“How dare you!” The Greta Hall of Fame just inducted its newest and latest member. Move over Mses. Garbo, Van Susteren and Waitz (all right, Grete, close enough). Meet America’s and the world’s cosmic climate sweetheart, the incomprehensibly frightening Greta Thunberg, the 16 year-old, pigtailed and braided latter-day atavistic incarnation of Frau Blücher. She actually makes David Hogg look like George Gobel. If you missed her staged, canned, over-rehearsed, eating-the-scenery over-the-top schlock screech speech at yesterday’s UN climate whatever, you missed one for the ages. Spooky. Seriously. Histrionics for the books. Classic. Sad. Pathetic.
Like watching accident dashcam videos. Ah, our Miss Greta. She stole the show, perhaps as the beneficiary of the most fleeting of moments of ignominy couched as righteous indignation and horror. With screams from the crowd of “Where are her parents?” this vacant-eyed Climategate human shield central casting global warming clone and Soros-sponsored crisis actress captured the imagination of many the Kubrick fan as we thought how she’d be perfect perhaps singlehandedly supplanting the twins in The Shining all by her lonesome. Look, I’m no shrink but I know troubled when I see it. After all, I’ve been to talk radio conventions.
Somebody help this girl! There’s not a human being with a soul, sentience and a pair of working neurons who watched her and didn’t wax aghast over how this kid was paraded up to the front of the room where she took it from the top and read her carefully prepared jeremiad, her plaint, her indictment against the world. Trembling, lachrymating, spitting each element of the gravamen, the bill of particulars of the bereft. Triggered. Move over SJW fave Jessica Starr, you’ve been outgunned and outmatched. It’s horrifying no matter how many times I see it. And yet I admittedly find myself watching it and her repeatedly even though it’s irritating. Troubling. But, dammit! so entertaining. And addictive. What is it about this moment that is so compelling? It’s like watching airline meltdowns where emotionally frayed travelers are dragged off flights with passengers applauding their ouster. It’s wrong . . . but so fascinating. Who ever agreed for her to appear? Didn’t they have any focus group review her dress, affect, mannerisms, style? What bonehead thought she was ready for prime time?
Greta Thunberg is a shill and will be forgotten by Friday. She’s being used. And you know what happens to anyone used by Dem prog libs and then what happens when they’re used up? When they’ve served their purpose. Remember Cindy Sheehan, the Khans, Omarosa, Avenatti, Dusty Samples (Stormy Daniels to you), Christine Blasey Ford? Again, once spent, POOF! They disappear. See ya. On the ash heap of history. Here’s a copy of the home game. Don’t let the door hit you.
“The eyes of all future generations are upon you and if you choose to fail us, I say we will never forgive you.” This used and rehearsed, this prop, this poor Stepford animatronic. Like a rescued cult member staring before the cameras, eyes fixed, affect flat. Timed, rehearsed, blocked, programmed from childhood. This was her moment. Ready for her closeup, Mr. DeMille. One of the most blatant and horrid examples of child abuse seen in modern times. But, remember, the world’s children are expendable. Fodder, merchandise, easily trafficked and merchandised. This child (chronological age is irrelevant) was ready for her Malthus moment. To shudder and shake and cry and carp about how the world would implode, explode and vanish but she never said exactly what needed to be done to fix it. Not one plan, program, idea, vision, platform. Reminds me of the Democratic vision . . . wanting.
“How dare you! You have stolen my dreams and my childhood with your empty words.” I heard that very phrase repeatedly howled from Hillary supporters the night she skipped on Javits and ordered Creepy JoPo give the sayonara speech. But I digress.
“You say you hear us and that you understand the urgency, but no matter how sad and angry I am I do not want to believe that because if you really understood the situation and still kept on failing to act, then you would be evil, and that I refuse to believe.” Wow. I screamed the same thing when they canceled The Ropers. I’m with ya, kid. Been there. But, at the risk of sounding redundant, when we yelled and protested even at your tender age we had a suggestion. You know, end the war by leaving the war. How exactly do we fix change as in climate? Notice how they’ve lost the notion of global warming. That baby was going nowhere; perhaps someone researched Hypsithermals and Holocene maxima.
“You are failing us but young people are starting to understand your betrayal.” Counterfeit. Fugazy. Inauthentic. Unauthentic. Not real. Staged. A poseur. Some climate parvenu. A weather snake oil dilettante. An exceedingly scary and shockingly vacuous young lady, put up and propped up by climate hucksters pushing and pulling for the ultimate brass ring, the big enchilada — carbon taxing. That’s what everything’s about. It’s about cap and trade, track and tax, carbon exchanges and carbon taxing. The illusive and mythical and magical and phantasmagoric carbon footprint. It’s a part of our world now. Antifa thugs, global protesters leaving parade routes with garbage strewn. Incomprehensible logolalic platitudes. Alas.
“It doesn’t matter what is true, it only matters what people believe is true.” Thus spake Paul Watson of Greenpeace fame and how true it is today. But as for our Greta, we’ll never forget her moment. Forever forged and emblazoned on our collective conscious. Poor Kate McKinnon. She must be watching and thinking “I could play Greta perfectly!” But that’s a no-no. She’d lose your Liberoid membership card and that would be the end.
Onward, patriots!
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