TOBY PETZOLD

When Al Gore accepted the Nobel Prize, he said that we human beings are the problem.

If that sort of self-loathing Leftist pessimism isn’t the direct descendant of the concepts of original sin and the unredeemed sinner, then it is their retarded nephew. Therefore, what Gore and the Gaiists are practicing is religion. Moreover, it is utterly derivative of Judeo-Christian morality, which must be just awful for these tweed jacketed and besandaled morans to finally recognize: “Wha-? We’re just as trapped by the oppressive orthodoxy of sin and redemption as mere Christianists and Neocons?!”

Just quit tripping and settle down, hippies. Come up with something slightly less insane than to promise a completely carbon-neutral America within ten years. Jesus, Gore! Put down that bong and be serious. 

Why are the greens and libs opposed to high gasoline prices? I thought that breaking our economy on the wheel of petro-slavery was the surest way to post-Amerikkkan heaven and the just death of the combustion engine. When the bottom-feeders start losing their asses to exorbitant fuel costs and food staples, it will make this fourth and final reich ripe for the picking and clear the way for Obamessiah’s socialist paradise. People should be walking and biking more often, anyway.

Or maybe this is the Left’s dream: let Big Oil fatten itself like a Thanksgiving bird and then Obama will just nationalize everything and seize all their assets.

Jim Hoft mines from the Gorebot’s speech today before the Nobel Committee the motto that should follow him to the compost heap where his grave shall be: “We Are What Is Wrong.”

How succinctly put is the self-loathing essence of the Left. What a window on their soul!

Now that is real time, baby!

This global warming debate today is just so fucking historic!

Note to Dhimms: I don’t listen to you stupid bastards until you finally make the connection between reductions in oil importation and the necessity of legalizing hemp. Are we clear on that? Don’t give me Iowa corn subsidies and Bush the Younger’s bullshit “switchgrass” and all the rest of it until you grow some balls and make the case you know must be made. Period. It’s cowardice because you don’t want to go against the War on Drugs community of courts, attorneys, prisons (public and otherwise), and cops.

P.S. Using food stocks to produce ethanol at a loss is also raising the price of food and hurting working class Americans. Wake up, morans!

How does it go again? If climate is a book, then the weather (today, say) is a paragraph or sentence in that book. I think that’s how the explanation goes.

So when there is record-breaking snowfall in states like North Dakota and days of 80s down here in Austin, it’s a change in the what now? I’m not getting it.

But the thing is that I know I’m not getting it. Because when I’m worrying about the weather, the thing that bothers me most is that I know there is nothing that can be done about it. Isn’t that axiomatically certain?

And what kind of conceited little hamsters are we to believe that we could change anything about the patterns of moisture, temperature, and pressure eternally circumnavigating the Earth? Who are we shitting? God? If the God of the Judeo-Christians exists, it is for the sole purpose of providing a mind vast enough to wholly appreciate the conceit of someone like Al Gore —and to laugh the laugh of Charity in the doe-eyed faces of the spooked-to-hells clinging to this rock.

I think it’s one of the Federal Government’s noblest and most basic purposes: let’s keep our water, food, and air as clean as we can. Environmentalism is a good thing to practice. It is our charge as Americans. Chief Seattle, Muir, TR, Ansel Adams, Iron Eyes Cody, whoever: all those guys knew what a sacred place this continent is.

But for us to surrender ourselves in any degree to some pitiful protocol or UN agency because of some unfalsifiable belief that we can change the climate because we already have changed the climate? No way, jack. There’s a green anole living in my kitchen and the AC’s on outside. Go away. It keeps turning.

The Devil was beating his wife today while I was at work. That’s always a very strange —and somehow counterintuitive— sight to behold.

“The summer of aught-seven was the damnedest one I ever saw,” they’ll say.

“I reckon so,” I’ll say.

(Last night was a farmer’s moon, my marmoset.)

Went and stood by Mrs. Johnson’s coffin for a moment very early this morning.

Her attendants from the entrance on up were preternaturally gentle and calm, which made an impression on me. As did the dawning light and the orange glow of the Tower.

That’s hers and mine, see.

Thank you for adding to the beauty of Texas in the springtime, madame.

And you remain the essence of elegance, kindness, and charm. 

Good night, Mrs. Johnson.

Setting: Me and another semi-country boy. Earlier this evening. In the parking lot at Target. Stopping in my tracks to look up into a beautiful Texas sky and behold a fantastic storm migrating to the northwest. The whole, sobering grey and blue palette.

Pardner, passing by: Don’t look good.

Me: Purdy, though.

The Moon will save the human race—

Were loonies beaten off their path—

The unthrown stone remains in place—

Through orbitary aftermath.

A blast unguarded —global fire—

Here’s thirty pieces, you fucking liars—

Now go and reckon what you did

When you did nothing but blame the Yid.