Failure to address global warming : AZ IMC

Ted Turner: Global warming could lead to cannibalism
Billionaire environmentalist says world has too many people

By Nessie @
http://www.sfimc.org

Failure to address global warming will have us all dead or eating each other by mid-century.

So says Ted Turner, the restaurateur, environmentalist and former media mogul whose controversial comments have earned him the nickname "Mouth of the South."

If steps aren't taken to stem global warming, "We'll be eight degrees hotter in 30 or 40 years and basically none of the crops will grow," Turner said during a wide-ranging, hour-long interview with PBS's Charlie Rose that aired Tuesday.

"Most of the people will have died and the rest of us will be cannibals," said Turner, 69. "Civilization will have broken down. The few people left will be living in a failed state — like Somalia or Sudan — and living conditions will be intolerable."

One way to combat global warming, Turner said, is to stabilize the population.

"We're too many people; that's why we have global warming," he said. "Too many people are using too much stuff."

Turner suggested that "on a voluntary basis, everybody in the world's got to pledge to themselves that one or two children is it." or we will have to take matters into our own hands.

Turner went on to say that the global population needs to be cut "way back."

We can still beat this thing Turner said; we just have to have the nerve to do it.

The CNN founder also said he thinks his old network has veered too far away from serious news, instead favoring lighter stories delivered by attractive female "chickies" and opinion-based news such as Lou Dobbs' show.

This is a forgery, one of many. For some idea of how often nessie's name gets forged, Google "nessie indymedia forgery" and see what comes up:

http://tinyurl.com/2wsq6m

Funny how Bob Ness for years claimed to be a journalist, yet his sole output is as a spambot. And it's also funny how a Google search for "nessie" gives you about 1,760,000 widely varying results. Nobody, absolutely nobody, outside of a tiny circle of indymedia types in the SF Bay area, even peripherally knows who he is, much less gives a damn.

Only someone that has internet privileges in a mental institution would spam the planet over such a pseudonym.

For some idea of my stature on Terra Firma, just look to the Wikipedia. Nowhere am I noted as a journalist, or a historian, or a teacher, or a soldier doing warfare in the political arena, or anything else I've claimed to be for that matter. A goddamn ringtone is more famous than me, fer cryin' out loud!

This is a forgery, one of many. For some idea of how often nessie's name gets forged, Google "nessie indymedia forgery" and see what comes up:

http://tinyurl.com/2wsq6m

Like, for example, signing nessie's name and expecting people to believe it.

You’re lucky you’re such a chickensh*t *sshole as to say that stuff from the safety of the internet. If you ever worked up enough spine to say it to my face I’d put your sorry *ss in traction in a New York minute, you vile, despicable scum.

Poor little Bobby the spambot. He pastes his rote trash twice on two different threads, like a NASA monkey should, and Pittsburgh obliterates it. Even Bobby Meade just gets hidden status, where it eventually drops down the list, but you can still read it. nessie can't get any respect. And nessie claimed he was world famous and had more friends than ever.

http://onegoodmove.org/fallacy/style.htm

Style Over Substance

Definition:

The manner in which an argument (or arguer) is presented is taken to affect the likelihood that the conclusion is true.

Examples:

1. Nixon lost the presidential debate because of the sweat on his forehead.
2. Trudeau knows how to move a crowd. He must be right.
3. Why don't you take the advice of that nicely dressed young man?

Proof:

While it is true that the manner in which an argument is presented will affect whether people believe that its conclusion is true, nonetheless, the truth of the conclusion does not depend on the manner in which the argument is presented. In order to show that this fallacy is being committed, show that the style in this case does not affect the truth or falsity of the conclusion.

Why do mental cripples spam? It's by popular demand, of course!

*snicker*

http://houston.indymedia.org/news/2008/04/63570_comment.php

This is a forgery, one of many. For some idea of how often nessie's name gets forged, Google "nessie indymedia forgery" and see what comes up:

http://tinyurl.com/2wsq6m

Show the world what you're made of. Let's see you resist a troll.

Give him a break
by old people like routine Friday, Apr. 25, 2008 at 9:18 AM

Come on. Give poor old tired "nessie" a break- you know- the old folk find comfort in routine and predictability.

And Nessie- is this the week that you come over and talk to me, or are you still cowering in fear?

We know what nessie's made of, and so does the rest of the collective. And what's interesting about this in particular is because it was found via "nessie indymedia forgery".

[Imc-cyprus] clarification regarding a forgery

There was again a similar protestation that it is forgery, but none of the claims seem to make sense and none of the links prove anything.

He was on a moped assembly line, then an entry level filter spinner at the Q Lube, and lucked into a filler writer job at the Thrifty Nickel.

This is what you can expect from moped assemblers who luck into a gopher job at the Weekly World News.

