Hey, Bill, why not make the case that Global Warming is a crock of bull? Well you sure would like to, but tooo bad. You can’t. You’re not a scientist. You’re a government-hating Libertarian. Then again, for some people – namely you – that’s good enough.
So why not take your best shot at the Big Theory? Why not try to blow it out of the water? Fine. So Bill composes a gawdawful boring, long-ass children’s story about polar bears who are tired of hearing lies and being harassed by a government that now oppresses them with climate science. Ooh, edgy.
The White Ones know and can prove that Global Warming’s a mountain of hooey. Why, how? I just told you, they’re polar bears, duh. And they say that the worst winter ever is coming. And, look, it’s all happening! Where? In the story! Brrrr–see? Well, that should do it, freedom!
It’s a familiar Libertarian strategy: indictment by long-form comic book. Just buy their fairy-tale and then ours will no longer make any sense.
G.P. Bear Goes to Washington: The True Story of a Freedom-Loving Carnivore
by Bill Steigerwald
“…because of global climate change, polar bears are suffering population losses and may soon become extinct. Rising temperatures are melting the sea ice earlier and earlier each summer, leaving the bears less time to hunt for their primary food – ringed seals. If we don’t reduce our burning of fossil fuels soon, scientists say the only place our children will be able to see these magnificent creatures will be in a zoo or in a Walt Disney movie. For CNN, I’m Anderson Cooper.”
“Extinct!?” Grandpa roared, slapping the arms of his leather chair with his huge paws. “Melting sea ice!? Shrinking bear populations? Who writes this junk science, Al Gore?”
“Don’t get upset, Dad,” said Mother, looking up from her latest copy of Reason magazine. “It’s CNN. What do you expect? Fairness? Balance?”
Now there’s a glibertarian tell. As if Reason magazine were printed on Gore-Tex, rather than the vellum of Burmese infants.
“What were they saying about polar bears dying, Grandpa?” asked Junior, looking worried as he came in from the kitchen with a bottle of Coke.
“Nothing, Junior. Nothing,” Grandpa grumbled. “Just a lot of make-believe.”
After dinner, Grandpa read Junior a bedtime story. As Grandpa was about to turn off the nightlight, Junior asked, “Grandpa, why do you yell at the TV? The people in it can’t hear you.”
“I just get mad when humans make us look like sissies who can’t handle a little change in the weather. We’re polar bears, for Pete’s sake. We’re not helpless victims. We don’t need the government, Keith Olbermann, Greenpeace, Leonardo DiCaprio or anyone else to protect us from Mother Nature.”
Why would data collection tell you, or me, anything at all about the Arctic? Why would temperature, snowpack, humidity, CO2 and solar radiation measurements tell us anything more than what a 10 year-old polar bear already knows? Then again, if you want the whole story, you might try asking the dinosaurs – they’ve been around for hundreds of millions of years, though not so much in the recent era. And there’s the problem: the last 10 years are fine, but the story gets told over thousands or millions of years. And 99.9% of all the species that ever existed have been murdered by that bitch, Mother Nature, in spite of their ideology. And extinction rates are way, way up thanks to Modern Forces You May Be Aware Of. So maybe asking the polar bears, particular the ones in Bill’s fertile imagination, is a bad idea.
Junior’s eyes popped open. “Grandpa! Mother! The ice was all gone! We were stuck on a tiny iceberg. The ocean was boiling!”
“It was just a silly nightmare, Junior,” soothed Mother. “The ice isn’t melting. See?” she said, patting the rock-hard wall of their cave.
Grandpa was fuming. He gritted his big teeth and looked Junior straight in his teary eyes.
“Boy,” he said firmly, “I’m going to tell you something I want you to remember for the rest of your life. We are polar bears. We are the largest land carnivores on Earth. We are the species ursus maritimus – ‘bears of the sea.’ We can swim 200 miles. We can walk 100 miles a day.
“We learned how to live on this frozen wasteland at the top of the world thousands of years before humans discovered fire. There are 25,000 of us alive today – twice as many as 50 years ago. We are not going to become extinct – no matter what Principal Hansen and her computers say. Now go to sleep – and no more silly nightmares.”
