Sometimes, you know, you just want to spit in someone’s eye, or bust ’em in the nose.
I know. I know. That kind of thing is not nice. But, lately, every time the temp around here gets above fifty I hear the chattering idiots on the 6 and 11, and Bob or Missy, the grinning boobs of weather dudes and dudesses, predicting the melting of building and people, glaciers, ice caps and the beginning of Endless Summer all over the world as this place becomes another 900 degree Venus sometime next Tuesday…IF SOMETHING ISN’T DONE IMMEDIATELY!!! These things begin to remind me of being a patient and hearing from the doctor’s mouth, “Well, Mr. Crumple, the numbers here don’t look good, don’t look good at all. Your afganistan levels are too high and there way too many morroci in your blood. Can you come in next Tuesday? I want to run some further tests.”
If your heart wasn’t thumping erratically before, it certainly would be then, and for a while after.
Is it really necessary to pile it on the way they do? It seems that the media is simply a machine that exists to give folks a little more to worry about in the never ending list of worries we have until we break. It begins to make the famine and plague years seem like “Happy Days”, the threat of barbarian invasions and massacre of whole cities merely another evening with “Ozzie and Harriet”.
I suppose it would be alright if someone would turn off the darn machine, say that the test was over and allow us to go home to wait for the undertaker. It would be, as they say, a “mercy”.
Now, I find out that the data which led to the reports, which led to the predictions of the imminent death of us all prematurely from overheating was assembled from spurious sources by people who had no more idea of what they were doing in many cases than I have of how to do a jig saw puzzle or darn a sock. And, I further find out that the data has been assembled from the scholarly equivalent of gossip and rumor, hints and guesses and the assemblers…the lab assistants to the chrome domed Ph.D.’s who are regulars before Congresses, Parliaments, Committees, Sub-Committees and Blue Ribbon Panels all over the bleeping planet; whose eyebrows are raised in alarm and voices cry alarum, like klaxons warning of death from the sky…are with their bosses little better than liars.
That’s a heck of a sentence to build. But, it ain’t any worse than what’s being done even as I write by this snake in the grass IPCC and the guys and gals who are making a good living off it.
I think they ought to be occupied by the great unwashed down on Wall Street. But that happens and all that would come of it would be a few hours of Eyeworthless Reports all over the place, and then more hearings, harangues and helpless mumblings and mutterings. Well at least the cooks and caterers, the champagne and fancy food dudes will continue to make a buck off them. At least we won’t have to see them next to all the iron workers and auto workers and other honest guys in the unemployment lines. At least the hotel and convention hall folks will still have some place to go from Monday to Friday, and the First class seats will be filled on all the flights to Switzerland, South Africa, Tokyo and other places where Accords are signed. And, lord knows the world has a crying need for accords.
The whole thing stinks, like a dead dog left in the sun for a few days, and it’s about as good looking, too.