Sorry if I made anybody mad but I just have never understood the love of killing.
Well, killing is instinctual. As a predator, man is wired to do this, just as a cat is, or a shark. We may deny it, or wrap it up in a shroud of golden arches and the grocer's freezer case, but we all do it or contribute to it (or starve ourselves into vegetarianism).
But we're the only part of the food chain that feels guilty enough about it to try to make it seem more "fair" to the next animal in the chain who's being caught/killed/eaten.
The actual truth of survival comes into view when you stand in the killing room of a slaughter house and observe a line of cows or hogs shuffling in to having their brains concussed and contemplate that it really doesn't get a whole lot more "fair" than that.
But not ME! No tree stands, no food plots, no cameras, no scopes, no scent pads, no boots, no socks, no pants, no underwear, no eyeglasses, no razor, no deodorant, no antibiotics, just me, my fingernails, my teeth and the woods full of god's creatures - most of whom have outrun, out-flown, out-swum, and generally disappeared over the next ridge from my shivering blue butt while I sit nekkid in the swamp chewing on caterpillars and acorns. Ahhh the life of a hunter!