Hans Christian Anderson wrote a timeless and timely tale called “Keiserens Nye Klaeder”. In English, it is known as the Emperor’s New Clothes.
Hans’ story begins: “Many years ago there was an Emperor so exceedingly fond of new clothes that he spent all his money on being well dressed. He cared nothing about reviewing his soldiers, going to the theatre, or going for a ride in his carriage, except to show off his new clothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day, and instead of saying, as one might, about any other ruler, “The King’s in council,” here they always said. “The Emperor’s in his dressing room.”
Today, throughout the land of Californium and this great country, men and women of yore daily ponder how to arrest the climate change their dastardly actions are causing. For decades, great strides have been made to reduce LA basin smog to a great success! Like horse whips, Californium’s smog knives have been retired to the Californium history of irrelevent devices museum.
As technology marches on, fossil fuels, nee gasoline, is burned so much more cleanly and completely, the smoke & fog marriage, called ‘smog’ has been drastically reduced since its heydey in the 70s. Dare say, horse droppings, nay, dog droppings have become more polluting…ever follow a Prius DINK couple with two Shitzoos in the back window? or in a doggy park, reserved for four not two legged offspring?
Hans continues: “In the great city where he lived, life was always gay. Every day many strangers came to town, and among them one day came two swindlers. They let it be known they were weavers, and they said they could weave the most magnificent fabrics imaginable. Not only were their colors and patterns uncommonly fine, but clothes made of this cloth had a wonderful way of becoming invisible to anyone who was unfit for his office, or who was unusually stupid.
“Those would be just the clothes for me,” thought the Emperor. “If I wore them I would be able to discover which men in my empire are unfit for their posts. And I could tell the wise men from the fools. Yes, I certainly must get some of the stuff woven for me right away.” He paid the two swindlers a large sum of money to start work at once.”
Meanwhile, the lone elderly scientist on Earth Day, yet again, sitting in the state capitol conference room, places a vase-like container filled with blue marbles in the middle of the large Macarthurian round table.
The gathered 121 nobles, seated around said giant circle of oak and other townspeople of Blessed Sacramento wondered what this was all about.
Why had the 121 in the Royal Court of Blessed Sacramento been summoned on this feast Day of Earth? They had much more important things to do, like watch sustainable grass grow, or increase the gas tax rate yet again above the 40%, hoping to reach it’s record rate of 65.3% when liquid fossil fuel was two buck chuck similar to the wine of renown.
Carefully, wobbly and with much effort, the sagacious and aged man of science rose and began to speak, addressing the most regal in the room:
“Emperor Moonbeam, and all ye mighty Lowbeam Legi$layers of dragons galore, hear me. I have gathered a simple sample of ye royal air in this vessel. Oh, Ambassador of Air, ye Engineer of NoWhere Rail, please count out the molecules of rarified Sacred Atmosphere.”
The Emperor and future renowned climate change ambassador dutifully counted away.
“Aged one, this is ye one day a year we rulers of Californium allow descent from our version of science. Do not waste it. We allow you out of ‘unpopular science hypothesis prison’ to speak of your ridiculous and ancient beliefs, and you choose this wasteful exercise? I have counted 2500 marbles, which you call molecules.”
Hans continues about the swindlers: “They set up two looms and pretended to weave, though there was nothing on the looms. All the finest silk and the purest old thread which they demanded went into their traveling bags, while they worked the empty looms far into the night.
“I’d like to know how those weavers are getting on with the cloth,” the Emperor thought, but he felt slightly uncomfortable when he remembered that those who were unfit for their position would not be able to see the fabric. It couldn’t have been that he doubted himself, yet he thought he’d rather send someone else to see how things were going. The whole town knew about the cloth’s peculiar power, and all were impatient to find out how stupid their neighbors were.
“I’ll send my honest old minister to the weavers,” the Emperor decided. “He’ll be the best one to tell me how the material looks, for he’s a sensible man and no one does his duty better.”
So the honest old minister went to the room where the two swindlers sat working away at their empty looms.”
