A page out of Willy Brants diary – I just got up, and was stretching the old body this way and that while looking out the front window at all that snow, when I saw Joe’s ratty old tractor turn in the driveway.  Good thing, too much snow for my little old blower, and he has that big heavy blade, might smooth out some of the ice underneath while he takes away the snow.

So I put on the coffee perk, and dug out those nice fat cookies I bought downtown, of course they are loaded with MSG and whatever crap the factory puts in.  They were named ‘Miss Mollys’ cookies, or something like that, which is a joke, considering they came all the way from Tennessee; which means they were no doubt made in a giant automated factory, shipping all over the world, and not by ‘Molly’ working from her kitchen.  A big factory, probably owned by a Chinese company, they seem to be buying up the entire USA these days. Serves the US right, sending all their money to China for cheap crap for decades.  They ought to have figured out if they do that long enough China will have all the money and the US all the crap.  Anyway, the cookies look and taste so good, and they were so cheap I couldn’t hold myself back.  I wonder if Joe will believe I made them myself.

So when Joe gets himself settled at the kitchen table with some coffee and Tennessee cookies, I offer “So I see our premier is on the international stage talking about her great plan to save the environment with new taxes on Ontario business”.

“Hunh”, from Joe, obviously in a sour mood, I guess I won’t try to fool him about the cookies. “The lid is down on the coffin, and she is putting in the nails”.  I answer “I think they use screws, not nails, anyway what are you talking about?”

Another look so sour it would wilt a remembrance day poppy, and he says “Ontario businesses are already loaded down with the most anti-business regulation and tax situation in the world, and our utility cost is so high nobody can actually afford to run a factory, what with all those windmills waiting for some wind to blow. Now she is going over the top on the global baloney carbon tax stuff.  We are doomed.”

“Well”, I offered, “Probably won’t make much difference to us up here on the seventh concession. I suppose we all have to do our part.  After all the whole world is worried about carbon dioxide and so on, even though you call it baloney”.

Joe took another sip of coffee, and it seemed to be mellowing him out a bit, he even looked approvingly at his Tennessee cookie, maybe I will try to kid him they are home-made after all, then he said “How can so many apparently sensible people look at our leadership of corrupt and self-interested politicians, bureaucrats and big companies working together, and believe they are impoverishing us all because they are concerned about an iffy, hypothetical long-range potential problem? These guys never look past the next election, or quarterly financial report, and could care less about the long-range future of the planet!”

Then before I could kid him about the cookies, he clapped on his hat, pulled on his boots, and vanished out the door.

He reads too much.

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