What's my fucking problem...

I watch the Sunday morning talk. I sit in my 1890 mansion constructed of millions of pounds of granite stones (because I live in Montana I could at least afford it). But I cannot afford to pay to restore it, so I do what I can, when I can. I am a working person. I am in the top 10-15% of the U.S. income-wise.


Because, God help me, I but I cannot stop worrying about the rest of this festering, endangered planet. About where we, the human race, is headed.

In other words, I'm tired of talking about wheat beer or plasma televisions or web sites. It's time to start talking about just how long any form of political stability survives on a planet where 99.9% of the population is now expected to stand by while the other .1% has a REAL GOOD TIME -- at least until the ice caps melt, the Great "I told you the earth was warming!" Wildfire begins, or we all drown in our own sewage.

Think about it. Do something about it: Stop consuming. Start rebuilding. Start preserving. Start believing there are human solutions to human problems. Otherwise, as Liberals once said about the "survivability" of Nuclear War, "Bend over and kiss your ass goodbye..." because we will all live to see nihilistic change, when the answers (economic justice, tolerance, and liberty) were right under our noses.

And this leads to my Sunday Morning prayer to the Universe

Please, let George W. Bush be the Marie Antoinette of the 21st century. Because, it is not too late for the human race to stop making insane choices and start doing the right things for the vast majority. After all, isn't regulating the worst human impulses essentially the sole reason for Government in the first place.