Yes, mankind, you are to blame

Robert Roe

I guess the science is settled. Mankind is the trash species of the galaxy.

Not only are we apparently sending this planet careening toward crispiness with our annoying habit of inhaling and exhaling, but we have also, according to new studies, caused a rise in temperatures on the moon.

It was all over the web Monday, with charts and graphics and everything! Therefore, it must be true. The Journal of Geophysical Research has the low-down: apparently, the astronauts of Apollo 15 (1971) and Apollo 17 (1972) stirred up moon dust, causing the darker dust beneath to get toastier due to its exposure to the sun. At least they didn’t give grief to Alan Shepard when he sliced a ball using his 8-iron during Apollo 14’s trip to the moon in 1971. He redeemed himself of the second shot, which went over 200 yards. Shanking on the moon – that is the real crime.

I have an alternate theory, however. Since the Lab Coat Mafia attributes everything bad that occurs on Earth to global warming (including cows and their methane emittance), one could posit the cow that jumped over the moon in the classic children’s tale “The Owl and the Pussycat” passed gas as he vaulted over said orb, causing the core temperature in the moon’s cheese to rise.

There is also the Man in the Moon to consider. After all, it’s been universally (literally) accepted that Mankind causes global warming, so the man in the moon could be faulted for creating the situation in which we currently find ourselves.

And here I thought the world’s climate was cyclical. Foolish me. Take to task Cow flatulence, Flyover State bumpkins trying to live their lives (Not our elites, of course. they are pure as the driven snow. Ask them – they’ll tell you. At length.), and what was the other thing? Oh, yeah. EVERYTHING.

How prosperous does a country have to be that we can afford the luxury to invent calamities over which to feel guilty? I know I’ve used this analogy before, but it fits. In the 1970s a public service announcement featured a regal Indian piloting his boat down a polluted stream. He comes ashore on a trash covered beach. Making his way up a hill, he stops on the shoulder of a highway, gas-guzzling automobiles belching engine noise and exhaust throughout the air. A passing car tosses a French fry container out the window, landing squarely on the Indian’s moccasins. The camera closes in as the man turns to face the screen, a single tear falling down his majestic face.

That was in the 70s. Remember the 70s? Time magazine had their headlines in a twist over the impending Ice Age. Since then, we have Adopted Highways. We’ve Swept Rivers. We turn off lights in the house when we aren’t using them, and we recycle. We carpool. Teleconference. Yet almost a half century later, we are led to believe that the media creation of Global Warming has not only not gotten worse, but also driven us to the brink of extinction.

I am starting to think climate alarmists are the original doomsday prophesiers. Move over, Jonestown and Heaven’s Gate. The Climate Cult is easily better financed and has a marketing arm that includes radio, newspaper, TV, cinema and the internet. Compete with that, Mayan Calendar people.

Can you imagine how much more trouble our planet would be in had Al Gore won the 2000 Presidential election? The Goracle would not have been able to spend so much time lecturing us on the foolishness of our ways, while at the same time engorging his wallet until he became as rich as Croesus.

Straws are being banned from restaurants in favor of sippy cup lids, grocery bags are vanishing, yet the Cult of the Climate still roars, unsated.

When will we turn on the television to see a child walking through a wasteland where thriving metropolises once stood, laid waste by the policies that propelled Man back to the Stone Age? I can see the child now, slowly turning around, a single tear caressing his cheek.

Robert Roe