The honest old scientist, enjoying his one day of sunlight from his cell at Chateau D’if, asked this question to the noblemen and women around the round table of Truth:
“How many, learned ones, of these 2500 air molecules, are carbon dioxide? For years, you have spoken of this evil in our land. Your Supreme Council has dictated we avoid all manner of productive work so this “pollution” does not melt our fine land. So, please give your Emperor your answers, all 120 of you, what say you:
How many are CO2?”
Most of the 120 looked around the room, feared not giving the truth or right but the best answer to please His Majesty; whether it is Truth mattered little to them, just access to power and the constantly changing table seating chart. Ye Old Blessed Sacramento Treasury had many valuable baubles they were jealous to acquire.
At the table’s carved out center, Emperor Moonbeam sat motionless.
The Lowbeam Legi$layers, fresh from slaying the dragons of Truth, Open Scientific Dialogue and Free Speech, ancient beliefs all, knew their standing and table positions were dependent on wisely answering this sad old scientist’s question. Moonbeam was unbending in his lust for power and wearing the latest fashion of environmental excellence. Sir Aaron of Mair, the ruler of Sierra Forest Clubbers, had his majesty’s jewels, both of them, in his pocket, sealed for a later time.
Hans’ story was not complete: ““Heaven help me,” the Emperor’s minister thought as his eyes flew wide open, “I can’t see anything at all”. But he did not say so.
Both the swindlers begged him to be so kind as to come near to approve the excellent pattern, the beautiful colors. They pointed to the empty looms, and the poor old minister stared as hard as he dared. He couldn’t see anything, because there was nothing to see. “Heaven have mercy,” he thought. “Can it be that I’m a fool? I’d have never guessed it, and not a soul must know. Am I unfit to be the minister? It would never do to let on that I can’t see the cloth.”
“Don’t hesitate to tell us what you think of it,” said one of the weavers.”
Legi$layer of Lost Angeles spoke first: “Oh mighty Emperor, I have studied your fashion and it is visible to me, you are very learned in the Arts. My answer is 500 CO2 molecules, for the danger and damage of this evil gas has melted our ice cream, the blessed Sacramento river levels have risen and our climate changes daily, sometimes even hourly, as it has since the Beginning. 500 is my well reasoned, scientific estimate!”
Emperor Moonbeam, busy speeding up Ye Royal Model High Speed HSR locomotive on the circular track that ringed the MacArthurian Round Table, just smiled.
His dependable and mighty Legi$layer of Lost Angeles, Eric the Dread, understood the cost of crossing His Majesty. Eric the Dread so wanted to replace the Emperor and wield the Sword of Sustainability, with power of Merry UCLANicols, over the mayor of Frack and other rich natural resources in Californium.
Next rose Lady Melissa of Melen, who unequivocally stated “One!” and the rumbles of laughter and derision from her fellow Legi$layers were only surpassed by her Emperor’s glare above the clickety clack noise of Lionel the Lion~Hearted Loco. Oh, how Little Emp Moonbeam hated his well thought of, man of character, brother, Richard working hard in FarawayLands.
Legi$layer Stretch of Pelosi shouted “You fool, Lady Melissa, look at your emperor’s clothing, made of the finest weaves of the richest resources of our modern land. You doubt his commitment, his atmospheric knowledge, his engineering skills? I will see Lord Eric the Dread’s 500 and raise it by 3%, the percentage of CO2 our Climate Changing Merlins claim is made by men. My political science guess is 515!”
Not to be outdone, Lady Empty Boxer of St Barbara chimed in: “80% of the people care about the environment. CO2 is melting the polar ice, flooding our disadvantaged in Mali Boo, slowing the speeding LSD Low Speed Debacle due to changing economic climate. This world will be unlivable soon. My answer, knowing the danger CO2 pollution poses, my guess, being the most empty Boxer in the room is 1000! Take that, Stretch and Lady Melen of the Lake in ye Elsinore” 1000, the guess of a retired out of the box brain some day to be donated to science. IF a lab will take possession.
Hans’ timely tale ensues: “”Oh, it’s beautiful -it’s enchanting.” The old minister peered through his spectacles. “Such a pattern, what colors!” I’ll be sure to tell the Emperor how delighted I am with it.”
