Why all doom and gloom?
Let me tell you how I’m livin’ the life
In response to recent letters on global emergencies I would like to say, bovine manure.
I mean, like, c’mon, wake up and smell the diesel exhaust, life is good! If only Greenfield would shut up and sell out to a coupla battleship-size Walmarts any Hill Town Honkie, like me, could motor off to refill one’s demand for, say, Bat Man slippers, or deep fried eclairs. Why? Because we can! Everything is available, expendable, replaceable. And when it’s spent, you toss it and fergit it! Asian infants will make another one for you. When landfills burst, we can shove it off into the Pacific. Sharks and marines will eat anything.
I’m going out now to mortgage the house and kids so’s I can finance a Dodge with a culvert-size tailpipe, carton of Marlboros and some ammo for my Kalashnikov. Might have to sell the goats.
Ain’t no Third World. Everyone with gumpshun has a job, some wives and a plasma 4-by-4. Like my wife just said, uh … I didn’t really hear what she said. But listen Americans, quit your yammerin’. Do your meds, and avoid diet Pepsi. It’s as easy as that. Obedience and corporate obesity are good for the economy.
Oh, right. I was responding to those letters ... I am certainly miffed by your concern for the rising Arctic mercury. Think this way;all those swirling currents up there could eventually whip up an awesome surfing event. No burgs means more burgers! I don’t like glaciers. They’re way too slow. I like rivers, rapids, tube keggers. Some nerdy glaciologists might try to prove rivers come from glaciers. That’s their meal ticket. I know all water comes from rain, and all rain comes from sad music.
Any doubts, so far?
Now, first of all, using less energy is absolutely useless. Ha ha. That’s my sly humor. But really, if I can’t spontaneously hop into my Chevy V-8 convertible and whirr off, my blonde booberang screeching, and exposing her armpits to the brown Pasadena air, no intended destination, then I’m not patriotic. And what happens to Hollywood? The spine of ’merican expression? Huh? When yer making art you can’t be frettin’ over waste or resources. And yes, I hear ya; cesium, plutonium, saturnium, geranium, all bad, bad, bad. Let me adjust yer meds; the universe is cram packed with ’iums. And, you know how exposure to dog dung fortifies the immune system? The same truth applies to all toxic molecules — eat ’um to defeat ’um. Why lose precious perspiration over simple solutions? Sprinkle a blend of nuke-offs on the kid’s cornflakes and enjoy the mutations.
China, Cheney and Exxon/Mobil are the heroic scapegoats of the current epoch. Pleeze just let the Orientals have their appetite for coal quenched. Unlike wussie Occidentals, they can breathe coal dust and still live ’til, uh, 16. And they’re so far away, that the black smoke prob’ly blows off to Bangladesh. No problem.
The problem is, we don’t have enough. Everything is restricted. Coca Cola is under scrutiny. Regulations, like mosquitoes, interfere with all my plans for fun. And when I’m not happy, my family suffers. Wait, let me try again … the level of well-being of my loved ones is directly proportional to the quality of my comfort. My comfort is derived from my freedom to motorized recreation, copiously consume, manipulate climate, and ignore ramifications. Impact is manly. My Footprint is as old as bipedalism. OK, OK, OK, it has changed exponentially as a damaging effect and boogieboogieboogie, but you know what I mean. Right?
Denial is comfy. Even though it’s a state-of-mind of short-life-span, and its side effects bump all species of the near and far future into a precarious situation, it’s fun! Do I really need to sell it any further?
Remember the bumper sticker, “We’re spending our children’s inheritance”? Well, let’s do it. Let’s all jump into the Hummer and cruise (what’s left of) the planet. Soon, all who matter (tour guides) will be fluent in my native tongue, Club Med will merge with Walmart International so there won’t be any confusion, for my ilk, of where we are; the Grand Canyon will sell to large billboard ads and look much like Niagra Falls, Honolulu, Kashmir, Mogadishu, and if we hurry we can see it all before it disintegrates. We should probably bring a whole lotta meds.
Yup. Life is good.
At the expense of … all life,
Sonny Crawford lives in Charlemont.