The African black rhino is a pretty rugged beast, too. Six feet tall, 10 feet long and weighing 3000 pounds. But the Southern black rhino went extinct around 1850. The North-eastern black rhino went extinct in the 1920’s. The Western black rhino can’t be found any more, and it was finally declared extinct three years ago. The numbers of black rhino have shrunken down to only about 5,000 animals. And what about the mighty tiger? Brace yourselves, folks. There are only 3,000 left.
If Bill’s polar bears think that 25,000 is some terrific number, they’re dumb as dogs. Human beings over-hunting and decimating vital habit has become so prevalent as to be boring. The real breakthrough in this tragedy has been our 150 year effort to change the entire planet’s climate all at once and then see what happens next. A carnivore that depends almost entirely on sea ice won’t be fine after the ice is gone, no matter how civilized and articulate the species appears to be. In a cartoon.
Anyway Grandpa decides to go to Washington to tell everybody they’re idiots. How? By riding an iceberg. “Icebergs make it as far south as New York City all the time,” Grandpa replied, stabbing the map with his pointer. Oookay.
For the next two months, Grandpa’s magical iceberg traveled faster than any had ever traveled before or since. Exactly as Grandpa planned, it sped south and met up with the swift Labrador Current, which swung it around the Island of Newfoundland, through the treacherous Grand Banks and down into the North Atlantic.
As Grandpa predicted, it was the coldest, most ferocious winter in North America in 1,000 years. By Thanksgiving the entire East Coast was locked in a brutal cold spell. For the first time since 1776, the Potomac River and Chesapeake Bay were frozen solid.
…hmmm. The worst in “1,000 years”? Freaky. How perfectly unpredictably predictable, for polar bears. And their limousine icebergs.
The weather in Washington was perfect for polar bears. A vicious Arctic air mass had been parked over the city for weeks, pounding it with a series of blizzards that closed most government offices. Not even Al Roker could explain its mysterious origins.
Twenty-four hours later, as the three polar bears walked up the middle of the frozen Potomac River, they saw the Washington Monument shining in the distance. Grandpa smiled. “We’ve made it, kids. Now comes the hard part – getting the politicians in this town to do the right thing.”
If Global Warming is such a crock, why is this exposé so “magical” and “mysterious”? Yeah, I don’t get it either. Fine, the science remains in vogue because nothing really bizarre has occurred to challenge it. Absent reading this polar bear story, it’s still the accepted way we understand things. It’s outrageous thinking on our part.
But then, just imagine if a meteor had struck D.C. while “Grandpa” polar bear was around. It would have proven that our rain is made of fiery stone. Oops, reload: Just think if Bill Steigerwald had written a story where a meteor struck D.C. while “Grandpa” was around. THAT would have proven that our rain is made of flaming stone. Better.
“These should fit,” Mother said, handing Grandpa a dark herringbone three-button wool suit, matching vest and wide-striped tie like the one she had seen Jimmy Stewart wearing in the movie “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.” “Your eyeglasses are in the breast pocket.”
“And here’s your costume, Junior,” Mother said, giving him a pair of home-made blue jeans and a Chicago Cubs T-shirt to go with his backpack and Cubs baseball cap. “And your glasses. Don’t ever take them off when we’re in the presence of humans.”
After Mother put on her black skirt, blouse and seashell pink blazer, she pulled out her pair of gray Kawasaki 704 eyeglasses and put them on. Except for her black nose, she looked eerily like Sarah Palin…
And here’s where we see how fast Sarah Bear can produce a .30-.30 and blow her own head off. From the safety of a helicopter, if that’s at all possible.
They walked across the frozen Tidal Basin to the Washington Monument, where Grandpa hoped to take an elevator ride to the top. But it was closed because of the horrible weather, so instead they visited the National World War II Memorial and the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.
As they strolled past the brightly lit White House, two wary policemen in a patrol car slowed down to look them over.
“Wave, Mother,” Grandpa said under his breath as the policeman driving the car shined a spotlight on them. “Wave, Junior.”
The policeman hesitated. He squinted his eyes. Something seemed very, very fishy. He unlocked the shotgun attached to the dashboard of his patrol car…
…The End! Yes! That’s the end.
[…editor’s note: Bill has contacted me to say he’s added on a few more chapters. And I really should read these, and fathom them, and update the reader, etc. Umm, no.]