Thoughtless Ecological Placebos

Ted C-Toe-D was a Sawman.  Through and through Ted tried tiresomely, at least, and thumblessly at times to stop deforestation by taking a saw to the scrots or vajayjays of any people that still sat on maple while scribing on lined sheets of processed oak and even those who Sammy Sosa’d Baseballs over the Center Field fence with wooden bats.  To call him a “Treehugger” was a graphical error.  The parabolas of his human life weren’t traceable by other known living beings.  It was not hyperbole to say he was a Hyperbrachycephalic…his cephalic index soared to new heights where he put it to lovely use.

Sawmen were like any post-apocalyptic/dystopian renegade black market Capitalists, only they were as real as 39-cent tacos.  Like Mic Jagger dressed in leather, they were Bonejackers, but seeking rogue “Trees” instead of rogue “Emilio Estevez’s.”  They needed to locate the remaining trees, and beat the moribund philistines to the punch, saving the trees, but preserving air and promoting the causes for evolution, rather than interplanetary cannibalistic terraforming and half-wit romanticism of Lucullan bliss.  1977 Kenny Loggins contributions of yachting and casual coke usage were considered ubiquitously campy by the year 2143, and to boot, Mike Judge WAS a future traveler and the “Idiocracy” he bore witness to was never once lavish, even in its heyday.

Ted was classically free.  He gave into the fancy of the night with a v-shaped monocular chest inscription and in one failed (Cheryl) Swoop, summed up what the sexually explicit, wampum jewelry adorned, Ecologists could not in 400 years of popular advocacy: charting alien inhabitance in all living matter, endlessly craving air...a vampiric life force with no beginning and no end.

In other words, he knew better than most that the Universe was expanding and he was beginning to grasp dark matter's enigmatic role.  Oxygen was nothing more than an artifact of a single form of life under a certain set of conditions, whereas air remained a constant…a constant ever expanding mess heap of useful and useless gasses and non-gasses, beneficial and non-beneficial where respiration existed and where it was replaced in anaerobic scenarios.  Society dubbed it a Atmospheric Maelstrom.

Threatening to humanity and all its pseudo-intelligence like never before, it was more or less a Galactic Succubus which Scientists had determined benign until it began gaining power…and like Mega Maid never did it went from Suck! To Suck Harder!  No replenishing of the destroyed Ozone layer through the planting of saplings could save the reality hominids of Earth and the predictions of few quietly set in to the subconscious stubbornness of the masses.

Everyone knew it by the time air was, rationally, rationed…including all the stirrups in the Fudge manufacturing plant…as their burnt-aubergine superintendent told ‘Shit Storm Weekly’ in a recent interview; “Not just 6 minutes ago, we knew collectively that solving the atmospheric maelstrom caused by centuries of deforestation was not as simple as planting trees and we have since pulled the plug on all support of the Twix Corp’s ‘2 For You and Me’ tree planting campaign.”  This was an astounding statement considering these were the same Stirrups whom once believed that a sought after Sawman sewed seaweed sleds silently solo somewhere south of Ted’s home.  In other verbosity, it was tough for them to accept the failure of Zeitgeist Ecology efforts (such as the Twix Corp and other benevolent non-profits), because a good Sawman was difficult to come by in the years following the raging conflagrations between foreskin consuming Ecologists and embryonic Yak Splicers (later known as Sawmen). 

The forests of Earth had been largely depleted and Twix Corp…had even cut an album with the hologram-clone of a 1996 Shaquille O’neal, entitled “Gotta Be Twixsm For Life!”  It did little to stop the maelstrom which had already sucked up the entire shoe collection of the island state of Palau and the entire population of castrated Western Chorus Frogs not to mention all extant hair extensions south of Olympic BLVD in the Greater Metropolitan Region of Los Angeles and 49% of the rice farmer’s pitchforks in the Guangdong Provence of China.  Thank god the extinct hair extensions were safe in the landfills of Simi Valley and most Frogs of Earth still croaked when that mightly ‘ol sun pales the azure sky upon Gaia’s routine pirouette.

It was high time for Tim to either become fabled hero or sap his soul for the hope of another in the name of Love. His story is largely untold.