Guild Wars 2

Say.

I was just thinking (yet again) about the cows of Tyria, how we (‘we’ being our characters) entertain them, and empathize with them, and bathe them, and train them to fight against predators…

https://wiki.guildwars2.com/wiki/Put_on_a_cow_disguise_and_demonstrate_techniques_to_the_cows

…and then (except for the vegetarian characters) eat them.

I used to think it was all rather silly, how our characters interact with these noble beasts, but upon reflection it occurs to me that it’s not silly at all. If anything, it’s downright EVIL!

Evidence suggests that these cows of Tyria are by far smarter than the average terrestrial bovine, but it doesn’t stop there: the evidence indicates that they are not just smart and delicious — they are actually sentient beings!

Consider:

• They care about hygiene, which is indicative of self-awareness. If they weren’t self-aware, why would it matter how stinky they are?
• They are subject to swings of mood, which indicates that they experience the finer emotions, just as do all other sentient races of Tyria (with the possible exception of asura, who are most likely faking it for assorted and sundry clandestine purposes).
• They have a deep appreciation of the arts, especially interpretive dance.
• They are clearly and deeply intelligent, capable of learning advanced self-defense techniques by observing members of the so-called ‘higher’ races demonstrating said techniques whilst disguised as a fellow cow.

It simply cannot be denied: the cows of Tyria are as sentient and as worthy of being treated as such as any asura, charr, human, norn, or sylvari. And yet, how do we (‘we’ still being our characters) treat them? We pen them up. Feed them bugs. Pretend to care, to be their friends, while also allowing them to be used as ammo for crazy charr target practice. And, worst of all, we (except for the vegetarian characters) EAT them.

If cows are sentient beings, which, clearly they are, and it’s okay for us (‘us’ being our characters who aren’t vegetarians) to eat them, then why should any other sentient race be off the menu?

Maybe it’s time to slap another shrimp (aka asura) on the old barbie, hey? How about some Charr-B-Cue ribs! Norn a’lorange! Krytan burgers and Ascalon fries! We’ll turn the ghost of King Adelburn loose on the sylvari; he’s always reminded me of Ewell ‘ever ate a pine tree?’ Gibbons anyway…

TL;DR — Beef. It’s not just what’s for dinner.

What did I just read?

But of course they are eaten silly. Having intelligent life forms for lunch is a sign of sophistication.

“The History of every major Galactic Civilization tends to pass through three distinct and recognizable phases, those of Survival, Inquiry and Sophistication, otherwise known as the How, Why, and Where phases. For instance, the first phase is characterized by the question ‘How can we eat?’ the second by the question ‘Why do we eat?’ and the third by the question ’Where shall we have lunch?”

The waiter approached.
‘Would you like to see the menu?’ he said,
‘or would you like meet the Dish of the Day?’

‘Huh?’ said Ford.
‘Huh?’ said Arthur.
‘Huh?’ said Trillian.
’That’s cool,’ said Zaphod, ’we’ll meet the meat.’

A large dairy animal approached Zaphod Beeblebrox’s table,
a large fat meaty quadruped of the bovine type with
large watery eyes, small horns and what might almost have
been an ingratiating smile on its lips.

‘Good evening’, it lowed and sat back heavily on its haunches,
‘I am the main Dish of the Day. May I interest you in the parts
of my body?’

It harrumphed and gurgled a bit, wriggled its hind quarters in
to a more comfortable position and gazed peacefully at them.

Its gaze was met by looks of startled bewilderment from
Arthur and Trillian, a resigned shrug from Ford Prefect and
naked hunger from Zaphod Beeblebrox.

‘Something off the shoulder perhaps?’ suggested the animal,
‘Braised in a white wine sauce?’

‘Er, your shoulder?’ said Arthur in a horrified whisper.

‘But naturally my shoulder, sir,’ mooed the animal contentedly,
‘nobody else’s is mine to offer.’

Zaphod leapt to his feet and started prodding and feeling
the animal’s shoulder appreciatively.

‘Or the rump is very good,’ murmured the animal. ’I’ve been
exercising it and eating plenty of grain, so there’s a lot
of good meat there.’

It gave a mellow grunt, gurgled again and started to chew
the cud. It swallowed the cud again.

‘Or a casselore of me perhaps?’ it added.

‘You mean this animal actually wants us to eat it?’ whispered
Trillian to Ford.

‘Me?’ said Ford, with a glazed look in his eyes, ‘I don’t mean
anything.’

’That’s absolutely horrible,’ exclaimed Arthur, ‘the most revolting
thing I’ve ever heard.’

’What’s the problem Earthman?’ said Zaphod, now transfering his
attention to the animal’s enormous rump.

‘I just don’t want to eat an animal that’s standing there
inviting me to,’ said Arthur, ’It’s heartless.’

‘Better than eating an animal that doesn’t want to be
eaten,’ said Zaphod.

’That’s not the point,’ Arthur protested. Then he thought about it
for a moment. ‘Alright,’ he said, ‘maybe it is the point. I don’t
care, I’m not going to think about it now. I’ll just … er … I
think I’ll just have a green salad,’ he muttered.

‘May I urge you to consider my liver?’ asked the animal,
‘it must be very rich and tender by now, I’ve been force-feeding
myself for months.’

‘A green salad,’ said Arthur emphatically.

‘A green salad?’ said the animal, rolling his eyes disapprovingly
at Arthur.

‘Are you going to tell me,’ said Arthur, ‘that I shouldn’t have
green salad?’

‘Well,’ said the animal, ‘I know many vegetables that are
very clear on that point. Which is why it was eventually
decided to cut through the whoile tangled problem and breed
an animal that actually wanted to be eaten and was capable of
saying so clearly and distinctly. And here I am.’

It managed a very slight bow.

‘Glass of water please,’ said Arthur.

‘Look,’ said Zaphod, ‘we want to eat, we don’t want to make
a meal of the issues. Four rare stakes please, and hurry.
We haven’t eaten in five hundred and sevebty-six thousand
million years.’

The animal staggered to its feet. It gave a mellow gurgle.
‘A very wise coice, sir, if I may say so. Very good,’ it
said, ’I’ll just nip off and shoot myself.’

He turned and gave a friendly wink to Arthur.
’Don’t worry, sir,’ he said, ’I’ll be very humane.’

It waddled unhurriedly off to the kitchen.

I read this a well veiled rally call to invade and take back Ascalon, roasting Charr into burgers en route.

Frankly I’m in favour.