|photo by Marco Fulle|
July 9, 2011
That's what God is telling us. We, The Human Race, screwed up. We were hired as stewards of this marvelous planet, and we failed. Imagine if you owned a McDonald's outlet, and you hired a kid named Fred to manage the place. In two weeks you return to evaluate Fred's performance. The oil in the French fryer is black. The griddles are so funky they emit clouds of smoke. The rest rooms make you puke. There's graffiti on every wall and window, inside and out. Fred has a tag, "freaky2". Fred's tag is everywhere. Freaky2 on the doors, Freaky2 on the windows, Freaky2 all over the drive thru.
Would you keep this kid in his job? Hell no! Fred, YOU'RE FIRED!
We were given some sweet benefits. We got big brains and opposable thumbs. We got all the gear we needed. Forests, fields, rivers, creatures large and small. All we had to do was take care of it, keep it clean, maybe make a few optional improvements. Our job was to keep the place running so that families could come in and get a decent meal.
Instead, with remarkable energy, we set about tagging the place, Freaky2, Freaky2, Freaky2.
God brushes his comb-over with his left hand and says,"YOU'RE FIRED!"
The unemployment line is weird. We didn't realize how big this franchise is. There are Earthy planets in half the solar systems in half the galaxies. There's this race of creatures just ahead of us in line. They look like ball point pens. They have a single roller instead of two feet. They pour different colors into funnels on top of their heads, and zoom around making cryptic markings on various surfaces. When they're at rest they have to stand up in threes. That's all they talk about, three this and three that. Their tag was Threekyfoo. And that's what they did to their planet, covered it in tags that said Threekyfoo, Threekyfoo, Threekyfoo.
I hear the unemployment insurance doesn't last very long.
We may have to start from scratch.