A funny article(s)

Go here to read it. Need I say more? Yes. Global warming is fake. Go here too.

Okay, so I feel like posting more, and it's the same day...hour. In light of the subject of the great hoax called "global warming" I would like to share my tribute to coal from a recent academic assignment:
Man's best friend
The magnificence, and uses of coal are endless. The rotten carcasses of the dinosaurs have travelled through the ages to bring us the miracle of Prometheus's' spark. The flame, the soot, the toil, the sweat, even the blood, are all part of the undying legacy of coal. It is a legacy that powered the engine of the rising industrial machine, and a legacy that will take us down the rails of a glorious journey, of which the end can scarcely be comprehended. While the fads of green power will come and go, coal will remain ever constant, like a loyal friend. Never did a young child receive a better gift on Christmas morn, than a lump of coal.

Comments

  1. JaclynMay 12, 2008 at 8:32 PM

    First, I cracked up at the paragraph in the TG article that said, "In fact, don't worry about anything because, when the chips are down, man always finds a way....Without the benefit of aspirin, we came through the great plague. And since then we've conquered space and developed the Rice Krispie." Very funny and well written article--

    Then, only you could work a kid getting a lump of coal for Christmas into some sort of divine gift giving concept. Why haven't I been so generous as to bestow such a gift on all my friends and family? Who wants Itunes giftcards when they could have chunks of coal?! I have been so wrong....

    ReplyDelete
  2. NikolMay 13, 2008 at 12:39 PM

    Okay, you are an awesome writer - Keep 'em coming!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dizzy and Blindfolded to Walking a Tightrope

I took a creative writing class in high school, in which we would daily have time to free-write. The theory was that moving the pen would spark creativity and give us something to write about, even if we were at a block. That's kind of what I'm doing here. What resulted were directionless babblings, sprinkled with flecks of creativity. Now that I think of it, why would anyone care to read my "free-write"? It is probably uninteresting so far. Answer: because it will likely be brilliant. Or not. This may just be a waste of time, but I'm in one of those moods that compells me to write, even though my thoughts haven't taken a definite form. I should be ecstatic for the sole reason that school is out, but I'm not exactly that. It seems like life is a tricky thing. It may be that we have more things to stress about than we can cope with, so we just pick a few at a time and are never short of supply of them; or there are multiple spickets that turn on and off, bu
Read more

Eye of Newt

So last Saturday at dinner, I told a friend that "I never get sick; and I don't even need to knock on wood when I say that." Well, perhaps I should have done at least one knock - just to make sure. Yes, it's true: I'm sick. My eyes are on fire, my head going to burst, my joints ache a bit, and my skin feels considerably more sensitive than usual. It is in times like these that I question whether the superstitions of ages past - and even of the present - merit the skepticism that we give them. So I'm sick. And I don't think that Airborne really works. I think it's all whooey, actually. I've drunk that stuff like six times since yesterday, and I still feel just as bad, if not worse, than I usually feel during a cold. I would bet that all the extra vitamins just pass straight through the body and are disposed of. Now, if Airborne does nothing, then is one superstitious if he takes it and swears to its efficacy? Are we still in the dark ages where witc
Read more

Halted beginnings

It feels like one of those times that feels like the right time to say something, but nothing readily comes to mind to answer the question of what is to be said. A little pondering (which works best when the fingers are moving) is in order. Here it comes. The infinite void slowly becomes material, and I step from the shore into the shallow waters of purpose. Do my toes experience a biting cold, or does the vastness welcome an inquiry? It is pleasant, and the sun still tarries above a dusky grave, so then it is safe to roll up my pant legs and venture at least a little ways into the water. False alarm... I've got nothing.
Read more