Sunday, June 12, 2011

'Addicted to oil',

I’m not addicted to oil. I’m addicted to being able to drive into town on my own schedule. I’m addicted to being able to haul home a week’s worth of groceries with two little kids in tow without having to wait for the fucking bus with eighty pounds of filled plastic bags in my hands. (That’s disregarding the fact that I live out in the sticks, and the nearest bus stop is four miles away, which is one hell of a hike with the aforementioned two little kids and week’s worth of groceries.)

I don’t give a shit what kind of substance I have to put in the tank of the minivan to feed that particular addiction. I don’t care about oil. If my minivan ran on distilled cow piss, I’d fill up with distilled cow piss. If they ever come up with an electric minivan that goes the speed limit on the Interstate, accelerates to highway speeds in less time than a geologic epoch, and doesn’t need to be recharged every fifty miles with electricity that comes from a coal-powered plant anyway, I’ll gladly buy one of those and deep-six the old combustion engine.
Ah, but in Happy Unicorn Land you wouldn't be allowed to live out there(unless you're a gummint-approved organic(i.e. 'spreading the e. coli around' farmer); you'll be forced to wait for that Enviroweenie-Approved Public Transport or use a bicycle; and all the electricity will be coming from windmills and biomass(i.e. 'burning wood') and such truly royal methods of generation.

Or so they tell us.

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