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.