Global Warming Ends It

Think we’re not hitting the wall?

Do the math, and you make the call;

Unless fatally cursed

By something else first,

Global warming’s the end of it all. 

On Nuclear Waste

Perhaps they were drunk, or drinking,

But somebody failed at linking

Making nuclear waste

With where should it be placed—

What the fuck were they thinking?

Ghost Story—Just in Time for Halloween!

‘Twas a dark and stormy night,

The kind that makes you feel fright,

When the earthquake hit

Where some fault plane was split

And began everybody’s plight.

Some rods, by the quake thus goaded,

Fell from where they’d been loaded:

They rumbled and tumbled

And crumbled all jumbled—

Then the whole thing exploded.

For those nearby when it struck,

The whole event didn’t suck:

No one felt sick—

Vaporization works quick—

The rest of world had less luck.

So back where this story began:

Getting scared was part of the plan;

But don’t worry your ass,

This won’t come to pass—

Unless there’s a quake in Japan. 

The Fuckit Slump

Oil’s running low at the pump,

Not due to some interim hump;

We’re ready to quit

‘Cause we don’t give a shit,

And we enter the Fuckit Slump.

Starvation hits, nobody’s plump,

Global warming beats on our rump;

When it doesn’t mean squat

That it’s getting too hot,

We’re into the Fuckit Slump.

Air wafts by a nuclear dump,

We inhale a plutonium lump;

Fresh air provides

Radionuclides

To go with the Fuckit Slump.

It’s all of us, you’re not a chump,

The boiling frog still doesn’t jump;

Let’s be succinct:

We’re going extinct,

So we’re doing the Fuckit Slump.

H/T: comrade simba, Lexicographer of Doom

OTOH

When we finally get a clue

That our way of living is through,

And we’re going to see hell,

We might just as well

Do what we’ve always wanted to. 

Why Prep?

If doom comes along step by step,

I’ll buy local or through online rep;

If doom’s really fast,

I know I won’t last—

So tell me, why do I prep? 

Doomer Craziness

People will think you’ve gone fey

When you start saying what doomers say;

They’ll see you as mad,

Which isn’t so bad

If you’ve always been sort of that way.

LATOC

LATOC was an old time saloon:

Flying bottles, piano out of tune;

Overall raucous,

A grand motley caucus

Of genius and dumbass maroon.

Fukushima

If people knew more about nukes,

They wouldn’t think doomers are kooks;

They might change their mind

When they see they’re entwined

In a future with 400 Fukes. 

Why Bother?

Why bother to sound the alarm

When nothing will save us from harm?

Do the math, you’ll conclude

That we’re totally screwed:

It’s over; we’ve all bought the farm.