Dear Al Gore,
Look, I know you’ve trashed your legacy of being one of the United States’ vice presidents and opted instead to build your legacy upon being a higher-paid weatherman without a degree. That’s fine. You can tarnish the Gore name if you want to. But I write to you today to ask if you could maybe stop doing it in such a way that it affects the rest of us.
See, I live in the D.C. area, northern Virginia specifically, and yesterday, and the night leading into it, we experienced yet…another…snowfall. I believe it was this area’s, what, 43rd snowfall this winter? Yeah, and that’s just too much to handle. I’m really getting tired of shoveling my driveway. It’s laborious, for one, plus I had to go out there this morning at the same time as my dreadlock-headed, pot-smoking, loudmouth neighbor was shoveling his. I don’t like him.
What does this have to do with you? I’m glad you asked.
It was almost adorable for a while, the way you traveled around the world in private jets, putting into the atmosphere a larger portion of that “poisonous” carbon dioxide in one day than most of us do in a month, only to land and give a speech about how bad carbon dioxide is. It was a hoot. And aside from that family you inspired to kill their infant daughter and themselves for fear of global warming, your doomsday prognostications never really hurt anyone.
But surely you must have realized by now that Mother Nature (or do you prefer Gaia?) is wonderful at playing practical jokes, and that you’ve been the butt of them for quite a while. Every time you make a PowerPoint presentation, we get dumped on with the white stuff. You were in South Africa a few days ago, in fact, to talk about how the Earth is heating up, and sure enough, we here on the other side of the globe are experiencing record cold temperatures (aside from that lovely warm spell we just had, which I believe was Nature’s attempt to provoke you into talking some more about how warm it’s getting, only to turn around and make a mockery of you again).
I’m sure it’s a wonderful trade-off for you, earning six figures each time you give a little speech, but what about us, the little people? Isn’t there some other way you can make your millions other than doing something that provokes the heavens to make you look like a fool by dumping loads of ice upon us? Golf, perhaps? Or, ooh, how about interior decorating? I hear that’s lucrative.
I could, of course, ask Miss Nature to stop being so cruel to you and indifferent to the effects that that cruelty has on us, but nature is more powerful than I. I’m merely human; I will have no effect on her. That, and I don’t think she reads my blog anyway.
So that’s why I’ve written you instead, to request that you stop giving speeches about the Earth warming. Every time you do, millions of people end up having to shovel their driveways. I, for one, have bulked up nicely, it’s true, and I thank you for noticing, but it still makes me sore.
Please, Mr. Gore, cease and desist.