Category: Humor

Carbon Feetprint

The Big Bend power plant near Apollo Beach, Florida looks more like fingers, creating carbon fingerprints. Some say it’s bad for the environment, but not manatees. It ejects warm water into Tampa Bay, which attracts manatees from miles around during the winter.

I’ve been reading about the carbon footprint and how it’s trampling our planet. It seems every human bean leaves a carbon footprint, everywhere they go, and this footprint contributes to global warming.

I don’t think that’s possible with me, since I always have very cold feet. How can these ice-cold feet be warming up the globe?

Nonetheless, I hate leaving carbon in my tracks. It’s a filthy habit. Have you ever handled carbon paper? Afterward you leave black, sooty fingerprints on everything you touch. I guess that’s sort of what we’re doing with our carbon footprints. Or is the plural, feetprint?

Here are some ideas I’ve come up with to clean up our act and reduce our carbon feetprint:

  1. Don’t have children. Having just one child is the same as doubling your carbon footprint, for a lifetime. So if you want to reduce global warming, stop being so fruitful with your multiplying upon the earth.
  2. Take cold showers. This serves a dual purpose. First, you’ll burn less fossil fuel by showering in water that has not been heated. Also, cold showers reduce sex drive. This reduces your chance of having a child and doubling your carbon footprint.
  3. Stop smoking. Burning cigarettes wantonly sends greenhouse emissions into our atmosphere. On the other hand, if it shortens your lifespan this will reduce your overall carbon footprint. So keep lighting up.
  4. Opt for burial, instead of cremation, when you die. When you’re cremated the carbon footprint from your smoldering body heads straight up to the ozone layer, warming our planet for generations to come.
  5. Get more sleep. The more you sleep, the less artificial light you’ll need. That means less electricity used, with less coal burned at your local power plant. And think of how refreshed you’ll feel all day long. So if your boss catches you napping, tell your boss you’re saving the earth by reducing your carbon footprint. Your boss will find that refreshing.
  6. Attend Braille classes, even if you’re not blind. You’ll learn how to walk, eat, and do everything else in complete darkness. This will allow you to switch off all artificial lights without adversely affecting your lifestyle.
  7. Join the Hair Club. Bald heads are less insulated and lose more body heat. But growing hair conserves body heat and prevents turning the thermostat up. Also, everyone knows that men with hair attract women. With many women piled on top of you in bed, you’ll be so warm you won’t need your furnace at all. But first, take a cold shower.
  8. Ban greenhouses. I can’t think of a more obvious way to reduce greenhouse emissions than to ban greenhouses.
  9. Ban paleontology. It’s the paleontologists who keep discovering fossils. Without them, we’d have no fossil fuels to burn, and no one would have a carbon footprint.
  10. Walk on tiptoes. Nothing reduces feetprint like walking on tiptoes.

Beastslayer

The ghosts of beastslayers haunt my genes. As metal monsters hurry past my dwelling, those ghosts whisper, “Conquer! Slay! Tame!

“Prove you are a man!”

The forefathers of my beastslayer genes wielded atlatl and bone knife as they stalked the big beasts of plains and forest. For them, slaying beasts was a rite of passage. It also meant survival, and status within their tribe. Those most likely to pass their genes on to generations that led to you and me, were those possessing the sharpest eyes, strongest arms, quickest legs, and greatest thirst for the kill.

It’s impossible to wipe out eons of genetic memory in just a few generations of Industrial Age civilization. So although my brain sees cars or trucks, or a freeway jammed with traffic, my gut senses cervine, ungulates, and herds of other assorted wild beasts.

It is my manly right and tribal duty to slay these chiseled creatures.

My atlatl is a wrench. My bone knife is a screwdriver. The hide I take is the rag I wipe my greasy hands upon. I stand proudly over beast and under hood in my front yard, as occasional tribal members amble by as pedestrians, barely noticing my savage sport. But somewhere in the guts of these neighborhood strangers, the excitement of viewing my conquest must stir at least a little bit of primordial blood.

A thrust of the atlatl, er wrench. The carving turn of my bone knife (screwdriver). The removal of a sumptuous organ (auto part) from the fallen, butchered animal (my wife’s car).

And finally I am complete. I mean, the job is done.

I have successfully replaced the air filter.

And another beast is slain.

I’m a Financial Genius

I’m quite clever with money. But my wife says I’m a fool. And other relatives have begged me to stop doing some of the stuff I do with money. Those poor idiots. It seems I possess such a high level of financial genius, nobody is able to understand me.

For instance, whenever my broker would call and say buy, I’d buy. And when he’d say sell, I’d sell. He made a fortune off me in commissions, calling dozens of times a day. But he earned every penny. I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve made some damn good profits on some of those stock trades. Oh sure, there’s a few trades I don’t like to talk about, but hey, no one’s perfect, not even my broker.

My wife threatened divorce until I turned the account over to her. What does she do? Sits on the money and tells my broker to go to hell. She buys stocks and holds the same damned stocks for years, whether they go up or down. And she calls me a fool?! Fortunately, the stocks eventually did well enough that we could retire. But my wife has always been the lucky sort.

I didn’t expect to retire so soon, but it’s a good thing I did. One day I was sitting in my easy chair feeling bored and lonely, when out of the blue I got a phone call from my favorite nephew. Seems he was in a Mexican jail. Got into an accident, and the stupid kid didn’t have insurance. He said he was facing at least 10 years in a Mexican prison if I didn’t wire his lawyer some money right away. He said he was awfully embarrassed and made me promise not to tell anyone.

If I hadn’t been retired I wouldn’t have had the time to hustle myself down to the Western Union office and get those needed funds to him right away. It only cost $3,500 to get him out of jail. He promised to pay me back, and he’s a solid kid, so I know he’s good for it.

My wife knows nothing about this, of course. And I have another secret I’m keeping from her. Soon I will be a millionaire. I got a phone call the other day from the nicest young lady. She said I had won the Canadian lottery. Shit, I haven’t been to Canada in years, and when I was there I sure don’t remember buying a lottery ticket. But she told me that in Canada, random Americans are selected for inclusion in their lottery as an honorary gesture to their friendly neighbor to the south.

Canadians are so polite, aren’t they? Anyhoo, all I had to do was pay the Canadian lottery tax up front, and then she told me that a check for 15 million Canadian dollars would be sent to me, first-class mail, right away. Now, what is that in American money? No doubt quite a bit. And for the mere investment of $15,000, plus $4,500 in exchange fees, I’ll have the Canadian lottery tax paid off and become richer than my wildest dreams.

I can’t wait to tell my wife about this unexpected surprise. She’s always thought I was a fool with my money. But now she’ll have to admit to the true genius that I really am.

Marie Lamba, author

Some thoughts from author and agent Marie Lamba

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