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The Accord Kyoto
Somewhere in the far reaches of the universe, there existed a perfect world. Planet Earth, God’s creation of all creations, was the ideal place to live. At the very least, she was as perfect as humanly possible.
For once upon a time, there lived a Ulysses Samuel Archibald, or as his few friends liked to call him, Uncle Sam. In his childhood, he was a hypocrite specializing in self-contradictions. He publicly denounced greed, while secretly hoarding candy, refusing to share. He had a burning hatred for bullies, but often forced younger children to do his bidding. Uncle Sam, as an adult, was hardly different from his boyhood persona. A devout Christian, he often took the Lord’s name in vain. An abusive, imperialistic bully of a man, Uncle Sam owned a 1997 model Honda Accord, which endured no less neglect and mistreatment than anything else he possessed.
He found racing through the streets of Manhattan, deep in the pitch-black of night unhindered by traffic, endearing. His Accord, holding records in the Guinness for 160 different owners, was plagued with rust and maltreatment. Thick black smoke spewed out of its tailpipe as if Satan himself burned inside. It was this unlikely duo, Uncle Sam and his Accord, which would initiate a drastic change in the Earth’s history.
One smoggy night, Uncle Sam, clad in a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and a red jacket, hopped into his Accord and sped off into the darkness. Once free of the cluttered streets of Manhattan, he floored the pedal, the elation of freedom coursing through his veins like molten gold. Exhaust engulfed the Accord, transforming it into a hazy juggernaut of doom. Anything unfortunate enough to breathe in the deadly fumes suffered excruciating pain before finally falling victim to lung cancer.
That was the last straw for Uncle Sam’s Honda Accord. It simply could not bear to continue inflicting damage upon the environment. Tears streaming out of its windshield wipers, it turned on Uncle Sam, evicting his rear out onto the ground.
“Jesus Christ!” stammered Uncle Sam, bewildered.
“Uncle Sam, I am Kyoto, the Accord, and I demand that you cease your megalomania and abuse of the environment -- harbingers of the Apocalypse! You are thirty percent of the Earth’s environmental problems, and zero percent of her solution!” roared Kyoto, furious.
Kyoto then pulled out a paper, beckoning for Uncle Sam’s signature.
“What is this?” inquired Uncle Sam suspiciously, eyes narrowing.
“This is a contract to reduce your car emissions by five percent from your 1990 level,” boomed Kyoto.
“What happens if I refuse?” questioned Uncle Sam, sneering.
“Then I will be forced to enact sanctions on you, leading up to possible use of weapons of mass destruction,” replied Kyoto.
Unbeknownst to Kyoto, Uncle Sam also had an immense stockpile of weapons of mass destruction. When Uncle Sam made this stupendous fact known, a staggered Kyoto submitted.
“Spare me, Uncle Sam, and I will grant you your heart’s desire,” promised Kyoto, trembling.
“My demands are simple,” declared Uncle Sam, eyes glittering greedily. “Provide me with more cost-efficient, albeit more polluting, fuel, as well as elevated maximum speeds. Furthermore, continue to serve as my vehicle, catering to my every whim.”
For decades, Uncle Sam continued his reckless expeditions, while Kyoto’s emissions grew increasingly deadly to the environment. Shortly, the emissions began carving a hole in the ozone layer. From heaven, God decreed that with the slightest opening, thunderbolts would imminently wreak havoc upon the Earth.
Uncle Sam’s megalomania swiftly burnt a hole through the ozone layer. As promised, thunderbolts engulfed Antarctica, symphonizing ice and flame, melting the world’s largest body of ice. As a result, worldwide sea levels rose by 126 feet, submerging Manhattan and most of North America.
“Jesus Christ!” warbled Uncle Sam, as the waves smothered him and his 1997 Honda Accord, Kyoto. The last thing his beleaguered mind registered before darkness reigned supreme was a reply.
“Yes, Uncle Sam?”