You have been led astray, and that’s why I write this
letter today.
My brother, the Lorax, though he means well, spreads rumors
of disaster that I feel I must quell.
It all started in college where he majored in Sociology,
and so to you I issue this apology. He became liberal and soft like the Grickle-grass
under foot, pointing his finger about smoginess and soot.
A hippie, a tree hugger, misguided, indeed. Recycling and
bicycling and speaking for trees, as if there were need.
“The Truffala Trees, the Truffala trees,” he cries and he
judges. From his soapbox, he scarcely budges. Looking down his Lorax nose at
you and at me, refusing to see he need not speak for the trees.
He wasn’t always this way I tell you my friend. He took
suit with the Bar-ba-loots and that was the end. Dope-smoking degenerates, those
Bar-ba-loots are, preaching sustainability and strumming guitars.
My brother, like I, grew up with religion. A detail he
hides for fear of derision. Like you and like I, he followed the Savior, and partook
in none of this immoral behavior. A creationist, pro-life and anti-gay, he
heard the Swomee-Swan song and they led him away.
He joined PETA, ate organic and became ever bolder—began to
believe that the Earth was much older.
His conclusions, these delusions, were liberal and
misguided. “The Earth was warming,” he warned and he chided. “Global warming is
a farce,” I said to my brother, but he spewed his false beliefs one after
another.
“I speak for the trees,” my brother insisted. Yet, even I
knew his logic was twisted. “Fossil
fuels are to blame and the weather is changing,” his beliefs are so wrong, so
liberal and wide-ranging.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” I said with correction,
knowing full well I’d meet his objection. “Buy an SUV, you’ll feel so much
better, and forget all about your ideas on the weather. Forget all about your
fears of pollution. If there’s a problem, buying more is the solution.”
He huffed and he shouted, he foamed and he spit; “It’s
you that’s got it wrong; you’re voting for Mitt.”
“Get a job,” I retorted from under his glare. “Become a
banker, a lawyer; start a family in Whoville, who cares? Just stop with this nonsense,
for once and for all. Buy this and buy that, spend more at the mall.”
He turned on his heel and left in a shout, back to his protests
on Wall Street, no doubt.
And, so on this Earth Day, I make this confession, to
free you all of environmental oppression. My brother, the Lorax, says he speaks
for the trees and has developed a following who whole-heartedly agrees.
These people, they’re soft; their ideals are wrong. They
blog on their MacBooks and puff on their bongs.
Consume more for the economy, I soundly advise. Pay no
more attention to my brother, his lies.
And so, dear reader, this concludes my fair notice. I’m
the Lorax’s brother. Buy more.
Yours,
Otis
CJM
CJM
1 comment:
I love it!
Post a Comment