Her Name’s Earth, My Name’s Greg and We’re Polluted

Isn’t it funny how there’s nothing funny about feeling funny or having a funny feeling? I have a funny feeling the Earth is feeling funny.

On Earth Day, while all of the other caring bastards loaded their cars with cases of bottled water and Cliff Bars and drove thousands of miles to march against carbon emissions and growing landfills, I stayed home and got polluted. Because I had become Earth, Jr.

First, I consumed large amounts of beer and more beer and became big and round just like the planet. Then I lost hair just like deforestation. Then I had needles plunged deep inside me and blood drawn out just like drilling for oil. Then I had knives open me up and cut out chunks just like strip mining. Then I had a long tube jammed up my backside just like, I’m not sure what it’s like but it’s crappy. Then I became inhabited by an obnoxious virus and that obnoxious virus caused my temperature to rise at an alarming rate just like global warming. And all that time I was blowing stuff out of my nose just like a volcano.

I had developed a bad case of affective empathy. So, on Earth Day, I knelt in the back yard, leaned over and placed my cheek against the grass, stretched out my arms and whispered “I feel your pain,” and the grass parted to expose a giant eyeball that rolled around and looked at me and a branch of a Palo Verde patted me on the back. Then Yeti jumped onto the giant Earth eyeball and it winced and the yard-eyelid slammed shut.

The next morning I awoke to find my fever was gone.

Now, every day I go talk to Earth but it doesn’t open its eye. I know the eyeball is still there because it keeps leaving sleep in my yard and there’s more every day. At least I think the eyeball’s still there. Mary thinks it was a hallucination due to my high fever and, you know, all of that Earth eye sleep does looks a lot like…dog poop. Awwww man, I’m gonna go get polluted. Some more.

Just like Earth.

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