“We’re pleased to hear that,” the swindlers said. They proceeded to name all the colors and to explain the intricate pattern. The old minister paid the closest attention, so that he could tell it all to the Emperor. And so he did.
The swindlers at once asked for more money, more silk and gold thread, to get on with the weaving. But it all went into their pockets. Not a thread went into the looms, though they worked at their weaving as hard as ever.”
Emperor Moonbeam, profligate and ever ready to spend other people’s money, regaled in his crowning weaves of air, just smiled. He knew the pressure of peer had no bounds.
He had secretly enriched his fave five lords, counts and ladies of the Roundtable with billions for their votes to put down the serf rebellion by Sheriff Little Cow’s 11 armed goons ready to strip the lowly of their purses.
“How dare the lower middle kingdom want to keep any of their money; we must draw taxes from their hay purchases at Ye Royal Equine Service Stations. Someone has to pretend to fill potholes and build roads while my model railroad is built.
Jester Jeff Den of Hamburg spoke up: “Your royalness, regarding Lady Melissa, I have checked ye fave Algore Abacus InterweaveWeb and I believe she IS right!
It is ONE among the 2500. I defer to new Legi$layor Sir Knight of Public Accountancy John of Lach Moor, for his analysis”.
Sir Knight John was one of the 120 but not so easily succumbing to rosy pie in the sky projections, reminiscent of financial projections of Count Citron of Orange that lead to bankruptcy; and thus his knighted presence at the Table resulted out of another’s disgrace.
Sir John of Lach Moor rose and as the jet black Lionel HSR Locomotive, slowly and typically as the mischievous Moonbeam would, with horn blazing as it approached his spot, much to the Emperor’s chagrin, the Knighted Count of MoneyCrispDough lifted it off the three railed track.
“Your climate excellency and fellow Legi$layers, wisely listen to the Chateau d’If prisoner. He might be ancient, but I recall a time when Citronian beliefs cost my small hamlet of Orange so dearly.
I realize I am touching the third rail of Democrat delusion, but the numbers speak for themselves. Only one out of 2500 molecules in the atmosphere is carbon dioxide. The so-called androgenic or man made (again women are exempt due to EEOC fears) portion is 12 CO2 molecules for every 1,000,000 air ones. How can the less than 1%ers (CO2), at 12:1,000,000, hold the heat for the 99%ers, oxygen and nitrogen, who it seems are absolved of any involvement by the Democrapian Science Academy.
If ye study the ancient of books and consult the Algorean Interweb, you will note, the demonized CO2 is one of God’s most beneficial and trace gases. It, with another precious resource of Californium, water, combined and alone create the food we consume to stay alive, so you might tax us, your majesty.
Have, your royal airmenance, ever seen ‘photosynthesis’ and ‘respiration’ in the 3rd grade serfs’ book of learning?”
Moonbeam ignore the Count of MoneyCrispDough, whom his advisors had suggested he knight for his contributions.
“There is no way CO2 has any impact on global warming, especially since it is not existent for two decades. No, the poor enclave of Mali Boo will NOT drown, nor is the polar ice packs in FarawayLands melting. It is increasing. Even a child could see this.”
Hans doubles down: “…The Emperor presently sent another trustworthy official to see how the work progressed and how soon it would be ready. The same thing happened to him that had happened to the minister. He looked and he looked, but as there was nothing to see in the looms he couldn’t see anything.
“Isn’t it a beautiful piece of goods?” the swindlers asked him, as they displayed and described their imaginary pattern.
“I know I’m not stupid,” the man thought, “so it must be that I’m unworthy of my good office. That’s strange. I mustn’t let anyone find it out, though.” So he praised the material he did not see. He declared he was delighted with the beautiful colors and the exquisite pattern. To the Emperor he said, “It held me spellbound.”
All the town was talking of this splendid cloth, and the Emperor wanted to see it for himself while it was still in the looms. Attended by a band of chosen men, among whom were his two old trusted officials-the ones who had been to the weavers-he set out to see the two swindlers. He found them weaving with might and main, but without a thread in their looms.”
The indignant Emperor of Climate also rose from the Table in the Round and demanded the Count of MoneyCrispDough give back his jet black model Lionel HSR Locomotive immediately. As usual, Moonbeam majors in the minors during any crises in his kingdom.
