First Al Gore admitted it
. Now it’s Monbiot’s turn
. Tomorrow, in a ceremony on Luneberg Heath an ashen-faced Oberstgruppenfuhrer Monbiot will be handing over his baton, his pearl handled Luger and his death’s head fruit-paring knife to General Delingpole in token of his abject, total, humiliating surrender in the great Climate Wars.
“Tell you what, old man. Why don’t you put this to good use? We’ll all look the other way,” General Delingpole will reply, sliding the Luger back across the table towards Monbiot, together with a couple of rounds (just in case he misses first time) (hollow tipped, just to be absolutely sure of the right results).
“Nein, danke. I hef some hemlock. Organically grown on my estates in Mid Wales. It vill be a shame I never live to see ze vind farms blossom all over ze hills near my Heimat in Machynlleth. Ach, such pleasure it vould hef given me to see ze birds, mashed to a pulp by ze spinning blades, und ze sorrow of all ze people nearby whose properties hef been devalued and whose nights made sleepless, und ze taxpayers’ money sluicing into ze wind farm owners’ pockets and ze thin smile playing on ze sinister lips of Reichsfuhrer Huhne…”
“Are you done, Monbiot old boy? Only some of us really do have better things to do than listening to you rambling incoherently a minute longer. God knows your Comment Macht Frei drivel has been a sore enough trial this last decade or more.”
“Who did that? Was it you, Morano? North? Booker? McIntyre? McKitrick? Bolt? LaFramboise? Id? Watts? Montford? Breitbart? Warner? Nova? Horner?…….”
“I think it might have been all of us, sir.”
“Jolly good. Carry on.”
Except it’s not over, is it? Not remotely over and that’s the ruddy problem.
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