from Conan—who is much funnier and who would have put him to shame in the ratings) remember a bit he did called “If They Mated.” Using the latest computer technology formerly known only to NASA to explore worlds beyond our galaxy, they were able to show us what certain celebrities’ (who’ve been rumored to be going out together) babies would look like…if they mated.

Upon learning that turrible Ted Nugent (bow hunting enthusiast, outspoken NRA supporter and wanna-be musician) was caught by the camera with his arm around former VP candidate and fellow bloodthirsty Republican animal assassin, Sarah Palin (aka: “Caribou Barbie”),…

…I borrowed the technology from Conan (who, as you know, borrowed it from NASA) to find out what their baby would look like…IF THEY MATED:

A Day of Remembrance for Wolves

If I a flag to hang outside my house, it would be flying at half-mast today.

Today should be officially declared a day of mourning for wolves, in honor of Washington’s Wedge pack—brutally killed last week to appease an intolerant cattle rancher—and also a day of remembrance for all of the wolves across the country and throughout our history who were hunted to extinction in order to make room for modern humans and their chosen food species.

This whole thing brings to mind the first time I beheld the sight of wolves. Due to repeated persecution by residents of a nearby, decrepit mining-town-turned-tourist-trap on the Alaska panhandle, wolves hadn’t been seen around there for decades. Their surprise return that year was greeted with generous appreciation by an assembly of bear watchers and photographers who shared in my elation.

But the spectacle lasted only one short season; by late fall a couple of local tyrants—under the patrician delusion that it‘s all here for them—had trapped, shot and otherwise driven off every member of the pack. These days, the only sign of wolves to be found is a hand-painted plywood sign advertising “Wolf Hides for Sale” in front of a detestable trinket shop on a muddy back road of the wretched little town.

Wolves in Alaska can legally be killed by anyone, virtually anytime and by any means imaginable (former Governor Sarah Palin‘s apparent personal favorite: strafing from low-flying aircraft).

I never thought I’d see the day that Washington wolves would suffer that same fate; when wolves here would be relentlessly pursued from the air and gunned down like escaped convicts as they fled for the Canadian border; when a radio tracking device would be used not for furthering scientific understanding, but to aid in the massacre of an entire family; when wolves in one of the most progressive states would be sacrificed on the altar of the T-bone and the cheeseburger.

As in Alaska, a few local tyrants here think they can dictate whether a wild wolf pack should live or die. Clearly, bigotry against wolves is alive and well in Washington State. It’s just tragic that the wolves of the Wedge pack had to be the first to find out.           __________________________________________

A portion of this post was excerpted from the book, Exposing the Big Game: Living Targets of a Dying Sport

Text and Wildlife Photography ©Jim Robertson

Like the KKK, the NRA will eventually Fade Away

Comparatively speaking, the body of hunters in America is withered and shrunken, only a wee fraction of its former self. Today there are six times as many photographers, bird watchers and others who enjoy seeing animals alive as those compelled to make them lie down and die. Like the KKK and the SLA, the NRA has seen its day and will rightfully fade away. Literally, figuratively and statistically, hunting is a dying sport.

But non-hunters should not be lulled into a false sense of security for wildlife. Sportsmen, though a skeletal minority, are a shrill and voluble 5 (or 6) percent when it comes to forcibly interjecting themselves into animal issues; they‘re reluctant, to say the least, to kiss their blood-sport goodbye and join the civilized world.

The NRA and other heavily-funded hunting groups are pushing to pass laws such as the odious “Hunting Heritage Protection“ acts (already shoved on several states), aiming to enshrine their perceived “birthright“ to shoot and kill nonhumans recreationally.

Worse yet are the unconstitutional Hunter Harassment laws, which essentially punish residents and land-owners for trying to protect animals and keep hunters off their properties. In direct answer to the drop in sportsmen’s numbers, meddlesome state game departments are encouraging young kids to get a taste for killing (perverting their natural affinity for animals).

Alabama opens deer season two days early for children under the age of 16 (so they’ll have a better crack at “bagging“ one), and Maine holds a “Youth Deer Day,” allowing pre-season bow hunting for children ages 10 to 16. States like Illinois and Colorado are preying on women by offering hunting lessons for single mothers, while the private pro-hunting programs “Becoming an Outdoors-woman“ and the NRA’s “Women on Target” are seeking to enlist the future Sarah Palins of America.