Upon receipt back from Sir John, the finely clothed one gently put it on the third rail of tracks and moved the transformer lever, content for it to make its millionth revolution, going no where fast. It seemed it needed to just go in circles. The real one will never be completed, despite the Anaheim Armadillo waystation, once 2018 rolls around and the Emperor leaves for the District of Corruption in FarawayLands.
He spoke as only the mindless Moonbeam could: “Lady Melissa, Jester Jeff, Count John, I demand, look carefully at the air around you! You must see the dastardly dangerous CO2 for the evil it is. Are you sooooo ignorant and blind, you don’t see the finely weaved air before your eyes?
Listen to your peers, not this old senile scientist so stupid he seeks the Truth over release.
His Freedom is guaranteed, after a decade of years, yet he holds to his science.
All he must say is “Carbon Dioxide is killing us and it is wise we tax the serfs to death over its use” and he is released to join the rest of Ye Ole Royal Science Academicians yet again. Ivory tower’s Lady Mary Nicols of the U-CLAN will receive him back, absent his gonads of course. Her AirQueenship has to fill her gonadial lockbox of character; I have asked my Queen to hold the pairs from so many who grovel around my table. As it is, no one in my academy of science has the balls to speak the truth.” Aaron of Mair chuckled quietly in the corner
Hans posited: “”Magnificent,” said the two officials already duped. “Just look, Your Majesty, what colors! What a design!” They pointed to the empty looms, each supposing that the others could see the stuff.
“What’s this?” thought the Emperor. “I can’t see anything. This is terrible!
Emperor Moonbeam was having nightmares that just maybe, he and his Legislayers were being swindled by Algoreans, known for being loose with the truth. But the power of peer pressure makes adults into little spineless versions of themselves.
Hans’ Emperor asks: “Am I a fool? Am I unfit to be the Emperor? What a thing to happen to me, of all people! – Oh! It’s very pretty,” he said. “It has my highest approval.” And he nodded approbation at the empty loom. Nothing could make him say that he couldn’t see anything.
His whole retinue stared and stared. One saw no more than another, but they all joined the Emperor in exclaiming, “Oh! It’s very pretty,” and they advised him to wear clothes made of this wonderful cloth especially for the great procession he was soon to lead. “Magnificent! Excellent! Unsurpassed!” were bandied from mouth to mouth, and everyone did his best to seem well pleased. The Emperor gave each of the swindlers a cross to wear in his buttonhole, and the title of “Sir Weaver.”
Most of the 120 were undeterred. How could it be, the miraculous chemical gas essential to the production of food and life, was also the agent of death and pollution? Yet they feared their fellow liars more than the truth. Imagine if the serfs, the peons we oppress with endless carbon taxes, gas tax rates through the roof, rules, regulations and restrictions, imagine if they caught wind we were not united in our pseudo-science.
After an endless procession through East Anglia, the mahogany walls of Sierra Clubbers, the Pause episode of Blubber Aaron of Mair by Sir Ted of Cruz from FarawayLands… God forbid that the people find out we have duped them.
Hans’ Swindlers get busier: Before the procession the swindlers sat up all night and burned more than six candles, to show how busy they were finishing the Emperor’s new clothes. They pretended to take the cloth off the loom. They made cuts in the air with huge scissors. And at last they said, “Now the Emperor’s new clothes are ready for him.”
Then the Emperor himself came with his noblest noblemen, and the swindlers each raised an arm as if they were holding something. They said, “These are the trousers, here’s the coat, and this is the mantle,” naming each garment. “All of them are as light as a spider web. One would almost think he had nothing on, but that’s what makes them so fine.”
“Exactly,” all the noblemen agreed, though they could see nothing, for there was nothing to see.
“If Your Imperial Majesty will condescend to take your clothes off,” said the swindlers, “we will help you on with your new ones here in front of the long mirror.”
The Emperor undressed, and the swindlers pretended to put his new clothes on him, one garment after another. They took him around the waist and seemed to be fastening something – that was his train-as the Emperor turned round and round before the looking glass.
