WORLD WAR BABEL ON BE

With trusted sources Pooky the Hey Ya drummer and Al Sharpton professing CO2 poison, it’s really an inconvenient truth the much maligned molecule is also the reason there is oxygen to breathe. Keeping with the cunning linguistics of simply screeching “FOLLOW THE SCIENCE!” that’s replaced actual science these daze, it is sound policy to blame the trees!

Replacing history with warm fuzzies and the paving stones of good intention, Doctor Seuss’s Lorax feeds daisies while the new Greenches who stole Christmas and call for the extinction of all carbon based life forms have mobilized an army of sneetches wielding cartoonishly large sheers at the edge of the Amazon to begin an all out assault on the poison emitting (or is it absorbing?) rain forest currently pumping too much of something, you know the thing, into the atmosphere, likely some kind of greenhouse praxis. Although God has been canceled in the public square and now the only source of ancient wisdom is a career government bureaucrat whose previous credits include killing AID’s patients with AZT, there were once things called absolutes that were certain objects of irrefutable truth. The sky is blue. Sticks and stones break bones, but…words? How about numbers? Two plus two equals five. I mean four! Rats! Viruses that return seasonally are endemic. No? Don’t you know the correct term is now neverending pandemic?

Just like carbon monoxide is what climate change is to global warming (intentionally easily confused) just what’s emitting and being absorbed kind of gets lost in the Fog of Gwar.

Meanwhile, on the home front, The Fatherland DC is fortifying its boundaries again like it did after the fiery but mostly peaceful deadly insurrection of old women and Simpsons larpers who practically made congressional medal of honor recipients of congressmen and women cowering on the floor of the House behind locked doors. In the back of a vintage 1961 limousine chauffeured by the cross dressing General Milley sporting a lovely purple Mumu with a silver hummingbird broach, Beijing Biden tours the perimeter sucking on a swizzle stick as his aviators reflect the blinding light of the sun.

“Hey fats, I’m taking you behind the shed and we’re gonna get down on our bellies and push our hands on the ground until we rise up several times…come on, man! You know the thing!”

Used to his commander in chief’s standard phrasing, General Milley glances in the rearview mirror and tries to redirect him, “Walls make good neighbors, sir.”

“I’ve got hairy legs.”

In the distance Cole Porter’s ghost plays on the roof of the Ambassador Hotel as Liberachi lies seductively across the vast expanse of the grand piano wearing Bill Clinton’s blue dress from the painting trafficked from Jeffrey Epstein’s townhouse.

I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences
And gaze at the moon till I lose my senses
And can't look at hobbles and I can't stand fences
Don't fence me in.

Back in the back of the limo, Scar Joe gets all Mufasa on Frilly Milley, “When I die, I’ll become the grass. And I want you hold me in until you choke.”

“Sir?”

Suddenly, from nowhere panic sneaks up on the old bastard from behind and shivers him to his very timbers, causing him to exclaim, “Where the hell am I!”

“We’re out here inspecting the barrier we’re erecting to protect you and I from the threat about to descend on our city,”

“Russians?” Joe whispers.

“No,” General Milley laughs, then gets all somber and dour and serious before saying with utmost disdain, “The People.”

Joe sits back in the limo, relieved and puts his arms across the length of the back seat, “And I love it when roaches jump on my lap.”

Ten thousand miles away in Red Square, Vladimir Putin gives a press conference from the mausoleum, standing atop the transparent sarcophagus, trampling on the top of his namesake Lenin’s grave. Shamelessly bare face, Vlad inhales the stale, sickly air and says, “There will be no mandatory vaccinations here, comrades.” He then puts on his red MRGA hat and peaces out like an OG.

Satan bursts from the stargate of the CERN hadron collider entombed in a block of ice. Tattooed across his burly red chest, the epitaph RUSSIA IS MORE FREE