AL GORE’S MIDNIGHT RIDE

I have discerned that the main reason so many people disbelieve the scientific evidence vis a vis global warming is because Al Gore is somehow involved. The lie that he claims to have invented the Internet has become firmly entrenched in the minds of those who run in right-wing circles. Seriously, from the talk on conservative blogs, one would think Al Gore invented the idea of man-made climate change,  instead of merely spreading the word. The science is older than he is; all Al has done is make it his job to raise awareness about the issue. It makes me wonder what if it had been Al Gore instead of Paul Revere who made the famous ride on the night of April 18th, 1775

 

The horse galloped through the streets of Cambridge, of the colony of Massachusetts, at a pace that could only mean that something urgent in the making. The rider was shouting as he sped through town, his words nearly lost in the clatter of the horses’ hooves. He pulled to a stop at a local tavern, jumped off the steed, and threw open the door.

“The British are coming! They mean to arrest Sam Adams and John Hancock! The time for action is nigh, to arms!” And he turned and swung back into the saddle, taking off once again, a cloud of dust in his wake.

The door to the pub opened; a group of men in tri-cornered hats filed out, looking to the left and right, then at each other. “What the bloody hell?” said one. “What should we do?” asked another.

“Nothing,” Said another, “That was Al Gore.” Laughs all around.

“Aye, the British indeed. Such an alarmist. “

“Right,” Said Goodman Inhofe. “Wiser not to believe Al Gore than to take his word.”

“But what if he is right?” Spoke a young man, barely past the age of majority. “Should we not gather at the armory? It will take us hours to muster the militia. Should he be correct, we’ve no time to waste.”

“Look around you, son.” Goodman replied  with ample scorn. “Look to the left, no British there, thence to your right. Espy you any redcoated demons?” A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd.

The lad who had spoken admitted there were none in sight. “Yet I did not hear Mr. Gore say that the British were here, rather that they were coming.”

Inhofe scoffed, looked meaningfully to his fellows, some of whom began scoffing, which started others still to add to the din of scoffing, until all but the young man, home from Harvard to help his father finish planting their fields, were scoffing vigorously. The sound of scoffing reached the ears of townsfolk in nearby homes, and several doors opened to divine the scoffing’s source.

“Prithee, scoffers. It be quite late in the eve to be scoffing in such a manner, even for drunken louts such as yourself.”

“Forgive us but we scoff at Al Gore, who claims the British are coming.”

The man in the doorway rolled his eyes. The crowd of men in front of the tavern, having tired of scoffing, began to roll their eyes as well.  Soon all save young Master Hardy, Harvard Freshman majoring in the study of logic and natural sciences, were discreetly monitoring each other to ensure sufficient eye-rolling.

Before a concert of derisive hooting could break out, Master Hardy shouted. “Stop this scoffing, this eye-rolling nonsense!” All eyes dropped to an even keel and were turned on the curtailer of their ocular oscillation. “I can see for myself that the streets are free of the King’s men, as can we all. But what if the means of their advancement upon us is not by land, but rather by the sea which, after all brought us all to this wilderness to begin with?”

Goodman Inhofe responded angrily. “Doth ye not know of Gore’s history? His lies are of legendary stature. Why, he has declaimed in the past to have invented lightning.” Which statement brought forth a chortling from the amused crown of drunken louts. “Lightning is the manifest anger our Lord, not a product of the hands of man.” Said a fellow with florid complexion. “Is there no end to Gore’s perfidy?”

Master Hardy raised his voice yet again as the chortling had caused the town dogs to begin barking. “He did not invent lightning, nor did he claim to do so! Mr. Gore lectured to our class just last winter. He merely recounted the experiments of Mr. Franklin.” But his voice was lost in the din, which had replaced chortling as the noise of choice. Several patrons ambled back into the tavern, as they were unsure of how to make din sounds.

Inhofe was beginning to weary of the young man’s adherence to reason and earnest discourse. “It is plain to see that you have drunk deep of the alarmists’ mead, lad. Listen well, there are British here, of course. We are a British colony, are we not? There have always been British, and there have been more in the past than are present now.”

“But that was during the French and Indian War.” protested Hardy. “It is illogical, to say the least, to compare a time of war to our present.”  Hardy went on, as he had caught the attention of several of the men, lesser drinkers than the others, or ones who yet to catch up to the inebriated state of the other patrons. “Would it not be wise, mayhap, to send a contingent to the armory, if to no other purpose that to secret our muskets and powder, leaving perhaps a few to assuage the British, if indeed they intend to leave us defenseless?” The not-so drunks nodded their heads. Although it didn’t catch on like the scoffing or the eye-rolling, there was decidedly more head-nodding than chortling.

“Bah, you and that Thomas Paine, causing unrest, which in turn rewards Gore with increasing readership of his damnable pamphlets. Which is why he doth seek to raise consternation, for he has waxed wealthy through invocation of fear. And, did we not all recognize the horse upon which he caterwauled as not even his? Deacon John Larkin’s steed that was. Who can trust a man who would purloin the property of one he calls friend?”

“Aye,” Opined Elder Cheney. “Is this not the same Gore who parleys with the savages? He excuses such unseemly behavior by hilariously equating those murderous cannibals with civilzed men such as ourselves.” Elder Cheney belched loudly, then sneezed, after which act he used the shirt-sleeve of the man closest to him to wipe his nose, giving the cowed non-landowning man not a glance as he did so.

“They only fight to keep the land upon which they have lived for eons. They, like us, seek to control their own destiny…”

“Like us?” Cheney snarled. Known far and wide was the snarl of Cheney, as was his antipathy to those whose views deviated but a cat’s whisker-width from his. “I see that so-called bastion of learning, that high-walled tower of  rarefied thought, has infected your mind like that of Gore, also an alumnus.”

“And yourself as well.” Hardy began to protest, but his voice was stilled by what he saw over Cheney’s slumped shoulder, bobbing lights on the River Charles, moving closer to the bank bordering the town quay. “Look for yourselves, neighbors!”, he cried, “We have but moments to act now.” 

“Look not!” Inhofe and Cheney shouted as one. “Indulge this misguided fool not a whit.” demanded Inhofe. “He and his ilk seek only to disrupt the natural order and profit from articial terror.”  Growled Cheney, as the first boat slid gently onto shore and its red-coated passengers debarked and shouldered their rifles.

 

 

 

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