I would just like to remind everyone that my book My Tank is Fight! is out now and you can buy it from Amazon. It's a pretty good book and I bet you will like it, although I don't really bet money too often. So check it out, mates, mateys, arrr and what have you.
Alright, that wasn't too bad and I promise I won't bug you about the book for a while.
Peak oil is the name for something very bad. It is when everybody takes all of the oil out of the base of the ground and then uses it up and there isn't anymore oil. There is no oil to run your car or cook your food or clean your clothes with so you have to walk everywhere and eat cold pizzas and wash you clothes with a rock. It royally sucks.
The reasons for peak oil being such a big problem now are many. One thing is that a lot of people think America is trading war for oil, but don't tell Americans that because the prices at the pumps are outrageous, only not right now because there's an election. Those times President Bush stands on top of a truck and drives around throwing chocolate coins to everyone and it's the best birthday ever.
Another big reason there is going to be peak oil is that the dinosaurs died. Humans turn into blood and guts when we die. Androids turn into milk when they die. Cats and dogs turn into bills from the veterinarian when they die, which is the most wrathful resource of all. Aliens turn into acid, or so science might say, but who knows for sure.
The one thing we do know is that the only good oil comes from dinosaurs, but when was the last time you saw a dinosaur? Not recently. The dinosaurs died in a terrible holocaust over a million years ago. Who knows how they died? Some say it was a meteor, there was something about an ice age and then still others think twas beauty killed the beast and also hoof and mouth disease.
If there were dinosaurs all over the place humans could just put them in pens and take out their oil, but there are almost no dinosaurs. The only one I could find was Loch Ness Monster and he's a fierce beast who keeps to the shadows. He is so mysterious that some think he might not even be a dinosaur, but people spend years chasing his oil anyway. God, I want a dinosaur as a friend.
The big fear is that as we are finding less and less oil and gasoline to put in our cars there is more and more demand. There aren't just more people from babies and Mexico, but now Chinese guys can afford to buy a car. There are more people in China than in all of the rest of the universe put together, so if all of the Chinese suddenly have money they are going to all want cars and gasoline and dinosaurs. Talk about rush hour, sheesh! Heh.
I would get a dinosaur egg from a scientist and wrap it up inside an electric blanket and put cedar chips down in a box. I could put little headphones on it and play it Baby Einstein tapes so it gets smart as fuck and then watch it pip out of there with its little egg tooth deal. Then I would wipe off all of the goo and lift it up in my arms and hold it to me and give it a name. It's a boy! Spencer! Bless his little heart!
I would take him for walks and teach him how to eat meat and catch his first cricket. He could learn hops and little laughs. I bet he would squawk. I would take him to a farm and set him loose to chase chickens around (but not let him hurt them!). I would buy him a little sweater that says "SPENCER" on it and I would buy a matching sweater that says "HAWK" on it. We could go to the Harley Davidson store and pick out a motorcycle with a sidecar. I could give him little goggles so the dust doesn't get in his eyes and we can drive all over the countryside.
China with so many people comes onto the market and it tips the balance. Suddenly that precarious situation with oil is flipped and the world is heading towards economic collapse! People are filling their cars with whiskey and kerosene, gas lines stretch for tens of miles and a gallon of gasoline costs as much as a Kevlar sled. Luckily we still have power because coal and natural gas are limitless and we can still watch TV and play Saints Row, but all we can watch on TV is news shows about gas lines and gas riots and gas suicides. The hit record will be "Where's the Gas?!" by Huey Lewis who came out of retirement JUST for that song and then shot himself right afterward to make a point.
Spencer keeps me company and he peeps forlornly as chaos grips the city. He hops up and down on the seat of the sidecar. No, Spencer. No, I say to him. There is no gas to go in the motorcycle. He hops and peeps again. No!!! I throw a newspaper at him and he beeps in fear and hides under my equally useless car. I want to die, poor Spencer. I don't mean it, Spencer.
Sun sets on a quiet city. China has taken everything! Our job, our gas. I watch on CNN Larry King says that helicopters will be bringing gas from Iraq but just enough so that the Secret Service can drive once around the driveway and then come back to the White House. His suspenders creak and I think it's Spencer, but it isn't. I call him. I shake his treat can with the cricket flavored bone biscuits. It takes me an hour to find him and he is in a duct shivering. I have never thrown anything at Spencer and he doesn't understand.
Oh god what has this lust for oil done to me I say and I hang my head in my hands as I sit next to the duct. I never meant to lash out at my only friend in this world. I'm sorry Spencer.
Spencer hops merrily out of the vent and scratches at the treats I have laid out for him. He grabs one in his tiny needle teeth and tilts his head back and swallows it whole. He hops onto my lap and he licks my face. Oh my you smell like crickets! I laugh and cry at the same time.
Things turned out okay for me and Spencer, but this is why peak oil must be avoided at all costs. We must find an alternative to this dangerous addiction to fossil fuels. This time it was just a dream. Just Spencer and a newspaper, but next time it could be Iran and war. Remember that.
Thank you, and good luck!
Hows about you, me, and five uncomfortable minutes in my basement apartment next to the dusty Christmas tree that's still up from my last visit with my estranged children.
The Upper Kitchen Cabinet Where Your Roommate Keeps His Food: You’ll 'need the footstool' to reach your roommate’s 'fine selection' of 'stale cereal,' but he'll never notice if 'only a little is missing from each box.' Feel less guilty by reminding yourself that Jeff 'acts weird around your girlfriend,' and always 'asks about her.' What a 'creep.'
This ain't your daddy's globe...! .... or is it?!
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