IGM Carbon Credits

Inter-Galactic Memo

To: All Personnel
Fr: W. Leavitt
Re: Carbon Credits
9-22-09


Something a friend said to me the other day has me thinking. He had his tongue planted firmly in his cheek, but came up with the germ of a brilliant idea having to do with carbon credits and the Cap and Trade plan which is coming down on us like a vengeful but “ultimately helpful” super-volcanic eruption.
He mentioned that he drives motorcycles mostly. A nice BMW touring bike and an ancient, restored Russian Military bike with a sidecar, also a BMW, I think. He gets, compared to most of us, really, really good mileage. In fact he told me the Russian bike is so old and underpowered, it doesn’t have a speedometer, it has a day-planner. (Ba-da-bing) He wanted to know why he couldn’t trade or sell his carbon credits. Good question. Why can’t he?
Folks, this is a ground-floor opportunity. Right now, there are no laws, guidelines or regulations concerning Cap and Trade and-or carbon credits. A lot of people probably have them and don’t realize it. Nita and I are big recyclers, and aggressive energy-efficiency czars in our own home. (I know, what a shock to learn that the conservative fascist recycles and conserves. Surprise.)
In the last few years we have doubled the insulation in our ceiling, put whirly-gig vents in the roof, replaced all the windows with high-efficiency, double-paned, gas-filled ones, replaced the leaky sliding glass door with nice insulated, double-paned, gas-filled French doors, have a new, energy efficient air-conditioner, and several other things. We only flush the toilet when someone does a dookie. “If it’s yellow it’s mellow . . . if it’s brown flush it down.” That’s our motto.
And we recycle everything. Twice a week we take all our garbage, organic, plastic, paper, glass, metal, wood, all of it, and put it in special containers. A private company comes around in big trucks and picks it up for us and takes it to a special place called a “land fill” where we pay them to dump it, store it, and cover it up. This is a communal operation because we believe in community, people helping people. When we all run out of everything, we can go out there and dig it up and voila! There it is, waiting to be recycled and re-used. (Unless it was biodegradable, in which case it’ll make great compost for our survival gardens.)
We drive fairly new vehicles, which, according to our annual “Smog tests,” are very efficient and burn very cleanly, especially compared to 30 or 40 years ago. I’ve been thinking about riding roller-blades to work, but I’d have to have them on my hands and feet, and knees and elbows and hips and who-knows-where-else, which would be cost-prohibitive. Or a bike, but the only ones that would hold me up would weigh more than the Bismarck, which sort of defeats the purpose.
Anyway, I’m sure we have scads of carbon credits. Probably most people do because we’re not huge, corrupt, money-hungry corporations out to destroy the planet. But probably lots of people don’t have any as well. Some people could use a few carbon credits. Remember, under the Cap and Trade philosophy, it doesn’t matter what the total amount of carbon being produced is, it only matters that the debit-credit balance sheet comes out even. Because, c’mon, everyone knows it’s a delusional scam, right?
So we should set up some kind of bank thingie, and start trading, beat the government and the global community at their own game. And by game, I mean disingenuous, star-chamber-conspiracy, global shell-game. That kind of game.
We could trade on Craig’s List and EBay. They could start up whole new sections for us. “The People’s Community Carbon Exchange.” And since no one has a clue what a carbon credit is, or looks like, or how much it weighs or what it’s worth, we can sort of make all that stuff up. Half of us will get rich and the other half will have the satisfaction of being able to pretend they did something meaningful for the planet. It’s win-win people. (Win-Win. That reminds me of a tattoo business I made up in one of my books. The great granddaughter of Steve Wynn, Who’s name is Wynn Kerkorian, owns the shop, but the tattoos—which are printed with a retrofitted Cat Scan machine and a commercial printing head with several hundred needles in it—all computer-controlled of course—are really inimical printed circuits which destroy the world. Metallic salts . . . look it up. Anyway the name of the parlor is Wynn-Wynn Tattoos.)

The advantage of this operation should be obvious. No pesky definitions, no regulations, no permission. It’s like LSD in the sixties before they made it illegal. Or the opposite of America, circa today.
So if you need to buy or sell some carbon credits, send me an email and I will set you up. I know people. (I plan to be a broker for the fledgling empire; they get money from both ends. And, unlike the government, I can be trusted to fleece you within reason and no more.)