Tuesday, February 1, 2011

#23 Trees

So I print out another copy of the crossword because I lost the newspaper and I was only half-done and I really wanted to finish it. And so I'm standing by the printer and I'm explaining this to someone and they murmur half-joking, "oh, you like killing trees, huh?"

Yes. I do. I like killing trees. No, that's not right, I LOVE killing trees. I have xylem-lust. I love the smell of sawdust in the morning. I want the trees DEAD! I want their roots, DEAD! I want their saplings, DEAD!

Everyone just calm down. Print stuff out. Press print and with a clear conscience because hear me now, we do NOT owe trees anything.

First of all, there's way more of them than us. You ever been to a forest? They're all over the freaking place. You can't walk down the street without some tree leering at you, making you feel all short and human. They're huge. They live longer than we do. Try beating up a tree with your bare hands, see who wins.

Oh, but they give us oxygen, the apologists winnie. Precious, life-giving, oxygen. BALLS! We give them just as much CO2! We're square. It's anyone's game, and I'm putting my money on the species that can do things like make buzzsaws and pulp and paper and houses. And rocking chairs?! Are you kidding me? WE do that! With our brains, and our will, and our opposing thumbs, and our ability to move. We make friggin' rocking chairs. Chairs. That ROCK!

I'm sorry but we win, and enough guilt about it. Do yourself a favor. Get a really long knife, go up to a tree and stab it as hard as you can, right up to the hilt. You'll thank me.

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