Despite the virus scare (or perhaps because of it?), global warming alarmists still worry about and grieve over their pet cause. I’ve given the matter some serious thought and conclude that the only possible solution is population culling.
We need to cull 6.9 billion of the Earth’s 7.0 billion people and spread the survivors out over several habitable landmasses. That would be 100 million people spread out over the vast plains of the U.S. and Canada and Mexico, the huge Brazilian and Argentine and Uruguayan and Venezuelan llanos, the gargantuan Asian steppes, the endless African savannas, the entire continent of Australia, and the flatlands of Europe. Those 100 million humans would live maybe one person per 100 square miles.
That should take care of social distancing.
We would have to diversify the cull to ensure equitable slaughters culling by race, birth sex, self-identified gender, religion, national origin, ethnicity, language group, handedness, height, weight, eye color, hair color, body mass type, number of fingers and toes, expected longevity, fingerprint type, toenail fungus vulnerability, etc. Also, a fair spread of mechanics, welders, professors, farmers, talk show hosts, hairdressers, soldier types, stockbrokers, particle physicists, accountants, thieves, murderers, con men, politicians, and the like.
Yes, I repeat myself, but we mustn’t discriminate.
If that doesn’t cut the CO2 threat enough, we could cull all the cattle-type animals (cattle, deer, bison, etc.) whose whole purpose is to be dinner for other species. Those cutbacks alone would reduce the number of predators breathing and farting and belching and in other ways emitting the dreaded CO2 — cutting it off at the source, so to speak.
As a result of such culling, the few people left would have an idyllic existence. Clean air. Clean water. No automobiles because of no gasoline. No air conditioning because it’s uneconomical to produce with so few people. No heating because there’d be no coal mining. No airplanes because they produce CO2.
You wouldn’t be around to enjoy it, but neither would your mother-in-law. So there’s that.
By Jack Rail
Jack Rail is a retired Army officer who writes mostly when something gets his goat.