www posted:

what does burning ivory smell like?

Jst0rm posted:

someone photoshop conan the barbarian in them pics.

E Equals MC Hammer posted:

jazzyhattrick posted:

What does burning it accomplish? They should soak the ivory in ricin or whatever and sell it on the black market, poachers can't sell ivory if the people who buy the stuff are all dead.

Nefarious 2.0 posted:

and people would be disinclined to buy any ivory at all because it might kill them. this is the best idea i've ever heard let's loving do it

jBrereton posted:

yeah I hear they put an elite tusk force onto this one

Nefarious 2.0 posted:

decrease the supply and watch the demand dwindle

jBrereton posted:

yeah I hear they put an elite tusk force onto this one

Nefarious 2.0 posted:

decrease the supply and watch the demand dwindle

TheWeepingHorse posted:

MiracleWhale posted:

obv as a professional poachman I'd recommend against this course of action, but if I was some sort of antipoach bleeding heart liberal I'd recommend firing these tusks at poachers out of a tusk cannon

TheWeepingHorse posted:

A friend of mine is a federal LEO. He said that a funny thing about the world is how suspects often "cowboy up" in face of a gun - however, they're much more cautious and cooperative when you threaten them with a baton. It's easy to risk your life for something. Some people are actually quite excited by it. However, the idea of persisting, non-fatal, non-romantic physical pain is actually far more repulsive to people.

So, in that vein, I suggest that people who knowingly purchase ivory should be mutilated and forced to live as beggars far away from home. No excitement of danger, no lawyers getting you out of prison. Just hot Calcutta air wheezing in and out of what used to be a nose, heavy septic breeze searing lipless, toothless gums. He holds out a tin can, mewling incoherently for change, or water, but the passersby have been severely told beforehand to not give him any money at all, nor to even acknowledge his presence. He waves his misshapen arms - broken, then "healed" all wrong - in a pleading motion, but it is as if he is invisible, as if there is only a thin glass pane separating him from a pre-torture life.

Children pass him by. One reaches out an innocent hand, to see what is the matter with the poor man, but the child's mother shoos him way. He tries to wail, but his vocal cords have been torn. Instead, only a wet fumbling mutter.

After two long days, at long last, he sees that the game is up. He tears his tin can in half, even with smashed hands. But just as he is about to slash his throat with the jagged metal, something happens. Something grabs his shoulders and pins him to the ground.

He wakes up in what seems like a hospital. He has no arms. One foreleg is gone. He is in a haze of drugs. Masked nurses force-feed him.

He is drugged again. He wakes up in massive empty room. Perhaps it had once been a warehouse, or a hangar. The walls are padded, and he cannot see any doors. There is nowhere to go and nothing to do and it hurts to move. The lights are bright, brighter than is normal for even a bright room. There is no shade. He cannot hear, either. Pink noise blasts from unseen speakers.

He cannot remember how long the body can last without water.

He will spend the rest of his short life guessing.

He will never notice the small divots in the walls' padding.

He will never see the eyes through these peepholes.

The eyes of, literally, the cartoon character Dumbo.

TheWeepingHorse posted:

A friend of mine is a federal LEO. He said that a funny thing about the world is how suspects often "cowboy up" in face of a gun - however, they're much more cautious and cooperative when you threaten them with a baton. It's easy to risk your life for something. Some people are actually quite excited by it. However, the idea of persisting, non-fatal, non-romantic physical pain is actually far more repulsive to people.

So, in that vein, I suggest that people who knowingly purchase ivory should be mutilated and forced to live as beggars far away from home. No excitement of danger, no lawyers getting you out of prison. Just hot Calcutta air wheezing in and out of what used to be a nose, heavy septic breeze searing lipless, toothless gums. He holds out a tin can, mewling incoherently for change, or water, but the passersby have been severely told beforehand to not give him any money at all, nor to even acknowledge his presence. He waves his misshapen arms - broken, then "healed" all wrong - in a pleading motion, but it is as if he is invisible, as if there is only a thin glass pane separating him from a pre-torture life.

Children pass him by. One reaches out an innocent hand, to see what is the matter with the poor man, but the child's mother shoos him way. He tries to wail, but his vocal cords have been torn. Instead, only a wet fumbling mutter.

After two long days, at long last, he sees that the game is up. He tears his tin can in half, even with smashed hands. But just as he is about to slash his throat with the jagged metal, something happens. Something grabs his shoulders and pins him to the ground.

He wakes up in what seems like a hospital. He has no arms. One foreleg is gone. He is in a haze of drugs. Masked nurses force-feed him.

He is drugged again. He wakes up in massive empty room. Perhaps it had once been a warehouse, or a hangar. The walls are padded, and he cannot see any doors. There is nowhere to go and nothing to do and it hurts to move. The lights are bright, brighter than is normal for even a bright room. There is no shade. He cannot hear, either. Pink noise blasts from unseen speakers.

He cannot remember how long the body can last without water.

He will spend the rest of his short life guessing.

He will never notice the small divots in the walls' padding.

He will never see the eyes through these peepholes.

The eyes of, literally, the cartoon character Dumbo.

Salem Saberhagen posted:

OP Imagine a marvelous steak sizzling on a grill, glistening in the flickering light of the flame below.
Above, Lo the face of a crusty clown inhaling the aroma and making a face of disgust and mutation.
hth.

Darkman Fanpage posted:

gently caress china

eric posted:

Here's a picture of a Kenyan with a big rear end: