The Science Men, who are about the climate change, they experience many frustrations. In attempting to persuade the Americans. To—please—pay, at least a little. Attention.

The first problem, it is that all of the toxic nutbars, from The Hairball to Runt Limprod, they are out there, all day, every day, and all of every night, ceaseless ululating, that the climate change, it is just shit made up.

It isn't Real, say they, the climate change, and, even if it is, the humans, they have nothing to do with it.

According to The Hairball, for instance, climate change, it is totally a hoax, invented by those people that Limprod, forever maroooned in 1951, invariably describes as "the ChiComs." These nefarious ChiCom creatures, apparently, they invented the climate change, in order to secure all the monies. It is, admittedly, kind of hard to follow the argument, expressed as it is through The Hairball's galloping brain syphilis. Which, even as we speak, is being dissected and discussed, by many learned Fristian Phrenologists, and across eleventy-five billion tubes.

Anyway. The next problem, it is that the climate change, it is at present most obviously occurring, in places where the Americans, they are not going to go on their vacations. The Arctic, say, or those little islands out in the Pacific, that are not Hawaii or Tahiti.

Then there is the immediacy problem. The Americans, they are most likely to become exercised, about something that might calamatize, before the sun goes down. Like: what if they open the door, and see a brown person? Or, if the cable doesn't come back on in the next 30 minutes, they will not be able to watch the football game! Or, if they don't get to the store by 6:00 p.m., they will miss the shoe sale!

I have been poi dog pondering, upon how the Science Men, they might better craft their climate change message, to better get through, to the Americans. And I think I may have hit on a couple ideas. That might encourage the Americans. To at least slump up, some, from the depths of the barcaloungers, and mutter: "wait—what?"

Like: the Science Men, they could tell the Americans, that the climate change, and pretty soon, it is going to melt all the chocolate, and make all the beer, taste like cat piss.

Cat pee, it is foul, because cats, they are predators, like the humans, but, unlike the humans, the cats cannot be picky about the meat—carving off a steak, say, from the cow, or filleting but the breast, of the chicken. Oh. No. Historically, the cat, must needs, eat the whole beast. This requires the ability to digest, indigestible, body-parts—like bones, beaks, feet, and the like. Thus, the cat's digestive system, it contains powerful chemical agents, that can basically break down anything short of concrete. For reasons best known to these agents themselves, these agents reek, and they reek really bad. And, some of these agents, they come out, in the cat pee. In a flood of ammonia. So wild and beyond crazed, that it glows under black light.

Remember all those black-light posters, back in the hippie days?

They were rendered. In cat pee.

The beer, it is going to taste like cat pee, because "severe droughts worsened by climate change will have a devastating impact on beer's main ingredients—barley, hops and even water." The beer, because of the climate change, it will no longer taste, like beer. It will, instead, taste like something, poured out of a catbox.

In Australia, the y-chromes, they mainline the beer, even more than do the American y-chromes. Science Men studies, that are True, they have repeatedly Proven, that while the typical American male has an average beer-induced blood-alcohol content, at all times, of at least .05, the typical Australian male, he sloshes around with a beer-bellied BA of at least .13. And the Sydney, Australia, craft brewers, Young Henrys, recently, "to show you just how bad it could get, have brewed a beer under drought-like conditions, that lets you taste the effects of climate change." And. This beer. It tastes. Like cat piss.

Everywhere. In Australia. The y-chromes. They are now chundering. In Fear. For the beer. And are thus resolving. To change their ways. In re climate change. So that they do not have to drink their beer. Out of the catbox.

It is not a stereotype, or a slur, that the American x-chromes, they do, and dearly, love their chocolate.

No. This is, instead, Science.

Like, get a load, of this:

In men, chocolate satiation was associated with increased taste activation in the ventral striatum, insula, and orbitofrontal and medial orbitofrontal cortex and with decreased taste activation in somatosensory areas. Women showed increased taste activation in the precentral gyrus, superior temporal gyrus, and putamen and decreased taste activation in the hypothalamus and amygdala.

I have no idea, what those words means. But, they are, clearly, Science Words. And, since the headline of the article, it is "Sex, Chocolate and the Brain or Why Women Prefer Chocolate"—that women, they prefer chocolate, that has to be, a True Science Fact.

And the climate change. It is killing. The chocolate.

