Stop whining. You can’t be in too dire straits if you’re reading this. I mean, you’re alive, right? Right? I bet your latest monthly heating bills chart like an upside down hockey stick. Huzzah! Atlanta is now within a carefree Sunday jaunt of the creeping Georgian coastline. Surf’s up, y’all! Hell, you can—at last!–fry lizard meat on a rock in Missouri. You know, in case you’re in a “Most Dangerous Game”-type situation and you desperately need food.
You’re welcome, by the way.
All joking aside, how were we supposed to know that shit on Earth would get so catawampus? It’s not like internationally respected scientists Neil Degrasse Tyson and Bill Nye The Sorry-But-The-Planet-Is-Royally-Screwed-You-Idiots Guy weren’t exploding our Twitter and Facebook feeds daily with grim warnings that our Earth would careen toward desolation if we didn’t curb our fossil fuel dependency. I mean, yes, they were. But how could any sane person take either seriously? For Christ’s sake, Tyson wore those god-awful flamboyant science-y suit vests, and Nye taught seven-year-olds how to make whirlpools inside 2-liter bottles of Coke.
Sure, there was also the other 97% of worldwide nameless climatologists who were proclaiming the same ominous predictions. But they weren’t personally bothering us on YouTube/Facebook/Twitter, where reality actually happens, so….
And besides, what if all those guys were flat-out wrong? The remaining 3% of climatologists are climatologists too, right?
Plus, come on. Throughout history, science has changed its mind sooo many times. Remember phlogiston? Bogus! And when we were told acid rain would ruin everything? Nowadays, I’d swear “acid rain” was a nickname for a newfangled street drug. Remember that so-called hole in the so-called ozone layer? I sacrificed years of dousing my pompadour in Aqua Net, and for what? That shit musta’ closed up overnight. Hell, not too long ago scientists were worried about “global cooling”. Hah! That Doomsday prophecy was forgotten real damn quick when those beady-eyed nerds with their dorky numbers realized with nearly 100% certainly that industrial carbon dioxide was rising to the atmosphere and trapping heat, thus threatening humanity. “Global cooling?”…SCIENCE FAIL.
“What if these climate alarmists are hoaxers?” we wondered. Surely one can understand that stance? Intellectual luminaries such as ex-vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin sure as hell thought the jig was up. And what right-minded patriot wouldn’t paint her likeness into the Last Science Supper alongside fellow geniuses Carol Sagan, Steve N. Hawking, Dr. Emmet Brown, Bruce Banner, and…ah…other super-duper smart experts? Hell, Ted friggin’ Nugent thought global warming was balderdash too. You know, 70’s rock icon Ted Nugent—the dude who penned the classic ballad “Wang Dang Sweet Poontang,” and once adopted a 17 year-old so he could legally fuck her. I’m sorry, but when Ted Nugent screeches incoherently between bouts of snarling at himself in the mirror, I listen.
Okay. Okay. Palin and Nugent aside, what honest-to-goodness blue-blooded star-spangled American wouldn’t take as gospel the worldview of the freely elected leader of the industrialized world, the 45th-47th President of the United States, Our 1st Big League Vanquisher of Intergalactic Binary Star Systems, Donald J. Trump? He warned us from practically Day One of campaigning that global warming was a big fat joke perpetrated by China. When you connected the dots, it seemed to make perfect sense: The worldwide scientific community was actually a clandestine horde of Chinese foreign actors, hiding in plain sight behind lab coats and novelty periodic table ties, and planted in these United States to punk the American people into ditching their gas-guzzling Hummers for much, much, much more economical two-door Ford Focuses, recycling trash bags full of empty Schlitz cans, and preventing millions of children from suffering the lifelong effects of asthma.
Personally, I figured the whole charade seemed nothing more than a highly coordinated Chinese scam to sell Americans Bonsai trees on Arbor Day. What? Bonsai is Japanese? That’s what they want you to think.
Donald Trump was a godsend. Finally, here was a fearless non-politician politician who actually spoke his mind, man. Bully for him. Not only that, the guy assured us he was very highly educated. He knew words. In fact, he had the best words. And remember—if he had them, that meant nobody else did! Who were we simple-minded peons to fucking question a juggernaut like him?
Okay, okay, so maybe we goofed. Maybe we should have said something when, within exactly 37 seconds after taking the oath of office, President Trump pledged to gut climate change research, and signed an executive order to halt carbon dioxide emissions regulations. But we didn’t.
But then, neither did Uncle Biff! He tossed his coal miner helmet in the crisp, clean air like it was friggin’ graduation day. “Fuck yeah! Coal won the war on coal,” he screamed in delight. The family took him to Chuck E. Cheese’s and bought him a pack of multi-colored glow sticks and five spider rings to celebrate. He was so giddy that he almost forgot his iron lung between the out-of-order Dance Dance Revolution game and the animatronics stage.
Uncle Biff is dead now. He never got to use that coal miner helmet again. Actually, that ain’t altogether true. He was buried in it. So, yeah, I guess you could say he got to wear it underground again. RIP Uncle Biff.
Anyhoo, apologies to those who weren’t pre-selected by The Divine Overseer of The Ministry of Perfect Human Specimens Steve Bannon (PBUHDNA, “Peace Be Upon His DNA”) to board the “Fuck You Alec Baldwin” Deep Space Colonizer with Trump and the boys. I wasn’t one of them either, if that makes you feel any better. And yes, it’s killing me. I was looking forward to the Full Hibernation Protocol, going to artificially-maintained sleep for 700 years and then, when I woke up, the first thing I’d see would be Donald Trump. I’d give him a piece of my mind, if I had any left.
So, yeah, seems Bill Nye was right—Earth is royally screwed. Moreover, that blasted Hillary Clinton never was fitted for that orange jumpsuit after all, so this whole knowingly destroying the planet thing was all for naught, but whatever. For me, I’m just going to wash my hands of this whole dang mishap and die guiltless, knowing I had my reasons.
Hey, look on the bright side. No one is worried about their internet service providers selling their browser history to Verizon anymore. Hah! Now excuse me while I put a lil’ “Wang Dang Sweet Poontang” on the ol’ stereo and let The Nuge power chord my worries away…”Wang dang, what a sweet poontang. A shakin’ my thang, as a rang-a-dang-dang in the bell. Ohh baby…”
I know: You can’t listen to that sort of thing forever. But who has forever? I figure we’ve got three to four days, tops.
