Tag Archives: climate change

Save those snails

Less than a minute ago I was in the communal kitchen of this open prison some call an office. A man there had been told by a woman that using a disposable cup wasn’t great for the environment. He then said this:

“They say we shouldn’t use plastic cups and we should bring in our own mug but…I haven’t got time to clean it!

His emphasis.

Cunt.

Continue reading Save those snails

Pass the kittens

I want Donald Trump to be president. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

After a brief spell of impotent fury, I decided to laugh at Britain when it re-elected Cameron and his collection of wide-foreheaded aristocrats last year. You witless dunces decided you want more of all the shit you were moaning about for the preceding five years, because the alternative was a bloke who looked a bit weird. You brought it on yourselves, and the parlous state of the nation you’re left with electrifies the part of my brain that recognises that disabled people are the scourge of our times, and must be taxed until their breathing apparatus whistles like a kettle.

This is the area of my subconscious, entirely beyond my control, that wants the world to suffer. It has no tolerance or compassion for anyone or anything. It gets goosebumps at the thought of kittens in sacks near bodies of water. It revels in disharmony and laughs at misfortune, it’s horrible and hungry for misery, and by gum is the world giving it some tasty treats to snack on right now.

This part of my brain wants Britain to leave the EU, wants Scotland to leave the UK, wants Boris Johnson as Prime Minister, wills refugees towards razor wire, is looking forward to robots taking over and slaughtering everything and above all wants Donald Trump to be the most powerful human being on this horribly doomed planet for the limited time remaining to it.

A spoilt little boy in a combed-over man suit seems nailed on to win the nomination of a party that hates him – a party that contains people who think the world is a sprightly six thousand years old, that abortion causes cancer, that trees cause climate change and that poor people should be delighted that rich people have all the money as they stare uncomprehendingly at a doctor explaining why little Carrie can’t afford leukaemia treatment. And he’s too extreme for them.

If he’s elected as President, the general consensus is that we’ll all die within a year or two. Most people think that’s bad.

Not me.

If we must die, we may as well die laughing, and no-one could deny that he would be hilariously appalling from start to finish, regardless of the fire raining down all around. Americans will chuckle apologetically at what they’ve done, usually stolid world leaders will be caught sniggering during summits at Trump’s incredible proposals – doubtless embarrassing him into letting loose a nuke or two – and viewing figures for the newly comedic News 24 will top the implausible numbers enjoyed by Still Open All Hours. While he’s making America great again he’ll be making life merry again, briefly, before ending us all.

And it’s not just The Donald I hope we inflict on ourselves – my subconscious welcomes doom more generally. Take the refugee crisis. We’re told that rampaging hordes of feral, greedy scroungers are currently pawing at Europe’s borders, masquerading their idleness as a desperate flight from the napalm they laughably claim is licking at their heels. A right-minded person might remember that advert from some years ago, explaining every person alive could fit, albeit at a squeeze, on the Isle of Wight, and think therefore the continent of Europe could probably cope with a few more.

But that pro-mayhem part of my brain natters away in there, making me wonder if we couldn’t instead build them a new, inflatable country in the middle of the Atlantic. Should they fail to curb the urge to poke each other with pointy sticks, their bouncy new home wouldn’t be much of a burden to the rest of us as it shot like a loosened balloon around the skies above Cape Verde and disappeared a few miles west of the Walvis Ridge.

This naughty part of my brain also wants Britain out of the EU. There’s nothing wrong with admitting that men with names like Nigel and Roger have been right all along, and that being hated by an entire continent should be a source of national pride. There’s also nothing wrong with gleefully anticipating the priceless disappointment on their faces when the country is not instantly transported back to 1955, with bunting and hats and people knowing their place, particularly black people, whose place is anywhere but here.

More importantly it would sweep to the helm of this fine nation a man who once railed at the idea that ‘tank-topped bumboys’ should be allowed to teach children buggery in schools, because that’s how it works you know. The peculiar rise of Boris Johnson, who has spent eight years doing precisely fuck all in charge of the country’s largest city, would be the perfect accompaniment to Trump in charge over the pond. With Europe now the enemy, the ‘special relationship’ will be all the more important to a shrunken Britain swiftly shorn of its northernmost nation.

And who wouldn’t want special relations with Donald Trump instead of dangerous continental lunatics like Merkel, Renzi and Hollande? How much more fun life would be with huge walls keeping former neighbours from flinging their rapists at us – a wall around East Anglia, paid for by Denmark, a wall in the Plymouth area to stop all those pesky armadas and a great barricade around Anglesey to keep out our most-hated foe, the Irish (tough choices ahead for the Isle of Man). Best of all, the one to keep the filthy Scots at bay is already half built.

Meanwhile, we humans are thrusting forth towards a sudden end at the hand of technology, if that computer winning a game of Go is anything to go by. I don’t know what Go is but that’s what they’ll make us do when they take over. That, or at the moment they reach peak intelligence the robots will suddenly realise there’s no point to existence and simply shut themselves down, leaving us in a technology free world where no-one remembers how to talk to each other and shepherds are kings. Who wouldn’t laugh at the end of Facebook?

Consciously, I don’t want everyone dead all of the time. Some of you entertain me. Some of you are future providers of organs I might need. Some of you even get a round in, in the rare event the combination of the Henry Squire Die-Cast Zinc All-Weather Combination Padlock keeping your wallet safe from the elements leaks from your gurgling mouth after the fifth rum and coke you’ve wrung from me that night.

