Global Warming Explained and Explored For Boys

I used to wonder why the Sauk and Fox Indians migrated to Canada in the summer, well my question has been answered. Can you imagine the global warming caused by buffalo farts? And they condemn the White Man for killing all of them? That saved a lot of footwork for the Indians. And we could solve the problem of excessive heat and deadly monsoons in India if they didn’t keep all the cows. With 5 servings of vegetables daily, human methane production will soon rival that of the humble cow. The only solution now to save the Earth from global warming is to cultivate large populations of predators, as least enough wolves and cougars to devour the eco -loons on the West coast. And without the rumbling of human farts from L.A. to San Francisco, the tectonics plates may get a chance to settle down, thus preventing that dreaded San Andreas Fault quake that will send the movie stars into the Pacific.
The dinosaurs survived in a tropical climate, naturally caused by the huge herbivorous Diplodicus and Brotosaurs. The advent of the large carnivores, obviously snuffing out the farts as well as the lives of the huge veggie lovers, caused the global cooling which killed them all. So much for the foolish “asteroid” theory, it was the lack of gargantuan flora farts that was the real culprit, they all just froze to death. As humans became more successful hunters and were able to take down the ever-farting Wooly Mammoth and Mastodon, Cro-Magnon man’s meat filled colons produced such weak and ineffective farts, that the ice-age occurred. It was only after the humans ran out of meat, they were forced to dig for lichen and forbs, thus producing enough potency in their pre-pooping stage, that the ice melted due to the greenhouse gasses emitted by the bean eaters.
The worst mistake made by the green people was the pants beshitting of the Prius drivers, as I’m sure these putrid excretions were accompanied or preceded by farts. In fact, the farting made the cars go faster, like a jet engine, thereby nullifying the braking systems.
In summation, the real problem with the world is farts, yet the Earth herself farts though volcanoes. And then, in rare and inauspicious times, they actually have diarrhea, thus leading to much destruction and entertaining photos in Latin books. The book, An Inconvenient Truth by Al Gore, was originally titled, The Inconspicuous Fart, but he was told by some publishers, that , in the street vernacular, the “Carp” was not a subject to draw much attention, so after meeting with some great minds in Seattle, he was convinced that a fantasy book was more in order, one more lucrative than silencing your farts. In fact, someone got ahold of Gore’s original manuscript, and as by now this frog had become a prince, they discerned he was always writing about global warming and blaming the fart for the devastation of the planet. But herein lies the rub. You see, with all the meat farts emitted by the polar bears, their environment would never be at risk, the only ones to blame in that clime would be the reindeer and it’s cousin the caribou. Now, Gore forbids drilling in Alaska because it could harm the dangerously farty caribou, so isn’t he contributing to the problem? I deduce he is. But if the nations consumed more beans, the greenhouse effect would grow, but be would be offset by the lack of necessity for jet fuel, as super farts could do the transporting. All that would be needed were gliders and Tom Toms. Have I solved, confused, or obfuscated the dilemma? That is what all great thinkers do, and I, as the greatest and most famous author and thinker of all, I have done my job well.
CHANNELED BY BEAUCH CATTCHOP

Mothman

My son was had gone to a BMX award ceremony in Lincoln Illinois, and then he and his seven year old son when the St.Louis Six Flags for the annual Fright Night Celebrations. On the way back to his hotel, his GPS malfunctioned and took him to an old cemetary, which he neglects to mention in his article. He called me late at night and asked me about Mothman, and I said I heard he was some large crane with red eyes that stood about four feet tall, and that’s what the people were seeing late at night and scaring them. Here is what he wrote.

We were in Pacifica, MO, tonight around 11:30 PM and noticed a massive flying creature, not once but three times. My son even noticed it on his own the third time. We were near a large cliff/mountain with some type of cave openings. We don’t live in the area, I can say for sure we turned onto a road called Viaduct Road, went past a fire station and continued on for about 1 mile before we first noticed it. It was brownish/grey and the body portion was at least the size of a large adult human. This creature was tracking us – in a circle pattern. We were driving an Escalade with the blue color headlights and this may have cause interest in us. The third time around we viewed it in front of the vehicle, around the driver side and around towards the rear of the vehicle. The factory tinted windows did help it vanish into the sky from our point of view.

Please understand when we could see it the range must have been about 150 feet in the air, not more than 250 feet. The distance was never less than 100 yards, often much greater. We were going about 35- 45 MPH. I have never thought of anything like this in my life! Afterwards at  3:33 AM  my son and myself were wide awake in a hotel, 17 miles away from the place we first noticed the creature. Please notify me if you become aware of similar sightings. Thanks.

