The world has finite resources. I know this because for the last decade Al Gore & Michael Moore have been living in my television making frantic, bearded love while David Suzuki teaches them about “the nature of things”.
I know because of the lingering sense of guilt I feel every time I drive the car to work or throw away an empty jar of peanut butter rather than take the time to wash and toss it in the blue bin. I know that every time I throw away a Cola can a village in the Congo is burned to the ground while white hunters chase aluminum wildebeests through the embers, taking their hide for foil wrap and their organs for pie plates.
