You Say You Want a Revolution

The Beatles’ “White Album” (arguably their finest, next to Revolver, Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Magical Mystery Tour, Abbey Road or Let It Be) includes a laid back acoustic version of their hit song, “Revolution,” titled, “Revolution 1” (not to be confused with the bazaar, surely drug-induced “Revolution 9”). Of course, they sound like they’re on some kind of drugs (probably downers) in “Revolution 1;” they added an exaggerated, mockingly mellow “shoo be do” between “don’t you know it’s gonna be” and “alright.”

But the main difference between that song and the well-known standard, top-40, rock version of “Revolution” (which was released at the same time as “Hey Jude”) is that in “Revolution 1,” after the line “but when you talk about destruction, don’t you know that you can count me out” John Lennon can be heard in the background adding the word “in” (almost as an afterthought).

This brings up an issue dear to the hearts of some of you readers. We all know that hunting is a war on wildlife—hunters are the terrorists, and the animals (along with those of us who care passionately about them) are the terrorized. Here’s an opportunity for a round table discussion on the pros and cons—the merits and detriments—of destruction. What’s it gonna be people, “out” or “in”?

Your comments are welcome…just remember, this is a public site, please don’t say anything too incriminating. You wouldn’t want to end up like Ted Nugent promises he’ll soon be—either “dead or in jail”—for saying something ted-fully stupid like, “We need to ride into that battlefield and chop their [Democrats] heads off,” a comment which earned him a visit from the FBI and/or the Secret Service.

Text and Wildlife Photography ©Jim Robertson

Waiting with Bated Breath

He waits in silence—his scent masked, face painted, dressed in camouflage head to toe—alert for any sign of the enemy. Keyed up for the kill, he texts quietly to pass the time—eager to learn how much his investments have grown in the past hour.

Suddenly the enemy steps out from behind heavy cover and into range. The assassin tenses, every muscle in his body taut and ready for battle. He’s hoping to make a “clean” kill. Somewhere in the back of his mind is the vague, indistinct notion that a sloppy shot might cause his quarry to suffer; but of far greater import to him are the bragging rights among his comrades if his shot hits the mark, and the fact that an injured enemy could get away.

As his intended victim moves in closer, unaware of his presence (perched in a tree stand just overhead), the killer draws back the string of his compound bow and lets fly an aluminum arrow with a razor-sharp steel point (available tax-free in any sporting goods shop in his state, thanks to him). The arrow hits the target broadside, but as luck would have it the shot misses the heart, and sure enough the wounded enemy escapes…

But fear not, the “enemy” isn’t a dangerous terrorist out to destroy the American way of life. He’s a gentle, doe-eyed deer, peacefully minding his own business.  And the killer is not Rambo or some other heroic mercenary type, here to rid the world of bad guys. It’s just Paul Ryan, who, despite his cruel streak and his habit of bullying defenseless deer and wild turkeys, could wake up a week from now and find himself second in charge—only a heartbeat away from Commander in Chief—of the nation with the most destructive weapons on Earth.

The world waits with bated breath…

Text and Wildlife Photography ©Jim Robertson