When I was asking him about this, I asked is he could see the wings, and he said he could barely see them but the whole entity appeared more like a bat, wings and all. He was up half the night researching birds in the area, as was I. I found the large Blue Heron is a night flyer and smaller a heron is a night flyer there too.  We live around tons of Great Horned Owls and have seen them flying at dusk so we are very familiar with them. We also have a habitat on the river that is a refuge for bald eagles. Having seen owls and eagles, he said it was not one of them and the body looked like a large man. The color does not fit either type of Heron around the Mississippi River in Missouri, so we are stumped. The head of ornithology at a university told me it was hard to judge the real distance at night but she wrote another authority who said it was great imagination, but she gets several of these calls a year. The head of the ornithology department then suggested to her they should more closely monitor the heron population in that area.

Was it an odd colored great Blue Heron, or Mothman? We don’t know but are very glad we don’t live near there. My son received an email from a person who had noticed in that area, the owls were not coming out at night anymore and coyotes were hiding  under buildings or anywhere they could find. If an entity frightens owls and coyotes so much, I’m sure it would scare me.  I think it had to be a bird, but there have been reports of Pteranodon type animals, and it really sounds like one of them. This is all true, but I still think it was a giant bird of some sort. What do you think?

Ravens

I was on my favorite website, Celebrate Urban Birds, when I came upon a section of the site which gave the calls of various birds. Never  before do I believe I have heard a raven, not even knowing if they have residence in my area. But on a walk to the local grade school three days ago, I thought I heard one, remembering its distinct call from Celebrate Urban Birds. I looked in the tall and naked black branched trees, but did not spot any bird at all, but I suppose in the dense cover of these particularly heavily twisted branches of this arboreal oddity, it would not be expected to see anything at all, especially a bird so black. The call I heard, and remembered from the site, was like a common crow mixed with the harshness of a blue jay.

But let’s face it now, this post is not about ornithology, but the family named Raven. First my apologies to the wonderful people here and in Britain who share this grand surname, for this is just about one of them, my estranged husband, but oh poo, even writing those words sticks in my craw like I spoke them. His last name was not Raven, the his Mother had come from England and that was her family name, and she was a beauty, as was her mother, I must admit. My Raven was very handsome and had gleaming black hair, or maybe it was feathers,  and seemed normal, but as the years passed, this Raven sat on the bust of Pallas above my chamber door too long. If I ever asked if I could have some money, or if we could ever get a better house, or a bucket of paint, his answer was, “Nevermore”. He had this odd talents where he could gain access to the roof by shinnying up a downspout and run back and forth on the ridge like some kind of demon from the nether regions. He must have really been a raven, as he scowled everyday looking out then window, I envisioned him not sitting but perched. He hunkered in a chair because it must have been the closest he could get without actually displaying  his avian heritage , thereby exposing his true nature. I would not be surprised to see him hanging out with the Tower of London ravens, their collective memories at work awaiting a tasty morsel, like a still moist eye from a severed heard or going for the innards of some poor soul who was drawn and quartered flapping toward the intestines still in the act of their final quiverings hoping a few good pecks would expose some still undigested partridge or blood pudding. Oh the feasts the ravens of yore must have had on the impaled heads on the tower bridge, so yes, my estranged could definitely be one or them. Somewhere deep in his cerebellum he remembered and felt how his forbears lived and could not endure this human form with which, unfortunately, he was cursed. Oh heck no, it was me who was cursed until he fled the bust of Pallas when this raven became without worth and would start demanding tribute from me. No tribute for you, you eye-picker, so disembowel some other victim, there is nothing left here. So off he flew into the night, but the word “Nevermore” is still heard in my head everyday, and it has diminished me to nothing more that a gibbeted treat for the tower ravens.

