Dreams of the IPCC

The IPCC would adore,
If Americans listened to Gore.
Because then via stealth,
They could pilfer the wealth,
Of the one country they most abhor.

AlGore's Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

That’s because AlGore had been through the place,

Taking out every light bulb, and heater of space.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of thermostats danced in their heads.

Their breath was all frosty, above their pink faces,

As they dreamed about heating their now frigid spaces.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Seems AlGore was back, and he wasn’t quite done,

He’d taken the light - and was after the fun.

“These toys are a horror; they’ll heat up the planet!”

Give the kids eco-toys, like a nice piece of granite!”

Gore zipped through the house shoving toys in his box,

And leaving behind him, a pile of rocks.

AlGore was relentless, the kids forced to listen,

He filled them with fears, and with zeal for his mission.

He bored them to silence with chart after chart,

And he drilled them until they knew factoids by heart.

Poor Gaia is warming! Mankind is to blame,

And chastising Man is my one claim to fame!

I’m Gaia’s high priest here, and you all are scum,

I’m saving the planet, by freezing your bum.

But one of the boys asked about AlGore’s house,

Was it darkened and cold, was there no light to douse?

And that was when AlGore grew bright red with anger,

He knew his hypocrisy posed a great danger.

I don’t live as you do, I’m rich and you’re not!

Yes I own several houses, and heat them a lot!

Yes I cook all my food, and am a frequent flier,

But I’m working for Gaia, and you’re a denier!

Then he hopped in his jet, and called to his crew,

Get a move on it boys, there’s much more to do.

We’re not gonna stop ‘till the whole world is dark,

We’re banning and taxing out every last spark!

On Hansen! On Wigley! On Trenberth! On Tony!

On Schneider! On Nancy, On Boxer! On Arnie!

Strap yourselves in, and bring all the charts,

There are children to brainwash, in all the world’s parts!

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the lawn,

The roar of jet engines, and AlGore was gone.

But he did leave a present, I noted forsooth;

On rich glossy paper, his version of truth.

Away in the distance, he flew in his Lear,

But borne on the wind, we all could still hear,

His laughter and joy at the darkness he’d sown,

And the thought of the children all playing with stone.

© Ken Green (With thanks to Clement Clark Moore for the inspiration!)