Tell Me About The Rabbits, Mate

« August 2005 »

Memo to Australia: ICK.

Bestiality is a bit of a tradition here at You Are Dumb Dot Net. Or, more accurately, TALKING about it is. But as funny as a guy getting fucked in the ass by a horse is, bestiality is often a challenging subject to cover. This is mainly due to the fact that in the media I rely upon, bestiality is often a challenging subject to cover.

This is because the news media is fundamentally delicate and prudish in a way I decidedly am not, and thus, do not ask the questions I want them to ask. Or, if they ask them, they sure as hell don't print the answers. Take the astonishingly icky case of one Brendan Francis McMahon of Sydney, Australia, who fucked a rabbit.

Now, when it comes to comedy, an Australian fucking a rabbit is the kind of concept that's difficult to pass up. First, there's the fact that rabbits are known for two things. Liking cereal to the point of delusional schizophrenia, and fucking a lot. So a guy fucking a rabbit, as Alton Brown would surely not say because he's probably classier than I am, brings a lot of comedic flavor to the party.

Second, Australia is funny. Plus you can make jokes about how if he'd fucked cane toads, they'd have given him a medal, not arrested him.

But the devil is in the details, and the details are ugly. Fucking a rabbit is one thing. Mutilating seventeen rabbits and one guinea pig, then tossing them out an office window, is something else entirely. And unfortunately for me, something less funny.

Still, setting aside the Ed Gein aspects of the case, I find it fascinating that the guy was the director of a finance company in Sydney. This wasn't some mountain shack, or backwoods farm. This has more of an Australian Psycho kind of feel. I don't know if it means that Australia fields a wealthier, more socially graceful breed of animal-humper than the US does, or that many years under John Howard have eroded things to the point where their guys in suits are the evolutionary equivalent to our guys in overalls. It's a bit of a mystery.

Also a bit of a mystery, and here's where we get back to the premise I somewhat foolishly started the column with, is how, exactly, they were able to charge him with the following. ACTUAL COURT TIME!

"...committing an act of bestiality with an animal between 3am and 4am on August 1." - Now, if I'm Les Kennedy of the Sydney Morning Herald, and I've just typed that into my word processor, I'm not caring about deadlines, or the sensibilities of the readership. I'd be consumed with a rare burning curiosity.

Given that McMahon was arrested nearly two weeks later, how, exactly, did the Sydney police department narrow the, er, act in question down to a particular time and date? It's not like I can wait for them to turn this into an episode of Law and Order or CSI.

We get plenty of details on how they tracked him down through the pet stores where he bought the rabbits, but nothing at all on how they knew the precise hour in which McMahon, if you'll pardon the expression, got lucky. Just another example of how violence is less acceptable than sex in Western culture, I guess.

I do feel sorry for his lawyer. Or, as they call them down there, his "Paul Hogan"* When it comes to a prominent Australian businessman who's spent the past week buying rabbits and then nipping off to the abandoned office building next door to his workplace to fuck and kill them, you're going to end up at a loss for words. Which is why I was not surprised to read the following in a news account:

"His barrister Douglas Marr did not comment outside court, except to say his client was a NZ citizen." - Ah, the classic "that rabbit-fucker isn't actually from around here, honest" defense. I remember when Perry Mason used that.

*Actually, that's not true. They call them "barristers", like in Monty Python. I'd hate for my column about rabbit-fucking to seem less than entirely educational.