“How well Your Majesty’s new clothes look. Aren’t they becoming!” He heard on all sides, “That pattern, so perfect! Those colors, so suitable! It is a magnificent outfit.”
Then the minister of public processions announced: “Your Majesty’s canopy is waiting outside.”
“Well, I’m supposed to be ready,” the Emperor said, and turned again for one last look in the mirror. “It is a remarkable fit, isn’t it?” He seemed to regard his costume with the greatest interest.”
Emperor Moonbeam’s train seems in need of some help (no money in the treasury). As does his Royal Academy of Science. His chief sheriff of Nothingham/ShearedWood Forest, Sir Xavier Little Cow Becerra, pummeled a serf who discovered Ye Which (Kid do i Kill) Doctors were pilfering from mother’s wombs and selling their offspring to Ye Medical Colleges in FarawayLands.
Hans: ‘”The noblemen who were to carry his train stooped low and reached for the floor as if they were picking up his mantle. Then they pretended to lift and hold it high. They didn’t dare admit they had nothing to hold.”
So off went the Emperor in procession under his splendid canopy. Everyone in the streets and the windows said, “Oh, how fine are the Emperor’s new clothes! Don’t they fit him to perfection? And see his long train!” Nobody would confess that he couldn’t see anything, for that would prove him either unfit for his position, or a fool. No costume the Emperor had worn before was ever such a complete success.”
Prince Al Franken and Lady J Stein of Farawayland had come for this momentous occasion, to celebrate Emperor Moonbeam’s greatest day, this Day of Earth 2017.
The couple were the new hope of his regal party, these fine emissaries of Farawayland were combining and planned to announce their bid to overthrown the Dastardly Donald of Trump three years hence. The perfect ticket for the state of science in Californium.
Their carriage was emblazoned with the words of war, to take out the usurper: “Franken~Stein 2020. The hope of Democrat resurgence”
Sir John repeated: “You Democrat Scientists of the Royal Academy believe 12 CO2 molecules out of every one million is destroying the earth. Even a little child knows this is thuggish foolishness & a means to strip the lower middle kingdom peons of all they own.”
Hans’ child star: “But he hasn’t got anything on,” a little child said.
The first one in the whole tale to tell the truth was, of course, a little child
Hans’ story continues with dad: “Did you ever hear such innocent prattle?” said its father. And one person whispered to another what the child had said, “He hasn’t anything on. A child says he hasn’t anything on.”
Word quickly got back to the 120 seated, feasting on confections and roast Duck. ” The people may rise up! We have been found out, our swindling tax schemes. Shoving purloined pig and turkey legs into their well sized guts, the Legi$layers shouted “Drat, Lady Melissa of Melen. We must drain Lach Moor and Lach Elsinore before they drain our swampy moat protecting us from the useless eaters of Californium.”
Obviously feeling caught and knowing the Truth will become known, Lady Dianne of FineStein Fabrics, in the gallery, pointed out:
“I am as pure as an innocent child, totally biased for good science. My husband bit the apple of crony capitalist Democrat graft. My Lord FineStein will donate his billion $ windfall for the Iron Maiden tracks Magna Carte contract that run through Surewood Forest and across the desert of Upper Californium. No one can say Emperor Moonbeam robs the poor to feed his rich Lords and Ladies of the Realms.”
Han’s revelation: “But he hasn’t got anything on!” the whole town cried out at last.
What’s an Emperor to do: NOW THE PEOPLE KNOW THE FRAUD. The Algoreans in his kingdom, for years, have said “the climate is changing, the climate is changing” and it’s man’s fault. Women excepted, of course, due to EEOC rules, regulations, demurrs and deferrals.
The original weaving of tales swindler, Algore, had marched into Californium with no science degree, nor innate knowledge of well, anything at all. Yet, the Emperor and his court of many colors had believed his words and made the Hunchback Algore “Sir Weaver of Airy Tales”
Hans, still the teller of good tales, completed his tome with: “The Emperor shivered, for he suspected they were right. But he thought, “This procession has got to go on.” So he walked more proudly than ever, as his noblemen held high the train that wasn’t there at all.”