Fouler still are the ongoing schemes to open more and more public lands to hunting…

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The preceding was excerpted from the book, Exposing the Big Game: Living Targets of a Dying Sport

Hunting Accident Season is Upon Us

The days are getting shorter, leaves are starting to change colors and hunters are beginning to shoot one another—it would appear that hunting accident season is already upon us. With almost two weeks to go before fall officially begins, the guns of autumn are gearing up for another season of fatal mishaps.

According to the International Hunter Education Association, roughly 1,000 people in the US and Canada are accidentally shot by hunters each year; around a hundred of those victims are fatalities. Though the majority of unintentional targets are hunters themselves, innocent bystanders are also routinely injured or killed.

Hunting is one of the few outdoor activities that endangers the entire community (not just the willing participants), yet the perpetrators are almost never charged with manslaughter or any lesser crimes. As long as they are “lawfully” pursuing a recognized blood sport, the shooting of their fellow human is acceptable.

A case in point of a shooter hitting the wrong target (sent to me by an alert reader) happened just today in West Columbia, Texas, when a grandfather was aiming at a stray cat and accidentally shot his 3-year-old granddaughter in the leg.

The grandfather, Gary Van Ness, said some cats have been known to come inside his ratty trailer home uninvited. “The cat is brave enough to come in there and got him a couple of loaves of bread,” said Van Ness, adding, he’s already decided he’ll start trapping cats now, rather than shooting them. Granted, this one wasn’t a legitimate hunting accident, but he clearly had the same mindset, and armed response towards, “nuisance” animals as the typical nimrod…or game manager.

If that doesn’t fit your idea of a bona fide hunting accident, this other one that made headlines today surely will, as it was a clear cut case of one New Zealand deer hunter, Henry Worsp, mistaking his partner for prey. A local police commander called it, “another tragic reminder of the absolute necessity for hunters to properly identify their target before they shoot.” That’s no shit. But far too often hunters blast away at the sound of rustling in the bushes with a casual, shoot first, ask questions later attitude. I was shocked the first time I heard a hunter brag about getting off a “nice sound shot,” but now I know it’s just business as usual for some of them.

Today’s incident was New Zealand’s third hunting death so far this year. Cam McDonald, 29, was shot dead by another hunter in Aorangi Forest Park, on April 7. A few weeks earlier, 26-year-old Southlander Mark Richard Vanderley was killed by another man in his hunting group while spotlighting for deer. Of the 12 hunting-related deaths in NZ between 2002 and last year, 10 were caused by someone in the same hunting party.

And who can forget Dick Cheney’s world famous allegedly inadvertent peppering-in-the-face with birdshot pellets of Texas campaign contributor, Harry Whittington while at a Corpus Christi ranch, hunting quail? (No, not that other former Republican Vice President whose last name is Quayle; Cheney was out stalking small inoffensive birds this time.)

Whittington had just shot a quail and had dropped back to retrieve it and, upon rejoining the group, Mr. Cheney let him have it (apparently mistaking the tall, lanky fellow Republican for a small, inoffensive ground-dwelling bird, witnesses said). Though hit with pellets in the face and chest, to the 78 year old Whittington’s credit, he never lost consciousness. As though expecting trouble, an ambulance had been posted at the ranch while Cheney was hunting, and after debriefing, Whittington was taken to the hospital.

The owner of the ranch called the former Vice President “a very conscientious hunter,” adding “I would shoot with Dick Cheney everywhere, anywhere, and not think twice about it,” while at the same time cautioning, “The nature of quail shooting ensures that this will happen. It goes with the turf.”

Instead of perceiving the whole fiasco as a black eye for the Republican Party, it appears they see all the negative media attention Cheney received as a good thing (why else would they have chosen avid hunters Sarah Palin and Paul Ryan as Vice Presidential candidates?). In that way, the Republican camp is a lot like PETA.

Text and Wildlife Photography Copyright Jim Robertson

 

Pining for Palin

I never thought I’d be pining for the day when Sarah Palin was tapped as John McCain’s running mate Paul Ryan makes Sarah Palin look almost presidential. Both are extremist Tea Partyers, but Palin is more of a Tea Party-lite, compared to Ryan who must chug Morning Thunder by the gallon, straight from the keg.

Although Sarah Palin may have fit the nickname, “Caribou Barbie,” Paul Ryan is certainly no “Caribou Ken.” With his prominent widow’s peak he looks more like an evil, forty-two year-old version of Eddie Munster. While Sarah Palin appeared a bit vacant at times (both on the podium and posing with a dead animal’s head in her lap), Paul Ryan looks totally vacuous—vampire-ish even—squatting beside a freshly-killed deer or turkey. But a vampire only drinks a little blood and moves on, whereas Ryan revels in morbidity, personally dismembering the bodies of his victims. In Ryan’s own words, “I butcher my own deer, grind the meat, stuff it in casings and then smoke it.”

