Broken record

Him: "What's the matter?"

Me: "It's everywhere.  It's washing up on Pensacola Beach."

 "You were watching the news at work all day, weren't you?"

"Look at this picture.  That's a fucking bird."

"Damn..."

"I'm getting depressed."

"Try not to let it depress you.  Try to let it inspire you."

"Dead sea turtles don't inspire me."

"I know.  I'm sorry.  What are we going to do when a hurricane comes through the Gulf?"

"Stop it.  Please, stop it..."

And so the conversation continues, every day.  Every morning, every night, like a broken fucking record.  The same conversation, with different lines thrown in according to the News of the Day.

"That top-kill thing didn't work, now they've got some kind of cap over the fucking pipe again."

"Is it working?"

"Not really..."

What the fuck can we do?  My friend is always talking about Prolonging the Inevitable, and I guess that's all we can do.  Use your car less, stop running your washer and dryer for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.  Take two seconds to recycle your shit, stop drinking so much bottled fucking water.  Thank you for reminding us, my friend.

He's also right when he says we're only fucking ourselves.  You know how long the Earth has been here?  In the long run, she'll shake us off like the common cold or a simple flesh wound.  In the Grand Scheme of things, I doubt we'll even leave a scar.

But in the meantime, shut your damn lights off when you're not home.  Prolong the Inevitable, huh people?