An open letter to Melissa Bachman

Dearest Melissa,

I just wanted to say how much I love that photo of you posing next to the lion you killed in South Africa.

The picture has gone around the world and everyone thinks you are absolutely wonderful. Well, apart from those who think you are a coldhearted filthpig who uses a gun to deal with issues of low self-esteem and other unresolved childhood pathologies.

I think you are great. I wish you were my wife. My dream would be to travel the world, just you and I, with matching His and Hers .357 Benjamin Rogues, shooting animals in the face just for the hell of it.

I can’t believe the size of your telescopic sights. This is not a euphemism. That thing mounted on your gun is huge. I’m surprised you even had to leave America. It would have been cheaper to just get on a stepladder out on your porch, face South Africa and pull the trigger.

I bet you’re a real tiger in bed, too. That’s a post-orgasmic glow on your face in the dead lion shot, that is. Was it good for the lion, too? Must have been. He looks completely exhausted. And who wouldn’t be after taking a bullet in the head? It was the head, wasn’t it? I don’t suppose it really matters. The important thing is that South Africa has one less lion. These furry bastards sleep all day and contribute nothing to the economy. We can’t even go out without one of them sloping up to our window and asking for a handout. And god help us if we don’t give them some kind of meat-based product right away. They think nothing of chewing our arm off right there at the traffic lights.

I read your tweet just after the gun battle. “Stalked inside 60 yards on this beautiful male lion. What a hunt!” Sixty yards sounds a lot, but it isn’t. Not if the lion charges and you have to suddenly make the five yards back to your vehicle.

Some honey-buggers seem to think it would have been a fair fight if you had been dropped into the middle of the bush by helicopter at night, and then used nothing but your teeth and nails to kill the lion. Look, you’re American. Those are some big-ass scary teeth you have in your head, no doubt about it. But who said it has to be hand-to-hand combat? Jesus talked about survival of the smartest. Besides, if lions enjoy living so much, why didn’t they invent guns?

I see on your website that you have killed almost every animal that ever dared to walk, fly or crawl across your path. Well done. I particularly liked the one you gunned down in Alaska before you came over here to deal with our lion, nyala, duiker and zebra problem. The nice thing about zebra is that you can go over to them and shoot them in the back of the head with a handgun without even spilling your drink. We’re very lucky to have them. Or not have them. Whatever.

Oh, yes. The caption was, “My first Alaskan brown bear! A beautiful and extremely blonde one to top it off!!” It must have been particularly satisfying for a brunette like you, Melissa. Blondes have all the fun. Well, not any more they don’t.

I love how you have taken the sport of archery and converted it into a means of hunting. The same should be done with other sporty type things. Croquet is a giggle, sure, but how much more of a giggle would it be to substitute the ball for a splinter grenade? Place hoops at the entrance to fox or rabbit burrows. Get extra points for blowing up babies. That kind of thing. I’m surprised the British haven’t thought of it.

I can’t wait to see your beautiful lion with his head cut off and stuck on your wall where it belongs. Did you know that a lion’s front legs make great sock puppets for the kids if you hollow them out properly? Make sure not to leave any meat in them. You don’t want your children getting all maggoty.

By the way, I couldn’t help noticing that your lion has a couple of nasty scratches on his face. You might want to take him back and shoot a fresh one. Tell that Julious Heyneke at the Maroi Conservancy that you don’t want a second-hand lion.

I’m glad to see that those people at the “conservancy” point out on their website that all the meat from hunted animals is given to the local community. But they must be careful. I can already hear the complaints.

“That’s canned lion three times this week. Fuck that shit. We’re on strike.”

Oh, wait. They don’t have lions. But it was on your “wish list”. So when you asked them for a lion, they said, “Sorry, lady, we’re out of lions. But we know a guy who knows a guy in Zeerust.”

I don’t like pimps myself, whether it be for chicks or lions, but hey, whatever gets your ovaries off, babe.

Anyway. Good luck with the hunting. If you ever come back, there are people who will pay you good money to take out a dangerous animal terrorizing parts of Johannesburg.

They call it the Krejcir from the black lagoon.

First published in Ben Trovato – The Whipping Boy