By Bob Dorn
I love my plastic bag.
No one’s going to take it from me; not some foolish enviro nut-hazard with her meds in her pocketbook, or some Japanese squeeky clean wearing a mask in the subway, or a Filner Freak-o who spends his money on Mexican marijuana that probably already has some STD buried between its cracks, or Obama, the Holy, who solved Syria all by himself (ask the cruise missiles who solved Syria!!!).
No one’s taking my plastic bags.
Okay, for the record, I own a gun. Come and get me all you wimps with Greenpeace stickers on your Subarus. Come and get my plastic bags. Or are you afraid they’ll contain some lead, heh, heh, heh.
What do guns have to do with plastic grocery sacks, you ask? I’ll tell you, you sickos; just get a little closer so I can see your Save the Whales bumper sticker. Hah! I’ll bet that’s made of plastic, belly-crawler. Think about it.
If all you proper eggheads with your big ideas would just listen for a minute to a friend of mine, Ryan O’Grady… he reads plenty. He reads Ann Rand, even, and she’s no cakewalk. He says this:
“The markets value plastic sacks above all other conveyances. They’re cheap, easy to make, recycle and dispose of. If they weren’t so effective, they wouldn’t be so cheap. That’s why they’re so valuable.
“Landfill people respect the plastic sacks so much, I’ve seen them get down from their Caterpillar landscrapers to chase one that got away. Now and then, they’ll even pocket ‘em if they think no one’s watching… Do any of you even know a landfill worker? I didn’t think so.
“But that’s not the point. The point is, it costs more to dispose of them than it does to make and distribute them. Now there’s a government boondoggle, if ever there was one!!!”
And another thing, what do you think will happen to that big reusable sack you’re going to carry to the local Holy Health Store once you lose it? Huh? Think it’s going to get up and walk on its hind legs to the dump? If you look at those giant baggies of petroleum, or natural gas, which is so abundant in the United States it will never run out in our lifetimes, unless you come and try to take my plastic sacks away from me, in wbich case your lifetime is going to be shortened in a hurry, you can bet your Bob Dylan 8-track on it… where was I?… was I…
…Oh yeah… you think those reusable bags aren’t a threat to the suspension systems in your hybrid Nissan Leaves, huh? Those are heavy petroleum-based wrappers kiddo, and they’ll soon be blowing across University Ave. and all those other streets you travel, and tie up your damper springs and ball joints so good you’ll have to send the car to your mechanic in La Jolla, cream puff.
Sure, you say, “I’ll just ride the bus” until your genius mechanic can undo the damage to the Prius your mother gave you, and you’ll be as happy as your favorite Dixie Chick at a séance… but then, what happens when the bus gets taken down by the reusable plastic luggage you carry to the market, huh? Huh?
So I’ll leave all you goody two-shoes who want to take away those plastic sacks with a final word from Ryan O’Grady, my really smart friend:
“This idea of banning a product that makes lives better is what you get when government gets too big and has nothing to do. The answer is to grant city land to private landfill operators. They can much more efficiently dispose of the sacks, which we’re all subsidizing wasteful local governments to do now.”
Boy, I wish THIS guy would run for Mayor.
Bob Dorn
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Chortle.
Sung to the old tune, “It’s my party and I’ll do what I want to!…” of course. Bet you had fun with this one.
Gawd yeah, it was fun. I came to realize that any rhetoric so easily
imitated has to be from a really lightweight ideology.
But… listen… the tune I had in mind was James Brown’s “It’s My Bag
(I do what I want to do. You can’t tell me/Who to sock it to).” Even
so, I’m stunned that the white r&b thing has such similar lines to the
King of Soul’s tune.
Whoooops. Marva Whitney recorded “It’s my THING), back in
1969. James Brown did, “Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag,” and I
coulda used that line in the head, too. One bag, three tunes.
Satire is the highest form of flattery. Thank you, Sir
Satire? You kiddin’ me? I meant every word I said, more or less like you.
Very funny. BTW, you can tell great pretenders from devotees: it’s Ayn.
And I have an extra Greenpeace bumper sticker, if you want one.
And she’s only difficult to read because her writing is so boring!
John:
Even her most devoted followers skim John Galt’s speech. There is a limit.