Yes, readers of yore, of the great middle kingdoms of Californium, the Emperor’s Train will go no where. He will leave water holes undug. The serfs, share croppers and peons will pay onerous taxes for precious oils of the realm, to put in their horseless carriages.
Repeating part of Han’s tale: “…but clothes made of this cloth had a wonderful way of becoming invisible to anyone who was unfit for his office, or who was unusually stupid.”
Governor Moonbeam thinks ALL of his Californium subjects, beyond the undrained cesspool moat that surrounds Sacramento castle, the great Hall of the RoundTable and their regional ivory towers, are ignorant.
Today, he wears an invisible veneer, barely hiding his smug lame-duck look. He continues, as do his Lowbeam Legi$layers, to pummel private enterprise over truth in labelling products, while doing the exact opposite thing to lie to the public.
Today, buy 5 boxes of ye blank copier paper and your total is $193 PLUS TAX. AT 8.8%, the clerk takes your check or debit for $209.98. Under the king’s new sneaky tax plan, the actual gas tax RATE is insane:
Buy $193 worth of gasoline, Governor Moonbeam’s Sheriff Little Cow of Shearwood Forest takes your wallet and pulls out $270. $193 for the productive people in the process, the explorers, refiners, distributors, service station. $77 for the royal few, maybe 100 out of 35 million who waste, abuse and confiscate this great state’s wealth. DEMAND Sacramento post three things: amount of tax, the rate and the product cost the tax is based on. Typical of bad governance where transportation dollars are squandered on Democrat pet projects, tax goes up as oil companies take less.
This deceptive lie in labeling act, where the tax rate is hidden and BUILT IN (a la carbon tax), much like people think they get “money back” every tax year forgetting it is siphoned off weekly or quarterly via withholding, is designed well. Hide the tax collection rate AND amount. Screw the serfs, party hardy at the Sierra Club and Capitol Roundtable
When gas hit $2 a gallon, the ACTUAL GAS TAX RATE was 65.3%. If gas stations weresmart enough to post this simple, changing truth (product price/cost, tax amount and actual gas tax rate), people would be yelling at the Sacramento royalty, not the poor soul behind the Arco counter.
Hans put it well. Moonbeam needs to look deep into the mirror, search his arrogant, black, self-absorbed soul and see, not only how invisible his royal robes are, but just how stupid he must be to keep up this canard of leadership.
Insulting good science for the purposes of stealing family wealth, regarding man’s puny ability to effect climate with 12/1,000,000 CO2:air molecules is one thing. Stealing the peon’s pennies for his climate change fraud then heaping more insane gas taxes to cover out of control spending and pensions of his royal court, is yet another, mainly Democrat party of enSlave the Masses.
Lady Melissa of Melen, Sir John of Lach Moor, Jester Jeff Den of Hamburg, sharpen your swords of Truth, help us, O Crusaders of the Royal Court, before our beloved Californium drifts so far left it crashes into FarawayLand Hawaii, home of judges who prefer alien terrorists descending on our fragile shores.
In an April 3 Letter2Editor, unprinted of course to the SCNG Register: “We hit the AB32 CO2 target 4 years early, and Brown’s reward is more onerous targets with SB32. Add to the 11 cents carbon gas tax, the basic fed tax rate (18.4); new Calif. basic (30); new Calif. excise (17.23), means soon we will pay 76.73 plus local and indexed up with inflation.”
11+18.4+30+17.23= 76.73 cents NO MATTER HOW LOW gasoline supply/demand controlled pricing goes, Moonbeam gets his cut OFF THE TOP.
Crusaders of Sensibility: Why not co-sponsor a Truth in Labeling Act for Gas, where service stations post the producers’ price, amount of tax and % rate. Plus a dynamic chart breaking out the culprits in the tax realm. This one thing could turn the tables. Service stations would do it voluntarily, because they are tired of being blamed for Moonbeam and Lowbeamers idiocy, but some tax components are too well hidden, like the nefarious carbon gas tax.
Inevitability of Democrapianism: everything goes to hell. Ask Kate Steinle for her opinion of protecting criminals OUTSIDE of jail cells; she’s a charter member of the Criminal Aliens Sanctuary fan club; unfortunately, she can’t pay her gas taxes because well, she’s dead. Even so, being dead is no longer more inevitable than Democrat lame Ducks raising taxes.
