Liz Sales, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
By Bill Stokes
Kickass, the doorstop dog, reports that the keeper has decided to defy the old saw that everyone complains about the weather, but nobody does anything about it. His plan of “doing something,” has its base in the human capacity for enduring outright, wholesale stupidity as it is manifested in the narcissistic buffoons who buy and Gerrymander their way into positions of political power.
The demonstrated human ability to survive from one day to the next while being TV bombarded with the obscene, indecent behavior of the likes of Cruz and Johnson and a host of other Repub nitwits, is an undeniable verity that the human species has made the big U-turn and is headed the wrong way on Darwin Street; and there isn’t a damn thing the keeper and his ilk can do about it, except maybe assume the fetal position in a darkened bedroom.
So it goes with the keeper’s plan for doing something about the weather: as the climate—like the Darwin thing, has obviously peaked out and it is—climate-wise, downhill to Armageddon from here—the only thing to do, particularly now in cold, snowy March, is to head for the darkened bedroom.
The keeper advises that if somebody else is already in there, light a candle and tune in some soft music as accessories to doing something about the weather.
