Gore to Earthlings: The Memo

From: The Global Control Center of the Great and Powerful Gore
To: International Party Animals Here in Bali
Re: Let's Make Our Kickoff Tailgater a Real Scorcher!

For Immediate Release

Dear Little People,
Wilkommen, bienvenue, welcome, im cabaret, au cabaret, to cabaret, to Bali!

I hope you all got your "Goodie" Bags and genuine Vuitton suitcase of cash. If not, talk to George and he'll hook you up. It's supercool, but not too cool, here in Bali and it will get groovier as we trip out together. As for the formal opening with the world's press in attendence, I want to remind you again that it is Black Thong optional. Full Brazilian waxes are available gratis, like everything else, at the Spa. You see anything else you like around the grounds, Prius, Hummer, or a small Balinese girl or boy, just sign for it. But, hey, remember to "play safe." This is, after all, one of those 3rd world countries.

Because, for special groovy people like us, it will always be 1968, the special surprise headliner at the our Woodstock South Pacific Live Earth Acid Test and International Human Hump-In here in Bali is, once again, Country Joe and the Fish!, singing their new song that is currently number one in the Mission District of San Francisco, "Feel Like I'm Fixing to Fry Rag ( Next Stop the Heart of the Sun )." Now, you gotta admit that is far out! Just thinking about it makes the years and the pounds just melt away doesn't it?

Here are the lyrics. Learn them. You will sing them with enthusiasm.

Come on consensual science men,
Mother Earth needs your blather again.
We've got her in a terrible state.
It may already be much too late.
So hop on our jets, set your studies on stun,
We'll rant and have a whole lot of fun

(CHORUS)
And it's one, two, three... six degrees of lies.
You make 'em real whoppers, get the Noble Prize.
And it's seven, eight, nine, "Death" is our rallying cry.
Ain't no time to wonder why, whoopee we're all gonna fry!

Come on U.S., cut us a check,
Make it thirty trillion, what the heck.
Now you can all go out and buy hybrids,
'Cos the only good Yankee is one that's red,
Who knows that the planet will only be saved
When America is in it's grave.

And it's up two or three... degrees centigrade.
Maybe if it gets hot enough we'll all get laid.
And it's twenty, maybe thirty... feet the sea will rise,
Ain't no time to wonder why, whoopee we're all gonna fry!

Come on U. N. don't be slow.
Global warming is cash to go-go!
There's plenty good money to be made
Supplying Earth's nations with the fools of our trade.
Let's pray if the people see through our scam,
Our jet's will take us on the lam.

And it's polar bears and puppies... gonna go extinct.
Gonna be way too much water, or not enough to drink.
It was recently in ice, but now in fire we'll die.
Ain't no time to wonder why, whoopee we're all gonna fry!

Come on politicians from around the globe,
It's time to tax 'em with an anal probe.
Come on now, don't hesitate.
Retrofit your nation to a cool police state.
There's no one on Earth you can't scare and screw,
If you just emit enough CO2.

And it's one, two, three... hundred degrees in the shade.
When you got warm lemons make warm lemonade.
In the year twenty ninety we'll kiss our ass goodbye.
Ain't no time to wonder why, whoopee we're all gonna fry!

In Solidarity,
Alfred (Nobel) Gore

P.S. And remember, "The man can't bust our music!" Ooops, I am the Man. Oh well, as my grandkids would say, "My bad."

Email this entry to:


Your email address:


Message (optional):

Posted by Vanderleun at December 6, 2007 11:53 PM | TrackBack
Save to del.icio.us