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A Shot In The Gene Pool

"This croc could eat me whole if it got mad, which is why I carry my baby to throw as a distraction..."

“This croc could eat me whole if it got mad, which is why I carry my baby to throw as a distraction…”

Another day, another report of a dangerous vicious beasty being destroyed for having savagely attacked a poor innocent human. Which is a good thing, right? I mean, we can’t very well have Mother Nature waltzing about the place, tearing limb from limb willy-nilly? Well, this being me, you know only too well I’m going to disagree with that sentiment.

I recently read of a man who actively put himself and his fishing rod in the very same water as a huge toothsome crocodile. If the fact the crocodile was a huge toothsome carnivore wasn’t clue enough, this one was called Michael Jackson. I think we all know such a moniker would render it anything but child-friendly. With not so much as flicker of regret, Michael Jackson dragged this fish-bothering cretin down into the murky water and made idiot sushi out of him. Did we thank the crocodile from ridding our gene pool of one more nonsensical breeder? Did we hale this as being a boon for the future of human evolution? No. We shot the heroic oversized suitcase.

A group of intrepid explorers, hell-bent on being where human comfort decrees humans should not, ignored the rather large hungry beasty footprints before them in the snow, only to be shocked, surprised and badly mauled by the resident giant carnivorous beasty. Was the polar bear given a treat for teaching a valuable lesson in survival? Did it receive an honorary degree from The University of Darwinistic Cleansing? No, it was shot. Hardly fair when you think of all the future generations of homo erectus it has helped to shape and sharpen.

A child recently thought it a jolly good jape to clamber over the security fence at a zoo and pet the giant pussy cat. Only this wasn’t a pussy cat, this was a tiger with big tigery teeth and very low tolerance for little boys who possess little respect for personal space. The inevitable happened and the boy now has the quietest applause you ever didn’t hear. The only real pity here is that the father, who encouraged his dolt of a progeny to go poking at power-jawed pussy cats, had not led by example, and that he had been allowed to breed even more cretins before he himself attempted to make friends with a smiling tiger.

If you decide to stick your foot into a shark infested damp patch, you deserve to hop home in shame. If your level of common sense invites you to wrestle with something designed purely for the dispatching of things twice your size, well, that thing is doing us all a favour in stopping you from passing on such genetic buffoonery. Instead of hunting the shark to retrieve the remains of the boundary-pushing nincompoop, removing the idiot-muncher from a world that so clearly needs it, we should throw it a little party. From a very safe distance.

If you’ve lost someone close to you to such a predator, I appreciate your sorrow, but look on the bright side – they are no longer around to permeate the foolhardy genetic line that led them to their grisly downfall. Steve Irwin – a man who made a living from acting like an animated simpleton with complete disregard for anything sharp and bitey – is sadly no longer with us courtesy of a stingray, minding its own watery business. Was the stingray in the wrong? No, the stingray was in the water – we just established that. But seriously, the giant flappy fish, with one flick of its notoriously stabby tail, rid the planet of a man who advocated prodding large angry tooth-wielders. Do his family miss him? Yes. Does the human species need more people annoying snappy reptiles, breeding more idiotic reptile-botherers? Not really, no.

If you came into my home uninvited and started jabbing me in the face and going through my fridge, I think we can all assume I would be within my rights to use reasonable force (a biro) to encourage you to leave and I most certainly wouldn’t expect to be shot and disembowelled for doing so. Why then, was Michael Jackson the crocodile persecuted for doing just that? Surely we should be encouraging the likes of this colossal crocomuncher to breed and keep vigil for more chumps. Do we fear it because it has tasted human flesh and may hanker for more? Good, I say – let it pass the message on to all its blood-lusting chums, that cretin meat is really quite palatable and you don’t even have to leave home to get it – they deliver.

So I salute you, lions, tigers, bears, sharks and crocobeasts, I doff my hat in your direction (from the well-informed safety of waaaay over here) and offer you my thanks for helping to ensure that by the power of Darwinism, the human race may well one day be just that little bit smarter.

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