Obviously irritated as his LSD loco jumped it’s ‘going in circles’ track, Emperor Moonbeam picked up his fave paper, the LA Slimes of Yore:
“Later Monday, State Republican Party Chairman Jim Brulte criticized the Democrats who he said have diverted money from transportation projects for years.
“Now, our roads and dams are at a crisis point and the Democrats want to loot money from the pockets of the middle class and working poor through a gas tax and vehicle registration fee hike totaling more than $5 billion per year,” Brulte said in a statement. “It seems that the Democrats are determined to drive California’s middle class into poverty.”
The Moonbeam was not amused. He glared over at the disgraced wise scientist, pale from 364 days of no Vitamin D sunlight in the Golden State’s Castle’s dungeon, and raised his elongated Pinocchio proboscis soas not to smell the Revealed Truth with the 2500 Molecular Marbles.
Moonbeam: “Any last words, Scientist?”
Scientist: “Fix ye potholes on the roads your daddy built years ago. Dig ye water holes, to conserve in wet years the precious water for the dry years. Dump Ye Loco Train to No One Cares Where. Rule wisely, respecting your subjects’ right to keep what they earn. Slice off your endless rules, regulations, air taxation and restrictions.
Think of your subjects, not as people to endlessly drain of their resources, but as fellow citizens who should not have to subsidize government welfare for politicians (out of control pensions) and insane spending. Learn science, in which babies are human beings not animals for the harvest; and carbon dioxide is a gift from God, not an excuse to siphon what’s left of a family’s budget. Finally…..”
Moonbeam, growing agitated all the more… “Sheriff Xavier “Little Cow” Becerra of ShearedWood, take this ingrate away. I don’t give a F#$#^#^king damn whether he is right or not. Populist Science says the earth is melting, Algoreans are right even when they are lying and lying to skim money from the serf scum. And I don’t care if androgenic (women are exempted of course, EEOC, oh you know the drill) climate change based on androgenic (women are exempted…) global warming based on androgenic (women are…) CO2 is a total fraud.
Do you realize how many emails, bully thug paid for politicized scientists who will remain nameless and testicle deprived it took, to get to this point? EVERYONE knows climate changes all the time. Now, when climate change deniers are pummelled, no one remembers the biased presuppositions (wow, I can use big words as Emp Moonbeam) that were fraudulent in the first place. Unless, more Californiumians believe this ragged miscreant, that scientific truth is repeatable, testable and subject to scrutiny. Who are they gonna believe: Him or me, in my finely woven flawless superficial translucent outerwear?
Little Catholic Cow said nothing, for he valued his ability to defy medical science and help Ye Old Abortionistas kill more peons and serflets at birth to resell to Ye Old Human Organ Shoppes. Did he love indicting that Troubadour of Truth, David of Hill & Dale Iden, for exposing the evil his fellow fallen away Catholic Democrats lusted for? Of course.
The Emp Moonbeam continued: “And, I don’t care if the peons realize we have wasted every dollar of road repair on dumb personal pet programs; so their flimsy wagon wheels fall off at every pothole. I want my climate change ambassadorship in 2018 more than being known as the wisest king to rule Californium.”
Trust me, he WILL get both of these wishes.
And history will recall that, Governor LameDuck Moonbeam, his AirQueen Mary of Nicols; and his royal court of Little Cow, the Lowbeam Legi$layers, Sir Weaver of Airy Tales Algore, knew nothing of real science. And less about the Truth.
But, as a Catholic on this weekend of Divine Mercy, beginning with Earth Day 2017 and like, 12 years ago at sunset on the Saturday that Pope St. John Paul the Great died after the Amen! of his last Mass on Divine Mercy eve, I pray for the Democrats to wake up to their responsibilities as the Super Majority.
I forgive them for their transgressions, their waste and spendaholism, and plead with them to realize, they are playing with families and people’s lives and spending what doesn’t belong to them: Other People’s Money. Protect the families in Californium and not the criminal aliens. Tax only what you need and spend less, so that we peons and serfs can afford the luxuries of health insurance, food, clothing and shelter.
In the land of Californium.