Bush Declares Environment Part of 'Axis of Evil'

n his brashest act against ecological ideologies yet, President Bush declared the environment to be part of the "axis of evil" that includes Iraq, Iran, and North Korea. The environment, said Bush, in a speech written for him by a college buddy he hired, has conspired to deprive America of its much-needed fossil fuels and energy with blatant threats to "cut off" the availability of these fuels and deprive the world of oxygen.

"It's like some villain out of that new James Bond movie, which opens tomorrow," said Bush at a meeting with oil lobbyists and business friends Thursday. "The environment is threatening the safety of America and our way of life by taking from us what is ours. The reason oil and gas is so expensive—doesn't that just make ya mean mad?—is all because the environment has decided to hold out for better treatment and reduced emissions and stuff. I say we stand up and tell them where we stand!"

Afterwards, in response to reporters' questions if he was out of his mind, Bush stated: "I am in full possession of all my facilities, and I want to keep it that way. We must act now to crush the evil regime of the environment. All these threats to America, from earthquakes to hurricanes, it's all the environment's fault. I will not allow this assault on Homeland Security^TM to continue by 'Mother Nature' and her axis of evil buddies."

The White House has stated its opposition to the 1997 Kyoto Protocol, signed by environment-friendly former president Bill Clinton. The Kyoto Protocol is an international treaty in which the United States pledged, with other countries, to reduce dangerous greenhouse gas emissions by seven percent in an effort to help the environment. Bush's assertion is that the Kyoto Protocol will be a threat to the recovery of the economy, which thrives much better when businesses run rampant and unchecked, left to police themselves in areas of deadly emissions. Bush elaborated Thursday that to obey the Kyoto Protocol is to play right into nature's diabolical plan to extort America.

"It is high time," said Bush, then pausing to laugh as he realized he said "high," "that America stop coddling terrorists like the environment. They're our emissions and we can make them if we want. And it's high time Mother Nature stopped holding back on the fossil fuels—we all know you got more. You know what we call someone who dishes out a little bit o' goodies and then stops all of a sudden? A tease, that's what."

The environment, according to Bush aides, has caused America to curb its business such as automobile manufacturing, logging and textile manufacturing, and nuclear arms production. The environment is also believed responsible for mudslides, tornadoes and tropical storms, earthquakes, and other "natural disasters," and the White House is warning it that the heat will only go up until the environment ceases its actions.

America's demands: Unlimited fossil fuels, quicker replacement of oxygen, warmer climate in the winter and colder climate in the summer, and as many trees as we can chop down and turn into furniture.

"We're through jumping through your hoops, environment," said an angry Bush, addressing the sky. "Get rid of all this terror, and the way this whole city stinks. If you don't, we have no alternanative but to consult the U.N.—" Bush and a few buddies laughed in each other's directions. "…and take action against this direct threat to our safety. Remember, we know where you keep your rainforests."

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As some of you may know, I'm now at war with the people who live in my trash. This is nothing unexpected, nor is it anything new. For years the people living in my trash have been casually testing the boundaries and pushing the envelope; now they've finally pushes Rokwell T. Finger too far.

It started innocently enough. I found people living in my trash—this was around 1967—and was at first a little startled, alarmed, and even disturbed about it. Was it due to society's injustice or the imbalances in our distribution of wealth? Fortunately, soon after I turned Republican and realized the smarmy people live in my trash because they want to. This solved my immediate moral dilemma, but the fact was I still had people living in my trash and it wasn't too appealing a thought.

Over the years I've tried everything. I offered to get them a hotel room; drive them to the dump where there was a megalopolis of refuse to inhabit; I even fixed up my neighbor's trash with gift baskets and other tempting items, all to no avail. These people were particularly fond of my trash.

The '80s became a real trial, and for a while I thought I was winning the war—one of them even passed away, leaving only three men and a woman living in my garbage. But as the '80s progressed they only seemed to irritate me more, feathering their hair with my mousse and watching through the window as I watched such delightful television staples as "ALF," and "Cheers," and "We've Got it Maid." These bums were pushing me!