October’s End

I knew this October would not be the glowing consolation prize received by us all for the impending Winter. The leaves stayed green, as usual on the silver maples until the third week in October. I walked the seven-year old to school, and everything was as it should be, but this was a short day and school dismissed at around eleven o’clock. I flew out the door, fearing I would be late carrying an umbrella to shield myself from the ever-present rain, and when we got back to the house, they yard was full of lemon yellow perfect leaves and the tree was next to bare. This all happened within a few hours. I never have seen anything like this. The change would be gradual and lovely to see, and for about three years the yellow leaves have lasted two weeks into November, but this year my  trees started waving their bony fingers at the sullen skies too early like they couldn’t wait to rid themselves of the last of those parasitic leaves that gave them life all through the Spring and Summer. I remember the day their red winter buds burst open revealing somethings that alway reminded me of grapenuts, and I have no idea what they are, but they fall like cereal orbs all in the gutters and everywhere causing immediate gutter cleaning because rain-soaked grape nuts will hold back anything, they are like lead. But soon the first tiny leaves appeared, and as Frost said, “Nature’s first green is gold, it’s hardest hue to hold” and I knew this time was short, but was in love with these days. Then as the leaves filled out and turned true green, of course the next deluge was the helicopter pods the trees shoot off leaving the hope of hundreds of new babies of which it seems, ninety percent survive. And if you don’t get to your gutters fast enough, the infant trees begin to grow because of the leftover dirty grape nuts which must be like egg sacs to them. Well, anyway, I was cheated out of the thinning of the green as the leaves yellow appeared slowly on a daily basis. I was so mad at the trees, I wanted to put those Halloween tree faces on them, preferably ones with big buck teeth, but it’s really not their fault, they are just making a fool out of Al Gore, because we also barely had a summer. I suppose Winter will come like a Jack Frost cartoon and I will bring out my old Ebay Mouton coat which I never have worn, because I don’t make a good Joan Crawford impersonator. And now racing season is almost over, and I can’t content myself for shopping for hoaky snowmen and Christmas trees that look like rocket ships or ornaments that look like they were prizes won at a carnival. My Lady Mollie living near Indianapolis will feel the depression of a cold winter too, and without the sound of Cosworth engines and our hopes for Juan Montoya winning the Nascar championship being crushed, we will be a somber couple awaiting New Years Eve where we put Fred and Ginger to shame.

The Last Days of Summer

I think the last roses of Sharon are blooming on the bushes down the street. Today some artifact from a variety of tree unknown to me has shed some russet leaves that look like maple, but my old and huge silver maples haven’t turned yet and are called by many simply weed trees. Yet they soar seemingly to the clouds and I will have a while to wait before the delicious lemon hues appear. Already the leaves are starting to pale, although yet fully green. Some tiny late summer dandelions have appeared, nothing in comparison to the giant shaggy glories of the Spring. The poison ivy that climbs the trees in the distance has already put on its suit of crimson. What a beautiful and maligned plant. I discovered a small plant next to one of the silver maples that has black berries on it hanging  just like it was a tomato vine, of course I have no idea what that is, but it’s probably some poison filled dainty, so I won’t touch it. The elderberry clusters are all sagging now and drying out. Early in the morning the haze is coming almost obscuring the view of the neighbor’s apple tree. They aren’t even red yet. The apples down the road are growing bigger every day, and I don’t remember apples ripening so late, but I don’t remember things that I really never paid attention to. When I had apple trees in my back yard, all I remember is that the fruit was almost square from worms because I was afraid of any insecticides. But I sure knew when they were ripe, the little cubes would fall rapidly and be attacked by thousands of yellow jackets. I haven’t seen a yellow jacket yet either, but the mud wasps are still busy. This is the time of year some rather large brownish-orange spiders build webs that can go from your car to the fence and from the fence to the top of your roof. One year one of these arachnids built a perfect orb web right in the middle of the garden arch and would build these in the evening, yet every morning it was gone. I did find the spider sleeping in a rose, and the next evening she was back doing her architectural duties. This went on for at least a week, until one evening I saw her descend on a rather thick web appearing to be striving with another spider. Then I realized she was mating. Of course the smaller male spider became dinner and she never came back and built her web again. Now I think the whole purpose of these giant webs was to attract or entangle a mate. Somewhere she strode away with a belly full of eggs and after that I don’t know what. Baby spiders being born in the waning days of summer, where did they go? My Blue Jay would have loved to eat them, but the human won’t let him have spiders, she thinks they will kill him, but he was slipped a juicy one once and enjoyed it immensely with no ill effects.  The summer heat abides, but soon will give way to the call of the goose heading south and the winds will blow.

In An Atheistic Society, How Do We Deal With Mother Nature?

I have always wondered this, without any purposeful creation, oft-times we use Mother Nature instead, or just nature. We say nature takes care of its own and that this or that is the natural way things should be, but if we are all just accidents of some cosmic dyspeptic event, then the phrase, “the natural way” has no meaning, it’s invalid because it necessitates some kind of reason. But without meaningful creation, or as Einstein said, “a roll of the dice”, nothing is important to the cosmos at all. So I guess it just comes down to the human being and his fears and longings and somewhat fantastical beliefs that the term, “all is well” at any given time makes sense, but he needs cosmos not chaos, and that is impossible without intelligent design.  Mother Nature is cruel and most likely a bad witch, so some god must appear in the human psyche so he can survive the vagaries of his pathetic existence.

Hello world!

Hello,  I have keen interests in almost everything. My main concern is America and her position in the new world. Since I believe people never really change, the world can’t really change but just recycle old ideas they think are new.