Fat ass Al Gore isn’t missing any meals.

Sitting on the toilet at work, I suddenly think of Sheryl Crow. I ate some bad chili for lunch that fought with my stomach like two angry kangaroos in a boxing ring. I needed to go sit for awhile and not to pray but give birth to something messy. After the convulsions and explosions, I stared at the toilet paper. I had one of those diarrheas that didn’t just wet the booty hole, but flooded and wet the booty crack. I tore off one sheet of paper and wondered how it was going to work a miracle. Jokily, Sheryl Crow once said that in order help with global warming we should only use one sheet of toilet paper. She obviously didn’t know my situation.

Sometimes I feel the Global Warming goes too far. It’s the fat and rich and elitist trying to create some new trend to entertain their boredom. Recycling isn’t anything new to the poor. I grew up dirt poor, government cheese poor, and been recycling since I knew how to breath. I’m the youngest of six children, so my mother’s uterus was used and abused when I got to it.

Al Gore was on Oprah talking about Global Warming. He looked like he hadn’t missed any meals. I’m sure all the trash that comes from his snacking is enough to at least save a Polar bear. I watched him on Oprah giving tips to the average folk how to save our planet and it seemed sort of pretentious. I mean Oprah lives in a 50 million dollar house, and have several others in Hawaii and other places. She’s taken up enough space to at least save a forest our something. Think of all the trees had to be cut down. And that Leonardo DiCaprio didn’t he have the ultimate “Green” house built from scratch. I mean wouldn’t it had been easier to just buy a “used” house. I mean, recycle the economy damnit.

Recycling isn’t anything new to me. All my clothes when I was growing up were hand me downs. We recycled everything. When the bread went bad, it became bread pudding. When the bananas went bad they became banana bread. We had to bath in the same bathwater until I was at least thirteen years old. Fifty percent of our groceries were non-perishables because they were cheaper and last longer. There was hardly any waste in my impoverished house. Even soap was recycled. When the bar got to small to hold in the hands, it went into a jar for latter use.

I decided to ignore the wishes of Sheryl Crow. I grabbed a huge wad of toilet paper and wiped my shamed into submissions and flushed it down the toilet. And then I decided for desert I’d eat that fruit cake I got for Christmas because when you’re poor you waste nothing.