Through the '90s they mellowed out some, except for that harsh period where grunge was popular, where they seemed to multiply into dozens of trash-dwelling people. But when that was over with, they were back to the three men, though the woman disappeared, perhaps gone on to follow the Dead or become a biker's mama or some such counterculture schtick.

But last weekend we got off to a bad start for the new century as several items from my personal belongings turned up missing, including a pair of shoes, a camel tweed jacket, and a Kiss T-shirt that's particularly valuable to me now that it's a collector's item. On top of that, a new company has taken over the trash pickup and they refuse to pick up refuse while people dwell in it! And of course, the homeless aren't worried about it all, laughing it up like a Sunday brunch.

And yesterday morning, I spied on them while they slept and—wouldn't you know what one of them seems to have found? A camel tweed jacket! I'm not kidding, good people. All I await is evidence they have my prized Peter Criss T-shirt and I'm going to go apeshit on these vagrants. You watch. This will be an explosion and Rok Finger will come out untouched. After thirty-three years, I'd say we're due.

I have to go—one of them is peeing on my cat. I'll keep you updated.

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I don't know who passed the law saying you've got to love old movies or else you're a shithead, but I think they suck. Christ, half of them aren't even in color. It's just a bunch of pasty white guys standing around saying shit like "That was the last monkey in Montenegro," and drinking bourbon.

Now you know Omar Bricks is down with drinking bourbon. I don't even need an excuse like my son died or it's Tuesday or whatever, like most guys. I put bourbon in my soup, 'nuff said there. But watching some old dude who's been dead for fifty years drinking bourbon while he looks serious and silently works on forming a hemorrhoid isn't exactly my idea of a great way to spend a Saturday night.

The problem with most old movies is that jack shit happens in them. People just stand around and talk about things they should do. "We should hijack a blimp and have a gun fight while being dragged behind a train by our shoelaces!" "No, I'm too old and slow for that. Let's just drink some more bourbon." "Good idea." I don't know what in the hell was up with people back then, if they were too worn out and lazy after World War II or what, but they were pretty boring to watch.

And the directors back then didn't help either. Nowadays if you shoot some pregnant chick in a movie, they zoom the camera right into her belly to show that there's some gnarly animated fetus in there. Nice! In old movies they'd just have some white guy say: "You've shot my wife, who was with child. I am understandably upset." And then some other chick would get hysterical and pass out.

That was basically the only role for women in old movies, spazzing out when shit went wrong. Like if war broke out or it rained. And then some bland guy with a paralyzed colon has to get the shit done, by way of talking. You'd be forgiven for dropping dead from the excitement.

Tight-asses can complain all they want about shrinking attention spans these days, but Omar Bricks says the attention spans of yesterday were overrated. Retards have long attention spans too, you know. Moviemakers cashed in on this by padding their movies out with scenes that dragged on for days. People would talk, and then the camera would hang around for a few minutes in case they had anything else to say. And there was no music unless the credits were rolling or people were dancing. If people were dancing they'd dance so long you'd feel like you went to the prom with a broken leg.

The basic lesson of all old movies was that all white people are claymation robots. No wonder minorities don't trust us; they probably think we run on D-cells. It's hard enough for the rest of us to tell the real white people from the actual claymation robots, like Dave Thomas from Wendy's or Ernest Borgnine. Without inborn cauca-dar, I bet it's nearly impossible.

Not that I think old movies should be banished forever or driven off a cliff in a clown car or anything hilarious like that. If we didn't have old movies, film critics would have to start liking modern movies, which would piss them off for sure. Then those fancy pricks would be no better than the rest of us, and they'd have to join a comet cult or something. Or else find new ways to complain about modern movies, like saying they're not as much fun as going ice-skating or kayaking.

I just want people to get off my jock when I suggest that the original Ocean's Eleven can suck my brat pack or when I say I prefer Marky Mark getting his funkies in a bunch in the new Planet of the Apes over the saggy-assed rubber apes of the original. Nobody complains when I pick my cousin over my grandpa as a partner in the Bricks Ultimate Family Reunion Fighting Challenge every couple of years, but I guess it's cool to like old movies more than you like old people. Hypocrites.

Bricks out.

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