For far too long now, the meat-crazed kyriarchy of college has imposed its carnivorous agenda on its poor protein-overloaded subjects.
Whilst those with a penchant for mass-cruelty and its tasty offshoot are satisfied by the bountiful selection of diced up corpses on offer every day, us vegans, proud defenders of animals everywhere, are forced to fight it out between ourselves over left-over rice and boiled vegetables. We want freedom. We want liberation. We want equality. We want one day a week where we have marginally more choice over what selection of vegetables we eat.
Every day it’s the same. Walk into hall, take off my fur (faux) coat, join the back of the queue and begin the solemn march forward, knowing full well what fiendish sights await me. Passing through the servery door, I’ve reached the feeding troughs. Tray after tray of meaty dishes extended into the distance, as far as the eye can see. Each one like a tombstone, a gruesome reminder of those we’ve lost in the struggle. That spaghetti bolognese used to be a cow. Those sausages used to be a little pig. That chicken used to be… chicken.
“Hi, what can I get for you today?” I’m asked.
I stare right past the cold, dead, serial killer eyes of the chef and into the kitchen, the killing fields, the Heart of Darkness itself.
Believe it or not, this tale of woe takes a darker turn as I sit down and cast my eyes upon the sea of sinners. The poignancy of the scene brings me to tears. Look at those degenerate carnivores, mindlessly shovelling the dismembered corpses of animals into their mouths. Don’t they know the cruelty these poor creatures have endured? Don’t they care? No, all their protein-crazed minds can think about is where the next helping of flesh is going to come from. Where’s the next lamb for the slaughter?
Things will change, things must change.
Every day for the past 4 days (except one day in the middle where we all had guided meditation class) the AMACLA (Anti-Meat Anti-Choice Liberation Army) has formed a picket line outside hall in protest. Made up of a mixture of veggies (flaky, not to be fully trusted) and vegans (comrades), the AMACLA is a force to be reckoned with, striking terror into the hearts of meat eaters everywhere in Oxford. Nothing goes unseen. Even if you think you’re safe, sitting in your room eating a ham sandwich, we’ll know. If you’re chowing down on a nice juicy steak, still dripping with blood (guilt juice), we’ll know. Weekly meetings consist of sitting on bean bags, discussing the best meat alternatives, plotting the demise of animal testing and listening to Morrissey moaning his heart out on repeat.
In a bid to increase pressure on college authorities, we have begun to escalate our activity. The other day I saw a group of children walking past college and one of them was eagerly nibbling from a bag of fridge raiders, plucking out indeterminate hunks of gristle with their metaphorically blood stained hands. The bastards. I could smell it a mile off. So, being the conscientious vegan activist I am, the only reasonable response was to throw a bucket of red paint all over them. Right in the eyes.
In the words of our hero and saviour, Morrissey:
It’s not “natural”, “normal” or kind
the flesh you so fancifully fry
the meat in your mouth
as you savour the flavour