Everyone gets junk mail. Few people are likely to form decisions based on the timing and receipt of such notices. Whenever I get something in the mail from the Arbor Day Foundation, The Nature Conservancy, or some other similar group, I politely issue a check for the minimum amount required on their demand form, and then I circle a date on my calendar by which point I have to burn some serious plastic.
I’m not talking just plastic, either. I make sure I’ve got plenty of Styrofoam in there too. Anything essentially biodegradable—anything that will tear a fucking huge hole in the ozone layer—because I’ve gotten to the point I can’t stand winter. After the coldest March on record, and another seven month winter, I’m in no mood to hear about global warming anymore. This little rock needs my help.
So, as the other members and subscribers to these magazines sip their fucking hot tea and wear their Birkenstocks bitching about how Republicans and Democrats are ruining the world, I’ll be out there on the front lines doing something about this nonsense.
I’ve discovered that my Granddad liked to bury tires out by the old pond. I’ll bet that shit will burn pretty damned hot for a while…
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