Global warming? I'm just glad the previous week's unseasonal cold snap ended before I had to drag out the winter duvet, let alone bring all the cats and young Cedric into my freezing bed. Now it's hot again.
Just as the weather came right I got a panic-stricken email from the Brooklyn Bliksems, our emigre branch who fled decades ago (just to make the point that those Bliksems weren't the post-regime change "packing for Perth" sort). Apparently they're scared New York isn't going to be around for long.
No, it's not the prospect of more planes flying into Manhattan towers that skriks them. Nor even the thought of the upcoming terror-magnet trials at a courthouse close by Ground Zero. Instead, they're worried about not getting a berth on the Ark. They're dead scared that with all this global warming stuff, plus glaciers and ice caps melting and polar bears falling out of the sky, it's going to be a case of Brooklyn-under-the-Sea rather than by-the-Sea. No point in moving to California, they say: that's going to slide into the Pacific next big quake. Anyway, the Golden State's gone broke, and Arnie Schwarzenegger's borrowing money faster than the US Treasury can print it.
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Instead, they're thinking of - gasp - resettling in what the coastal elites contemptuously refer to as "flyover country". Basically, that's everything between New York and LA: "red" states that vote the wrong way; that are noisy; Republican; Christian; dig up or suck up fossil fuel; and whose citizens drive big cars that need plenty of juice. Their low-browed, big-hatted inhabitants eat starchy food (not fancy veggies likes Obambi famously favours). Worse still, they carry guns. Use them, too. There's just one good point about the flyover states: they'll stay dry when the waters of desolation rise.
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