COPENHAGEN (SR) - I flew back to Copenhagen to see how the climate change talks were going and to hopefully ask the high priest of this new religion, Al Gore, a few probing questions.
I can report that the talks are progressing about as fast as one would expect from a bunch of international politicians holed up in five star hotels and subsisting on copious quantities of champagne, caviar, hookers, and retarded fantasy - they're not.
Outside, there are thousands of scruffy-looking Euro-trash hippie-types attempting to burn down the city, supposedly as a way of showing how bad they want global warming stopped, but in reality they're just trying not to freeze to death, as it is freaking cold beyond belief (I don't know why they don't just move the polar bears here; they would no doubt multiply like bunnies).
Anyway, the delegation from Uzbekistan and myself got faced on margaritas last night and took turns peeing from my balcony onto the protesters below just for fun. The flying pee streams turned solid in midair and stabbed the holy crap out of several hippies, making them scream in French (or maybe Italian), which was hilarious. The incredible amount of blood did little to dampen our spirits, although ultimately the hotel security staff did.
This morning I unexpectedly got some one-on-one time with The Goracle in the men's room. Unfortunately I had no more positioned myself outside his stall and asked the first question ("What''s Tipper really like?") when the immediate ecosystem suddenly degenerated into a choking toxic overheated hell that immediately had me painting the room with the vibrant colors of breakfast, and gasping for good air as I dove for the door.
Laying in the hallway, I could almost hear the muted scream of a polar bear somewhere, as the remaining ice dissolved under his feet. Damn you Al Gore. Damn you.
