Petrophobia

There’s a retired “farmer” lives down the road from our subdivision. I like to take my kiddies by there in the Escalade to show them what “extinct” means.

The dude thinks he can “wean” himself from his “oil addiction.” It’s a fascinating spectacle, like dropping a mouse into a jar, screwing the lid on, and watching it suffocate.

He agrees with me on one thing: America has a mighty, mighty appetite, and ain’t no more oil coming out of Texas, or California, or Alaska. Our future hinges on our appropriating God’s gifts in Iraq, Iran, and Saudi Arabia. But whereas I think America is God-blessed, the farmer seems to think America is God-damned.

In February, while me and the wife and kids are celebrating the superior firepower of the US with grilled steaks, asparagus, and strawberry shortcake, our neighbor the farmer is eating beans and squash, with a shriveled, “organic” apple thrown in for good measure.

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