Cocoa—one of West Africa's most important cash crops and one of the Western world's guiltiest pleasures—will be greatly affected by climate change.

Farmers can begin to see declines in cocoa production by 2030, says the report. The suitable regions, located within 300 kilometers from the coast, will shrink considerably. Production is likely to concentrate in the cooler Eastern and Ashanti highland regions in Ghana, as well as the 18 Montagnes region in Ivory Coast.

As an ultimate result of lower supply, cocoa farming is likely to shift to a higher-quality commodity, said Rodney North, spokesman for Equal Exchange, a provider of fair trade chocolate.

"You want to be growing the high-quality stuff," said North. "As supplies dwindle, it will be more important to have a quality strategy rather than a volume strategy."

What this means, is that the Normal American x-chrome, she will not be able to afford, to eat the chocolate. Because of the climate change. Only Lolita Hairball. Will be eating. The chocolate. And she is not. Going to share.

So. The Reality. That the Science Men. They can present to the Americans. Is that, because of the climate change, the American men, they will be drinking beer out of the catbox, while the football is not coming onto the TV. While the American women, they will be glumly shuffling around in wooden clogs, while subsisting on walnuts, and wheat thins. Unless. The Americans. They get some climate change. Clues.

Their first Clue, could be to put all the Hairballs and the Limprods, in the cement-mixers. So that no one can hear, their denialist dementia. In space, as is well known, and despite what Star Wars says, there is no sound. And, so, no one out there, they can hear you, if you happen to open your Hairballing, Limprodding mouth, and start spewing your nonsense. And you can't hear somebody, who is bellowing bullshit, in a cement-mixer. Either.

Some of the people, they are doing their best, to adapt, to the climate change. Like the trees.

The fate of the world’s forests on a warming planet has long been one of the great unanswered questions about climate change. Now, new research is complicating the picture further, suggesting that big shifts are already under way in how forests work.

A paper published Wednesday suggests that trees in at least some parts of the world are having to pull less water out of the ground to achieve a given amount of growth . . . . [B]road-leaved trees, in particular, are becoming more efficient in their water use. For a given amount, they are essentially able to take more carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere than they could only a decade ago.

The Science Men, they also recently realized, that they had made kind of a big Oops, in counting how many trees there are, in the world. They thought, the Science Men, that there were 400 billion. But then. They determined. That. There are actually 3 trillion.

Oops.

And that doesn't even count. The two dozen trees or so. That are now growing. Right here. Because, I am letting. Whatever tree. Comes up. Wherever. It. Comes up. From where a squirrel, buried a nut, or a cone. Or a deer, shit out a plum. To, all of these people. I am saying. Go. For it.

And, they have also Determined. The Science Men. That trees. They sleep. Just. As do the humans.

Trees have been shown to undergo physical changes at night that can be likened to sleep.

Branches of birch trees have now been seen drooping by as much as 10 centimetres at the tips towards the end of the night.

"It was a very clear effect, and applied to the whole tree," says András Zlinszky of the Centre for Ecological Research in Tihany, Hungary. "No one has observed this effect before at the scale of whole trees, and I was surprised by the extent of the changes."

I planted a birch tree, here. Last fall. I wrote about that, here. And, now, sometimes, deep in the night. I go out. And I watch that tree. Tenderly. Sleep.

I, me and all these trees, and all these animals, and all the all and every, we are halting, the climate change.

And so, it is all, now, okay. The tide. It has turned.

All it takes. Is. The Will. The Idea.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nv6aKElzEH8]

The Science Men. They have meanwhile. Realized. They made a big Mistake. With the giraffes.

Because. Now. They Know. Giraffes. They are not just. "Giraffes."

A new genetic analysis of giraffes, an animal once thought to represent a single species called Giraffa camelopardalis, has revealed that the genus Giraffa actually contains at least four distinct species.

This isn't the first time that scientists have suggested that the giraffe—which has nine subspecies, including the ones that may now be promoted to species—contains multitudes.

Yeah. Well. Oops.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btFkj51vNls]

For the people of the bummertude, Don Marquis, he should be an avatar.

Marquis, he was a newspaperman, there in the old days, when the BA of any and all American reporters, it was at least .18, and, at all times, and some essential internal organ, it, inevitably, in the reporter, blew right out, before s/he reached the age of 60, at which such time, you, the dead reporter, were lowered into the earth, as all your newspaper companeros, they swayed, six sheets before the wind, above the opened grave, awaiting the day—soon, come—they, too, would follow you, tumbling, into the worms, of the earth.

