One of my favorite bloggers, St. Howard, pointed out today that Mother Nature, as a utility company, is about to go bankrupt, eventually leaving us cold/hot, thirsty and gasping for air. There's just too damn many of us and by 'us' I mean greedy Westerners who definitely want fries with that.
As house guests go, the human race is the drunken uncle who came for a weekend visit 20 years ago, refuses to leave, drinks all the booze, eats all the food, hits on your daughter and crashes the car. We are a nasty infestation of mites on the epidermis of the planet and it shouldn't be much longer before She shivers us off like a wet dog wringing itself dry from a bath. I can almost feel the Earth moaning to its GP, "Can I get something for this? Lotion? Ointment? Seriously, I'll even take back the dinosaurs. They were ugly but at least they only took what they needed."
I've noticed that the 'year of reckoning' everyone likes to throw around, 2050, is also used by the global warming folks. Apparently, this is the year the shit hits the fan and the hens come home to roost. If you come looking for me then, I will be the drunk old lady on the porch laughing and crying and saying 'I told you so.'
Furthermore, it looks like cell phones and anti-depressants decrease male sperm. (Guess this puts a halt to the launch plan of the Xanax Flipped Out phone or the marketing frenzy for Prozac Happy Tones – downloadable ringtones available at all mental health centers near you.) I guess all those neurotic investment bankers and hyper-stressed lawyers will suffer a dearth of seed while the happy so-called disconnected fellows will have plenty of mouths to feed. (Hey, did I just accidentally write a modern-day poem? Holy shit, some days, I've got talent shooting in every direction … )
Mainly, I wanted to point out this story so that I could highlight this quote...from a scientist:
"It's these guys that hang out in smoky bars, stressed and crunched up on their scrotum talking on the phone."
So, let this be a lesson to you boys, no crunching of the scrotum. And ladies, no twisting of the vagina, especially when you're on the phone, just to be safe.
Finally, after all this dreariness, here's one thing about the future I look forward to, even if it does combine YouTube genius with corporate marketing, I'll still be there – drunk and on the porch, laughing/crying, just for practice.
1 comment:
It's a good thing I'm not going to breed because I don't want any of my children inheriting what is about became the land of Master Blaster. I was going to make that joke in my post, but was just too tired of all the worrying about the planet, the government, the less fortunate, so I've been lacking my humour of late.
So thank you for saying what I was too exhausted to tell.
Can't wait for Oct 30th and the Diet Coke fountain!
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