Last night at home, trying to study the dreadfully boring material for an upcoming exam on Execution and Control of Operations when my efforts are interrupted by the buzz of the door bell. I wearily rise from the couch saunter over and open the door to find a young, side-burned punk with clipboard in hand. Let's see, Fresh Water Action Committee? People for the Ethical Treatment of Ants? Watch where you're walking there bud.
"Hi my name is B and I'm out trying to raise awareness and money for the Sierra Club the oldest environmental activist organization in America, blah, blah, blah..."
Mentally a door slams in my mind and I fantasize being able to utter the simple command, "Release the hounds" and watching the terrified youngster experience an up close and personal encounter with nature.
Burns: What's wrong with Crippler?
Smithers: Ah, he's getting on, sir, he's been here since the late '60s.
Burns: Ah, yes. I never forget the day he bagged his first hippie. That young man didn't think it was too grooooovy.
But I control my more base impulses and politely inform him that I'm not interested. He shoots me a condescending glance that says "You ungrateful suburban fool. Here I am out to save the planet and all you care about is watching TV, driving your SUV, and exploiting our precious resources. You just don't understand these grave issues of the day."
For a moment I'm tempting to grab the insolent punk by his shirt, physically drag him into my home, and deliver an intellectual thrashing that shatters his naive worldview and leaves him sobbing like a child who learns that there really isn't a Santa Claus. You wanna talk about drilling in Anwar? How about global warming and the Kyoto Treaty? The population explosion you say? The destruction of the rain forest concerns you? It's go time.
But instead I simply sigh, shake my head, and close the door. He ain't even worth my time.
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