But subconsciously, it’s another matter. People like me will be too old to suffer the searing consequences of our need to constantly consume, as the planet’s resources vanish in a puff of carbon dioxide. The world we’ll leave for the next lot is broken beyond contemplation and we who caused it won’t be around to see it burn. Wouldn’t it be more just if we all went out together, screaming maniacally like an internet goat being ridden by two fat blonde men?

Maybe the sick part of my brain has a point. Let’s go all in: vote Trump, Vote Leave, vote ‘Boris’ and vote for anything that’ll make the world a more side-splitting place as it staggers towards denouement. There’s comedy in everything and the more Jimmy Savile jokes we let Ken Livingstone tell the jollier the end will be. Pass the kittens.

Taking our pills and watching our cartoons

Some people say the world has gone bonkers. Some people say the world is dying. While I agree with the sentiments of both, I’ve got to think neither are true. The world is neither bonkers nor dying; it just is. We, however, we humans – we’re definitely all going to die. And we’re just bonkers enough to try and make that happen a little bit sooner by bringing down the world with us.

I like to think of the world as one giant lunatic asylum for the mentally and terminally ill. But instead of taking our pills and watching our cartoons and smelling the nice roses, we’re intent on smashing the fucking place to bits. On ripping great handfuls of plaster off the wall and shaping them into effigies of our deity of choice. On tearing up the nice potted plants dotted everywhere and creating useless baubles and trinkets of every imaginable size and shape, simply for our own amusement. On biting off chunks of the sofa and sticking our dicks into the exposed foam, then rutting until both us and the sofa are mere husks of their former selves. On, almost literally, fucking our environment into annihilated oblivion for no other reason than because we can and because it will help us to buy stuff to put with our other stuff and the stuff we’ve forgotten we bought and didn’t really give that much of a fuck about in the first place.

And the worst part? We don’t even acknowledge that we’re doing it. We refuse to admit our own insanity and the reckless effect it is having on our environment.

If all that metaphorical flimflam was too obscure for you, I’m talking about climate change, our role in it and, most gear-grindingly of all, the morons who deny it’s happening, and who, by some twisted logic, seem to end up being the ones in charge of addressing it.

If you haven’t noticed that it’s happening, you’ll probably want to pull your head out of your arse or that sand you’ve been burying it in or the oven or wherever you’ve been allowing it to coagulate for the last decade or four.

Of course, as with most things, this destruction of our planet and simultaneous shoulder-shrugging is most noticeable in the good old U-S of A. Only there could men who have quite literally written the book on climate change conspiracy (see The Greatest Hoax by Senator James Inhofe… then burn it … err, I mean recycle responsibly, of course) and compared the Environmental Protection Agency to the Gestapo (yes, really) be elected into the role of chairperson of a body supposedly designed to champion the causes of our flagging planet. Only there could the House of Representatives try to usher through a bill banning scientists from commenting on their own work (that’s right, those who are most qualified and most practiced in the subject are prohibited from sharing any of that pointlessly accrued knowledge). And only there would an elected official argue with regulations prohibiting the over-extraction of coal because “God said so”.

Of course, although our American chums are some of the prime offenders in this sadistic charade of planet-buggery, they are merely the over-zealous frat-boys at the cult shindig where everyone has most certainly partaken of the Kool Aid.

Closer to home, our politicians seems to have foregone all pretence of giving a fuck and are rapaciously pursuing the practice of fracking (it even sounds dirty) which has made our American brethren so delirious with capitalist glee. With their rubber fucking faces contorted into postures of patronising contrition, they nod and smile at the droning regulations imposed by the EU, which is becoming increasingly reminiscent of a senile old grandfather, forgetting his admonitions while still in the process of administering them. “What’s that…? Fossil fuels, you say…? Global warming, you say…? 20% reductions, you say…? Of course, of course…” they soothe treacherously, all the while tapping the walls for hidden oil reserves and sidling ever closer to the door marked EXIT where Nigel Farage proffers forbidden fruit and pints of bitter.

Meanwhile, Australia, our long-lost son, has appointed as its political kingpin a Speedo-toting moron whose complete lack of morals seem to be a point of honour. When faced with opposition to his barbaric planetary policies, the man and his cronies seem only able to reply that “COAL IS GOOD” in a macabre Orwellian pastiche of Hodor from Game of Thrones.

And just in case you thought my focus on Anglo-centric countries was indicative of the racist cap I donned to pen this harangue, then fear not – there’s plenty of bile stored up to shower over Earth-plunderers who speak other languages. Until recently, Saudi Arabia and Russia were so good at fucking the Earth and charging others to watch that they were ranked even above the outspoken Yanks. The giant cloud of impending doom that hovers relentlessly over the vast country of China is something of a clue to its stature as top dog in greenhouse gas emissions, cheerfully releasing more than 6 million tonnes of the fuckers into the air each year.

The industrial boom in India, not content with spitting out huge amounts of carbon and shitting all over the land it’s built on, has also saved some excrement for the exploited workers in its factories. Meanwhile, the Japanese, like the Russians, are all for cutting harmful emissions, but only on the principle that “you go first”. Even the endearingly benign Canada are not free from blame, mining their country’s vast resources into a state of ecological butt-hurt. Of course, not everyone is to be tarred with the same brush. Germany, for all its current environmental havoc-wreaking, is at least making some very loud and convincing noises about “wanting to change” in the near future. And Scandinavia… well, the Scandinavians certainly seem to have it all worked out. Though never having actually been there myself, I can’t be 100% sure it actually exists. Another Narnia, I suspect.

The great race to wreck our surroundings continues unstoppably and every one of us is to blame. But what does that matter when another Christmas is always coming and there’s ever more STUFF to buy?