One night, before he was dead, but in the pre-death of the DTs, Marquis, he watched a cockroach, climb onto his typewriter. And this roach, he had Something, to Say. He communicated, this roach, by diving, head-first, onto the keys of Marquis' manual typewriter. One. Key. At. A. Time. He wrote all in lower-case, did this roach, and not by choice, like ee cummings, but because he had to: there was no way for the roach to both pound a letter key, and simultaneously press the shift key.

This roach, it developed, his name was archy. And archy's inamorata, and despite the inevitable cat-piss situation, was mehitabel, a cat. These two, mehitabal, and especially archy, they were, and for many years, able to impart their wisdoms, to the readers of the American newspapers, though Marquis.

In 1935, long before any Science Man, had ever begun, to talk, or even think about, any the climate change, archy, he deteminedly pounded out a message, upon Marquis' typewriter, laying it all out, under the head, "what the ants are saying."

dear boss i was talking with an ant
the other day
and he handed me a lot of
gossip which ants the world around
are chewing over among themselves

i pass it on to you
in the hope that you may relay it to other
human beings and hurt their feelings with it
no insect likes human beings
and if you think you can see why
the only reason i tolerate you is because
you seem less human to me than most of them
here is what the ants are saying

it wont be long now it wont be long
man is making deserts of the earth
it wont be long now
before man will have used it up
so that nothing but ants
and centipedes and scorpions
can find a living on it
man has oppressed us for a million years
but he goes on steadily
cutting the ground from under
his own feet making deserts deserts deserts

we ants remember
and have it all recorded
in our tribal lore
when gobi was a paradise
swarming with men and rich
in human prosperity
it is a desert now and the home
of scorpions ants and centipedes

what man calls civilization
always results in deserts
man is never on the square
he uses up the fat and greenery of the earth
each generation wastes a little more
of the future with greed and lust for riches

north africa was once a garden spot
and then came carthage and rome
and despoiled the storehouse
and now you have sahara
sahara ants and centipedes

toltecs and aztecs had a mighty
civilization on this continent
but they robbed the soil and wasted nature
and now you have deserts scorpions ants and centipedes
and the deserts of the near east
followed egypt and babylon and assyria
and persia and rome and the turk
the ant is the inheritor of tamerlane
and the scorpion succeeds the caesars

america was once a paradise
of timberland and stream
but it is dying because of the greed
and money lust of a thousand little kings
who slashed the timber all to hell
and would not be controlled
and changed the climate
and stole the rainfall from posterity
and it wont be long now
it wont be long
till everything is desert
from the alleghenies to the rockies
the deserts are coming
the deserts are spreading
the springs and streams are drying up
one day the mississippi itself
will be a bed of sand
ants and scorpions and centipedes
shall inherit the earth

men talk of money and industry
of hard times and recoveries
of finance and economics
but the ants wait and the scorpions wait
for while men talk they are making deserts all the time
getting the world ready for the conquering ant
drought and erosion and desert
because men cannot learn

rainfall passing off in flood and freshet
and carrying good soil with it
because there are no longer forests
to withhold the water in the
billion meticulations of the roots

it wont be long now it wont be long
till earth is barren as the moon
and sapless as a mumbled bone

dear boss i relay this information
without any fear that humanity
will take warning and reform

archy

If I were a person of the bummertube, I would end this piece right here. In such exquisite. Bummertude.

But I am not. Such a person.

Because. I have been to the mountaintop. And I have looked over.

And I have seen—what is this?—the Science Men, they have determined, that, though, "for a long time, biologists thought evolution was a very, very slow process, too tardy to be observed in a human lifetime, recently, we have come to understand, that evolution can happen very quickly."

No kidding.

This means: the cities, the money, the jobs; the killing; the stupidness: the climate change: it can all go away, and, in, but a lifetime.

And, it will.

Already: happened.

I am just. A poi dog. Pondering. Extinct, a hundred thousand years.

But, you fed me, a nice meal. And so, singing for my supper, I play a little something. At your table.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPrYwbPVwpk]

Because. You. Are. Such. The sweet thing.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Be3OkvBZaIY]