Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, but in a distant past unsullied by globalist politicians disguising themselves as Southern Baptist, and Democratic former Vice Presidents, there lived an ancient God. This God was murdered by an evil with a name, and that name is "global warming." Now, you shouldn't think that this evil force of destruction, and the loss of sovereignty that followed in the wake of the foul globalist bearer of bad news known as "carbon taxes," had no alias, in fact, it's alias was "environmentalism," and was all the more scary as it's roots were in truth. Fiction, however dominated the dna code of this foul beast, destroyer of ancient Gods, and an unsuspecting, and foolish public fawned upon him all the graces meant for the Lion of the Pride of Judah.
Behold, I make all things more expensive, less reliable, and more often replaced, and you shall believe that it is GOOD!
Thus spake Al Gorathustra, and he spoke not with his own mouth, but with the mouth of money, which bought, and sold his own mouth, and then Al Gorathustra slithered away unto his fine mansion, and he was kept warm in the winters by millions upon millions of kilowatts that the Gods of money had bestowed upon him for his clever jargon, which befuddled the mild, meek, and altogether stupid public in the land known as Americana.
Behold, Tipper, I, the great "I WAS" have destroyed the Americana reliable air conditioning industry with my energy efficiency laws!
Then the foul Tipper gave an evil grin, and said,
This is why I married you, o' Gorathustra! You've even topped my parental guidance stickers on that crap that our Media Mogul friends try to describe as music!
Then Al Gorathustra came down from his mountain home, the home kept warm by the gods of money, and the billions of kilowatts that they'd furnished, and he set off to see what had become of his friend, the Profit of Americana.
"We can't be so fixated on our desire to preserve the rights of ordinary Americans"-former President Bill Clinton, U.S.A. Today, March 11, 1993.
Thus spake the Profit of Americana, friend and cohort of Gorathustra, and so it was. So Let it be written, so let it be done!
And THEN, One Summer At Band Camp. . . .
Then, after the meeting of the Great Gorathustra, and the Profit of Americana; both of these fallen Gods returned home to their hideously ugly wives, and their wives pounced upon them with all of the fantasies that their feverish minds had produced from their massive, and elaborate pegging video collections.