When Leaving Turn Out the Lights and Go Left

Futurama

Global warming scare tactics are more than bad politics. They’re bad theater too. We have  humanity which is dirtying up the Earth with its marathon-producing CO2 and that is worthy of a Greek tragedy full of pessimism and nihilism. But rather than on a somber note it ends in outrageous comedy — a gut-wrench, belly-laughing finale about this F-Troop comprised of Western school teachers who valiantly try to save the world — with polar bears and islanders splashing about in hot, ice-free, rising sees — while, Neptune-sized, SUV-driving soccer moms with flaming hair, contemptuously blowing poisonous CO2 out of flared nostrils, flip-off the world as they back up onto sands and crap out surfboard-toting gremmies into the surf from their lifted tailgates.

Although not up to the standards of the latest cli-fi plots we’ve got plenty of cli-psy to add drama to the theater of the absurd –e.g., the Western climate scientists of the Left who are so accepting of this very peculiar reality of theirs’ that they cannot even tolerate an open discussion about it and amongst themselves there is this strange element that lies impervious to scrutiny, like the freakish consensus of the Heaven’s Gate Cult concerning the best method to reach their oddball destination that as it happens was located on the dark side of the Comet Hale-Bopp. What better proof could we have that reality is stranger than fiction?

Getting from here to liberal Utopia could never be easier nor crazier –i.e., a seemingly coherent group of individuals, these Hale-Boppers worked with computers, enjoyed a life of plenty in the prestigious environs of Rancho Santa Fe, CA, sharing their earnings as well as their understanding of how life works, in a common quest, so that in the end even their self-destructive acts made sense to Heaven’s Gate cult members… as they donned black Nikes and pulled plastic bags over their faces for the trip to Utopia.

What are we to make of the Hale-Boppers of Western academia? Heroes with noble motives? Climate fear-traders out to make a buck off the ignorant like ticket-sellers at the Left’s state-run lotteries? Are they potential new members of the Diviners and Dowsers Guild or union employees who work in the government climate alarmism industry? I’ll tell ‘ya what’s tragic: we’re paying these people to make up this bullcrap. Where would they be headed if not opposed? Heaven on a mule?

It is right and wholesome to have those light comedies and entertaining shows; and I shouldn’t wish to see them diminished. But none of us is always in the comedy spirit; we have our graver moods; they come to us all; the lightest of us cannot escape them. These moods have their appetites – healthy and legitimate appetites – and there ought to be some way of satisfying them. It seems to me that New York ought to have one theater devoted to tragedy. With her three millions of population, and seventy outside millions to draw upon, she can afford it, she can support it. America devotes more time, labor, money, and attention to distributing literary and musical culture among the general public than does any other nation, perhaps; yet here you find her neglecting what is possibly the most effective of all the breeders and nurses and disseminators of high literary taste and lofty emotion – the tragic stage. To leave that powerful agency out is to haul the culture-wagon with a crippled team. Nowadays, when a mood comes which only Shakespeare can set to music, what must we do? Read Shakespeare ourselves! Isn’t it pitiful? It is playing an organ solo on a jew’s-harp. ~Mark Twain

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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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