Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Hybrid Cars: Death in a Bunny Suit

If the public ever stopped to think for themselves, the 'eco-friendly' hybrid would be banned from our highways.

They are not 'green.' They are, in fact, blacker than Hitler's bastard heart.

Do any of these bunny-hugging, sign-waving morons stop to think about what it takes to make just one of those big-assed batteries? Come to think of it, do any of these idiots stop to think about what it takes to recycle one- which is necessary every five years!?

Of course not. And you can bet your sweet ass that none of the proponents of these toxic deathtraps is about to tell you, either. All they say is that they use less gas. And after all, isn't that what it's all about?

Last summer, when I asked these questions of a greeniac sign-waver who preached the Gospel According to Al "St. Fat Dumbass" Gore, the poor little fly cleared his throat and said tentatively, "Well, that's still a problem that hasn't been solved. But we should still do it, because by the time the mass of batteries has to be exchanged, we'll have the technology to do it."

I smiled wickedly and rejoined, "So what you are saying is that in spite of the fact that these batteries are shockingly toxic to produce, and shocking toxic to recycle, we should still buy only hybrid cars?"

"Well, yes, because they still use less gas."

I must have looked as appalled at his lack of critical thinking as I actually was, because he defensively asked, "What...?"

"Do you have any idea how utterly and patently stupid your rationale is?"

"What do you mean?" The young man bristled.

"I mean, you rail and rant about how America is destroying our ecosystem because of the huge so-called 'carbon footprint' we leave due to our use of petroleum, but you are more than happy to advocate forcing us to buy cars that are even more toxic to the environment- and far more dangerous to the consumer- when you don't even have a frigging clue as to what's really going on here."

"They are not dangerous!" retorted the misguided idiot.

"Oh, yes they are," I shot back, leaning forward. "Think about it. How much does that big-assed battery weigh?"

"I dunno."

"A helluva lot. And if you are driving at 60 miles an hour and aren't watching where you are going while texting your Earth Mama and have a head-on collision with someone else, or a bridge median, guess what the last thing to go through your mind will be?"


"That big-assed battery, pal. And if you manage to survive being crushed by the battery, what do you think will be all over your mangled body?"

"I dunno."

"The stuff that was in the battery, Brainiac. And you know what else? No medic team in its right frigging mind is gonna come anywear near your sorry mangled ass while that big old battery is dicharging all of its energy and acid all over you and that ugly-assed car. So you'll sit there in your carbon-neutral happy-wagon and boil your skin off until a hazmat team shows up to make it safe, which could take a long, lonnnnnnnnng time, considering how fast the Department of Transportation moves these days."

I paused for another breath while a few other Berkenstock Boneheads directed their attention towards our exchange, then continued: "Now just suppose you survive your traumatic injuries and the additional insult of being stewed by your battery. Let's even go so far as to say that you survive the trip to my ER in a bumpy, cold medic unit. Do you think I'm going to let your sorry, toxic ass into my ER and jeopardize the health and safety of my staff and other patients? HELLLLLLLLLLL, NO. You're getting your ass scrubbed down of ALL toxic materials OUTSIDE before you get into one of my rooms. Here's a brutal truth, bud: Someone who is stewing in battery acid because he didn't think for himself before buying one of your Utopia-Mobiles isn't even close to being worth four of my people getting poisoned trying to save his stupid ass."

I turned on my heel, walked to my 26 MPG, 320HP Mustang, revved up with a lusty, throaty roar, and rolled down my window.

"Peace out, dude," I said as I roared out of the parking lot and drove to work.