Seal Clubbing Video

I'm not a huge fan of PETA, but it's nice to know that someone understands how terrible this is.

This Disgusts Me

I was perusing the internet a few months ago and discovered this crap. Do these people think they’re funny?! Join me in my hate of their website.

Who I Was... Who I Am Now... And What Happened In Between

I won’t lie; I used to be one of them. It used to make me happy to think about where the rugs and coats came from. They were always such a pure white color, I never thought about the red blood that tainted their fuzzy little pelts. Yes, that’s right, I used to be a seal clubber. 

I was raised in the sunny little town of Hoboken, New Jersey. My parents could be best described as the lowest common denominator of society. They were perpetually angry and they would yell… a lot. That’s why I was always thrilled to escape to my grandfather’s house for the long cold winter months. Sure it wasn’t nice being away from all of my friends for three months, and it didn’t do much for my schooling, but it got me out of that little house in Hoboken. 

My grandfather was a seal clubber in Inuvik, Canada. He wasn’t well liked by the other inhabitants of the town, but he did help support the local economy by bringing in fur traders, and by spending gobs of money on alcohol at the local bar. 

If there is one thing that I distinctly remember about him, it was that my grandfather strongly believed in passing the knowledge between generations. As a result, he thought that he had no greater job in this world than to teach me how to club seals. I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy it. Every trip out onto the ice was an adventure, and I was thrilled when he would tell me what a great job I was doing. It never occurred to me that what I was doing might been seen as a bad thing. 

When my grandfather passed away I slipped into a long bout of depression. As a result, I grew up sad and angry with the world. It wasn’t fair that the only person I remotely cared about had left me. What was worse, there were no more trips to see the seals. 

When I was 27 I got a job working for a petroleum company. It wasn’t the best job but it did allow me to travel, and it certainly got me away from the Jersey Shore. Although the company didn’t offer me much in the way of benefits, it did bring me back to northern Canada. And, it brought me to my true love. 

I met Tyrone just as I was about to let the club swing forward. He grabbed it out of my hand and yelled at me to stop. I turned to scream at him, to ask what the hell he thought he was doing, but my words died on my lips. He was beautiful, and in seconds I knew, he was the one. 

We spent long weeks together. We talked about everything, but still, our feelings towards the seals held us back. He loved them so dearly, but all I could think about was how they had been responsible for my grandfather’s death. That’s how the fight started. We screamed at each other for hours. He hated me for what I had done, and I hated the creatures that he loved the most. When our voices grew hoarse we realized that something had to be done. No one wanted to say it, but the message was clear: me or the seals. 

We went our separate ways for almost a year before the loneliness became too painful. That’s when it became clear to me, the seals hadn’t killed my grandfather, drinking on the ice had. So I called Tyrone and explained where I stood and what I felt. And we patched things back up. 

So now, I love the seals. They brought me happiness as a child, and happiness as an adult. These days, I love watching them out on the ice as the swim around looking for a meal. 

People talk about seeing infinity when they stand on the top of a mountain and look at the world around them. I see infinity when I stare into their huge, black eyes. And when I stare into Tyrone’s.