Sarah Palin probably hunts mainly for attention and photo ops, yet Paul Ryan actually enjoys hanging around in a tree stand (upside down like a bat, rumor has it) until an unsuspecting deer walks by. When the peace-loving animal gets within range, it’s time for Ryan to play his most coveted role—that of Vlad the Impaler—and run the innocent being through with an arrow.

Paul Ryan’s idol, Ayn Rand, espoused the “Virtue of Selfishness” and called altruism “evil” (talk about spin doctors). Well, you don’t get any more selfish and malevolent than bow-hunting. Over half of all animals shot with arrows are crippled rather than killed outright and escape with an arrow shaft painfully imbedded in them. As far as “hobbies” go, you’d be hard-pressed to find a crueler one—except maybe trapping.

If selfishness is really a virtue, then a bow-hunter deserves to be Vice President, and this must seem the most virtuous of nations.

“Ditch the Bitch, Let’s go Hunting!”

That insolent motto was the message of a bumper sticker displayed on the back window of a beater pickup truck parked at my local store yesterday. The words read above and below the outline of a trophy four-point buck (with his body turned sideways, presenting the kind of “perfect shot” that hunters have wet dreams about). If you’ve been through a rural American town during hunting season, you’ve probably noticed this popular line of window decals—many of which show the animal within the crosshairs of a rifle scope—on about every truck and SUV around, often accompanied by the ubiquitous NRA sticker.

The telltale idiom, “Ditch the bitch, Let’s go hunting,” calls into question the average sport hunter’s oft-professed “respect,” not only for deer, but also for women—both of whom are equally objectified.

It also brings up the question, how can a woman who loves animals be with a hunter?

The polite answer must be, with much internal conflict.

Depending on how much and how heartily a woman loves animals, they would have to be willing to accept hunter’s feeble rationalizations and disregard their own gut feelings. If they really loved animals, surely they’d be saddened by a bloody carcass hanging in the garage, and uncomfortable knowing that it was the product of their significant other’s murderous intent.

Some women adapt by retreating into their shell, denying their own principles. Others go even further, actually becoming hunters themselves—which is really schizo when you think about it. No, actually schizophrenia is too tame a word for whatever disorder they must be suffering from. Boasting rap sheets that include the pre-meditated murders of such victims as deer, elk, caribou, pronghorn antelope and polar bear (not to mention untold African trophy animals), some of these monsters make Sarah Palin look like a choir boy.

These confused women are so into it they write articles about their exploits for kill magazines or participate in wildlife snuff films for the sportsmen’s channels. One of them tells her readers, in an article she calls “Antelope Addiction”: “Feeling a little defeated anyway, I decided to call it a day… [Phil] was determined for me to get my antelope. Day after day he put me in great places and I just couldn’t get it right. Back in camp, I went straight to our room and cried in frustration.” Typical of a psychopath, her tears are not shed for her victims, but for herself. We never hear of her crying for the animals she causes to suffer and die—only when she doesn’t get her way by making a successful kill.

On a “better” day, she boasts of impaling a female black bear with an arrow: “The beautiful sow carefully approached my bait area from behind my stand…she finally approached my shooting lane…I sent my arrow through the air for a perfect hit. She jumped and growled and ran off for a short distance of fifty yards before I heard what most people call the ‘death cry’. That’s when I realized I had made the perfect shot!” The perfect shot?!? The bear struggles for FIFTY YARDS before dying, and she calls it a “perfect shot”???!!

As an example of how these lady-nimrods are duped into thinking that their actions don’t result in the misery of a sentient being, she goes on to say, “Hearing the death cry didn’t disturb me, because my husband had told me that the death cry is just the air being released from the lungs after the animal has expired.” How convenient. Knowing that women may have a bit more compunction about the torment they’re inflicting, their male counterparts are quick to draw from the hunters’ volumes of validations, or dream up all new justifications on the spot, to quell any concerns for the animals that members of the fairer sex might have.

For a more in depth examination of animal thrill-killers, visit Shannon Wright’s great blog and list of the 12 Most Vile: http://shannonwright1.wordpress.com/

Hunters aren’t the only ones clever enough to come up with catchy slogans for bumper stickers. How about: “Ditch the Bastard, Let’s Stop Hunting!” Got another idea for a sticker? Feel free to post them to the Comments section. Here are a couple of my favorites: