As I continue my campaign to be viewed as a legitimate Presidential perspirant, I am constantly surprised at how many people are way smarter than me. I would think it might be 1-2 people out of a hundred, but it turns out that it’s something like 7-8 out of forty-five or forty-six. Does the math work out on that? I don’t know, because I’m not a math or Sudoku person, and logic puzzles cause me to pee a little bit. All I know is that America is filled with geniuses who think they know the answer, but can’t bring their ideas to fruition because they lack people skills and a strong grasp of English. They are from China, apparently.
And this is exactly why I am walking about for the Presidency. I want to harness the American know-how of immigrant professors to create a land of opportunity for displaced lawyers and nurses, whose jobs are going next. We can’t succeed as a nation until all of our citizens receive welfare after being replaced by thoughtful, mistake-free, much more pleasant robots. We owe it to them after they prove incapable of programming a basic loop, or lose jobs as bedpan analysts to all the over-qualified government employees I plan to fire in favor of said robots. Indeed, I promise to have several friendly robots in my official Cabinet, to surprise guests with their diminutive size (“Hillary, can you fetch me a cup?” <snicker>).
But today I want to tackle something that should be on every American’s mind: global wetness. You may not be aware of this issue, but let me assure that it is aware of you—kind of like God, who always sees your Facebook pictures. Owing to steadily increasing global temperatures, changes to the global oscillation wind pattern jet, and melting polar bear ice cubes, more moisture is being put into our atmosphere than at any time since Madonna turned 50 and kept wearing revealing outfits. In other words: we have a lot of water, and it’s very angry at us now.
It’s a surprising consequence of climate change, but the world’s water resources are being fundamentally redistributed. The Greenland ice cover is melting and spewing tons of pristine glacial water into the sea. Other parts of the world are experiencing extraordinary dry spells caused by drought. Massive summer and winter storms are wreaking havoc on areas entirely unprepared for weather. The world, we’ve come to realize, is growing hotter, wetter, and messier. That sounds like fun, unless you’ve heard that Madonna is about to turn 58, and then it’s really disturbing.
The question is: what can we do about it? If we used our imagination, we could probably do nothing—I mean, China and India aren’t going away, people. But if we engaged in an unprecedented national effort that ends in “Con” (EnviroCon?), we could probably get some cool futuristic artwork out of it. Here’s my strategy:
We need to reorient our local and regional development policies and landscape management systems to encourage the development of compact, mixed-use, highly walkable urban zones surrounded by a huge concentric ring of inward-facing big-box stores. Neat-looking elevated monorails would deliver supplies to the rear, and people could walk or hover-hoof it from the middle. This way, our transportation needs would be cut by as much as one thousand percent, which I am told is an upper limit without need for any other parameters, and our home and work energy requirements would be dramatically scaled back by at least a hundred points on some scale or another. I don’t know, robots will do the math.
Cars would be relegated to autonomous vehicles for awkwardly driving teens to prom; high-speed airplanes would provide long-distance services by launching from giant rail-guns and then gently gliding to their destination; and mixed-used bike/pedestrian paths would be built out of recyclable foam cups so that when bikers run into people, they both have a soft place to land. Outside of urban zones, robot farmers would drive trucks full of picturesque produce to the elegant monorail stations, not stopping for any wildlife and maybe actually trying to hit deer, so that they stop eating our gardens. Caribou would be out there somewhere too, like near Wasilla.
The nice part about this plan is that this should all be built on a hill, so that water runs away from the foundations.
In addition, when a front stalls over your urban cyst, drenching you with rain (in Fairbanks) or a wet snow (on Prudhoe Bay), you and your cyborg family can huddle together under your one window’s sun-blocking awning to stay dry, or, if you insist, inside your six-level geothermal silo-condo.
Now, you may be wondering why I think everyone will be living in Alaska. Well, the answer is plain: Canada thinks it has nice donuts, but they aren’t that great. Plus Canadians will all switch to field hockey owing to the melting of all their glacier-rinks, and if there’s one thing that’s harder to follow than ice hockey, it’s women’s collegiate field hockey, because who can keep an eye on that little ball then? No red-blooded American male, that’s for sure. So unless you want to live in Russia or among a superior species of Amazonians, Alaska will be the only habitable place on the planet.
In sum, let me say that my plan, which I call “The War on Climate,” is far better than other approaches because it provides for interior lines of maneuver, which is a great military advantage. Other plans do not have this feature. Some people think we need to establish a tax on carbon, or institute a carbon trading scheme, or come to some sort of international accord where we offset China and India’s pollution with just giving them money. Some people say we could just put mirrors in orbit, or seed the atmosphere with light-blocking sulfur particles, or wear speedos like Europeans. And some people are still arguing about the causes of global warming, even as it’s obvious that God is glaring angrily at our ice caps. But none of these ideas involve compact areas that enable more effective defense and communication—and we’ll need them to fight off all the robots.