Hello, America!

A becoming Hollywood musical!

★★★★☆ “Al Gore as Zorba the Bostonian, really brings the role to life” ~The New York Apparatchiki


The Scene:

Environmentalism a becoming boon-doggle, the most efficient, responsive and unsurpassingly democratic economy the world has ever known is being hamstrung and sucked up by a bureaucratic and professional ruling class of government gadflies. Vitality, influence and independence… All Gone!

Enter Al Gore playing Zorba the Bostonian:

“I will make Chevies,” roars Zorba: “a Budweiser in every glasss,” he babbles as he holds his arm aloft, his lips turning S’s into Z’s. “Now, I have a plan,” Zorba whispers conspiratorially: “it’s time firefighters start businesses on the side (with all the time off we give them) — those fat government pensions don’t just grow on trees ‘ya know and behind every government worker there’s a greedy union that must be fed.”

“Beshides,” Zorba slurs, becoming increasing more shitfaced, “Koutshoyiannish shaid that on a climatic shcale — shay 30-yearsh, or sho —  the whole sheries of GCMsh, and I quote, irrelevant to reality.”

Zorba consoles the English writer — the day after his conquest of the village widow — who subsequently is ritually sacrificed to the gods by superstitious villagers in an attempt to get nature to conform to their models of reality.  

“Nevertheless,” Zorba explains, “you can’t blame the villagers… they’re all just being human and looking at things in a human-kind of way. It is for them a moral issue this climate change stuff and they’ve been told the facts are beyond question – gobal warming is real and bad and will kill us all and every living thing. That and the government funding is all the villagers need to know to motivate them to hurt and murder the poor, if they must and they unquestionably must, being on the side of the angels and all.”

About Wagathon

Hot World Syndrome—fear of a hotter, more intimidating world than it actually is prompting a desire for more protection than is warranted by any actual threat. A Chance Meeting– We toured south along the Bicentennial Bike Trail in the Summer of 1980, working up appetites covering ~70 miles per day and staying at hiker/biker campgrounds at night along the Oregon/California coast (they were 50¢ a day at that time). The day's ride over, and after setting up tents, hitting the showers, and making a run to a close-by store, it was time to relax. The third in our little bicycle tour group, Tom, was about 30 yards away conversing with another knot of riders and treating himself to an entire cheesecake for dinner. He probably figured Jim and I would joke about what a pig he was eating that whole pie and decided to eat among strangers. Three hours later after sharing stories and remarking on a few coincidences that turned up here and there, Tom and one of the former strangers realized they were cousins, meeting in this most unlikely place for the first time. ~Mac
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