The Post in Which I Save the Environment

Saving the world is something Will Smith and I have in common. That and denim hats.

I’ve been driving about aimlessly in my SUV a lot lately, which has got me thinking about America.

There is much I love about America.  I love watching baseball while eating apple pie in my Hummer on route to a peace rally where I’ll stomp the hell out of a flag burner.  I love the red, white and blue.  That there is just a kick-ass color scheme.  You do need one of those queer-eye dudes to tell you that.

But I’ve been confused lately.  I bought my SUV because I thought that was America.  My Sport Utility Vehicle is American Made (built in Texas by Mexicans).  These days, though, there is so much talk about the environment that pumping gas has become a dicey proposition.  It’s now a political proposition just to fill my tank.  I get it, no blood for oil, blah, blah, blah.  I certainly don’t want to be gauche or passé, so recently I found myself jumping on the trend bandwagon and bought a flex fuel vehicle.

Shopping for a flex fuel SUV, I discovered that alternative fuel, like ethanol, is made from corn.  If you know anything about me, you know I find corn delicious, so the idea of stopping daily at the gas station for some of the hot buttery stuff had me all atwitter.  Then I learned that ethanol is not edible and in fact can have many side effects if ingested, like death.  This is a huge problem.  However; I can guarantee you whenever I fill up I can’t resist yanking that gas nozzle out of the tank and suckling on that sweet, sweet stuff.  As it is I can’t stop huffing gasoline.  Oh gasoline, you smell like rainbows.

The smell of gasoline

Also, I’m concerned what using ethanol will do for the powerful corn growing lobby.  Sure, currently our petroleum addiction allows the Middle East, who have a culture and practice we find icky, to put us over a barrel.  A barrel of oil that is, har, har.  But seriously, are we better off with our fate in the hands of corn farmers?  That’s just trading one foe for another.  Even now I can feel the cold, unblinking eyes of Farmer Rod staring at me from an Iowa corn field 1,000 miles away.  He does not sleep, Farmer Rod.  You wouldn’t either if you knew your day of world domination was just around the corner.  Watch him methodically scrape the corn kernels from his teeth with a pitchfork.  He has plans for you and I.  First he’ll want what’s in our wallets.  Next it will be our women.

So I said NAY to the car salesman and his insidiously delectable ethanol car.  “What else ya got?”  I asked.  He offered to sell me an electric car.  “They make no pollution what so ever.”  He told me.  Sorry dude, I’m not gay.

I did some research and found a small automaker in Singapore who makes a V8 SUV that runs on raccoons (or their blood, I’m not sure).  BOO-YA!  Actually, I think all those Singaporese did was retrofit some old GM Suburbans, but damn it if it doesn’t work.  Sure, I do have to get up 45 minutes early in the morning to catch at least three raccoons and then cram them into the gas tank (messy).  But it’s worth it because now I am doing right by the environment, and more importantly, can still have what I want and not look like a douche bag.

And that’s America, isn’t it?

Round up your friends, would ya? Daddy needs to go to Walmart.

Round up your friends, would ya? Daddy needs to go to Walmart.

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