I am still addicted to dinosaurs

 

When I was a child I used to play with plastic dinosaurs, and if you had taken them away from me I would have been very upset indeed.

 

 

The other night I met a wise and balanced person, who confessed that he was an addict. What a terrible weakness! I judged. He told me his story over coffee. His telling of it had a childlike innocence. We had just eaten something sweet and creamy. Before that we had gorged on animal flesh and alcohol. We had all arrived in transport powered by combustion engines. He was the only one not drinking because if he did, he would go on a three-day bender and probably kill himself.

 

His story reminded me of my un-wild youth, my unguided period from fifteen to twenty-five, when I myself was an addict, not of booze, but of ISS Pro, and its later incarnation, PES. Happy, happy times! I was also addicted to cigarettes. And during this period, if you had said to me that I could never play Pro Evo again, I would have panicked. If I had only two cigarettes left in the box and it was early evening, similarly, I would have panicked.

 

(So there’s this world, right, this planet with all these people on it [why isn’t anyone talking about population control?], and all these people are addicted to things that are both massively damaging to the environment and bad for their health. Namely: animal agriculture and fossil fuels. The problem is, when this planet meets on the galactic council of other planets, it does not admit that it has a problem. It just sits there getting pissed and then vomiting onto its own dinner plate. It’s okay, though, because it came with its children, and they will clean up the mess, and get old pissy-pants planet booze-face up stairs and into bed.)

 

Our brave president Macron (I didn’t vote for him) has just banned petrol cars in 2040 (I’m ready to die for him). He should go a step further and ban cheese. Except that the Cheese Lobby would get to him, somehow. He’ll be in a urinal and feel a knee in his back and a cheese wire going around his throat, then they’ll squeeze on that shit until his eyes pop out.

 

Perhaps it is my destiny to protect him. Since I have stopped ingesting cow’s milk I have been having clear and brilliant thoughts, as if a great cloudy sky of bovine hormones is clearing in my mind.

 

Maybe I shouldn’t protect him though, because his law means that now I will never have that big rumbling V12 parked outside my house.

 

But on the other hand I get to drive one in Gran Turismo every day.  So happily, it would seem that I am still playing with dinosaurs.

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