When Tip was murdered, one of his human companions became quite understandably hysterical. Her name is Janet. She wasn't trying to hurt anybody. She was just screaming. She couldn't have hurt anybody if she wanted to. She was recovering from hip surgery, and was only able to walk with a cane and great difficulty. The cops wrestled her to the ground and restrained her. In the process, one of them broke his own sunglasses. So Janet was charged with assaulting an officer.

When I heard about this, I made it my business to be at the so-called “Hall of Justice” at 850 Bryant St. when Janet showed up for her first hearing. I interviewed her and two other witnesses. I have refrained from publishing it until now because I didn't want to jinx her case. Eventually, a judge threw the case out, but not before the ordeal had extracted time from Janet's life, and caused her a great deal of worry. As the SFPD take such joy in reminding the people they bust on bunk charges, you can beat the rap, but you can't beat the ride.

Some people would consider Chuck, Janet, and Dusty to be homeless people. Actually, they are vehicle dwellers. Their home is on wheels. The day Tip was shot, they were parked close to a dog park, along with a number of other similar vehicles. It is technically illegal to live in a vehicle on the street in SF. The loophole is you only have to move every 72 hours. There are several communities of vehicle dwellers in SF. They comprise a couple hundred individuals. They tend to look out for each other. They have to. The police push them around. All too often, the police murder their dogs, just because they can. All too often, the police also murder dogs who are companions of the truly homeless people, the ones who live on the sidewalk and under the bridges. While this happens fairly often, it is seldom if ever reported in the media. On the rare occasions that a middle class dog and the police tangle, it's news for days. Ask Max Castro, of San Francisco's Sunset District, or the Smoak family of North Carolina.

There are said to be ten to twenty thousand homeless people in SF. My guess is there are a lot more, and they just hide. There are a great many other people who are technically not homeless because they couch surf. My guess is based on personal experience. Giving away 1600 pounds of food every Thursday morning for six years in the eighties brought me into contact with a lot of hungry people. They included homeless people, couch surfers, vehicle dwellers and just plain poor people who have somehow managed to still hold onto their rooms and apartments. There are many of different kinds of poor people. They have little in common but poverty. But that's enough. Poverty is a full time job. Among the homeless, women are in the majority, a lot of them with children. You don't see them because they hide.

Back in the day, many vehicle dwellers drew a class distinction between themselves and the people who sleep in the bushes. Consistent and uniform persecution by the police has eroded this attitude by blurring the line between them. So has the increasing number of people who can’t afford to pay rent. Real estate speculation and Bush’s recession have made rent an unaffordable luxury for even many working poor. Then there’s the cops. If they tow your vehicle, it’s gone, and everything you own with it. you’re “kicked to the curb,” as the saying goes, and have to start over from nothing. None of Tip’s friends draw the distinction between those who live on wheels and those who live on their feet. Poor is poor. All poor people are in ever so slight variations of the same predicament. All are persecuted by the police. So are their dogs.

When you think of homeless people, you tend to think of disheveled winos, begging on the street. They are the ones you see, because they are the ones who don't hide. They are the tip of the iceberg. Far more common are people like Chuck and Janet, who are neither disheveled nor substance abusers, and their friend Dusty, who despite the moniker is clean and well dressed, and who is in recovery.

Tip was Chuck's dog, or rather, Chuck was Tip’s person. Chuck is Janet's significant other. Dusty is often their neighbor. Chuck, Janet and Tip were a family of three. Now they are just a grieving couple. For a living, they scavenge scrap metal. It pays only slightly better than welfare, and takes up a lot of time. But you don't have to punch a clock, or take orders from a boss. To some people, that's worth more than money. Scavenging is good exercise, too. It keeps Chuck in shape. I wish I looked as healthy as he does. The guy is built like a line backer. His size alone made the point in the narrative where he breaks down be a particularly heart rending moment. I gave him a big hug when it was over.

My connection with Tip is my friend Jane. Chuck saved Jane's life once. She made friends with him and Janet. Tip made friends with her. He was a very friendly dog. He made many, many friends. Most were poor. That's why he died the way he did. Rich people's dogs don't die this way.

Jane can't keep a dog where she lives, and she can't afford to move. She has a real deal on housing, and in this town, that's not something one walks away from. Rent is very expensive here. When you have a deal, you stick with it, or you have to leave town. New rentals are through the roof.

When Tip was alive, and Jane was feeling depressed, she would borrow Tip and they would go walking. He always cheered her up. Sometimes she borrows my dog for the same reason. Dogs are good for this sort of thing. Mammalian emotions are contagious, and it is very easy to make a dog happy. A dog can feel much greater happiness than its little brain can hold. The rest spills out, and gets all over whoever is nearby and has feelings. They act as a sort of amplifiering happiness reflectors. If you are so devoid of feelings as to be unable to share a dog's happiness, you're a psychic cripple. Get help. If that doesn't work out, you can always get a job with the SFPD. They hire people like you. You'd fit right into their culture.

For years, Jane tried to introduce me to Tip, whom she assured me I would like a great deal. She told me all about his personality, and how smart he was, and all the tricks he did, and how many friends he had, and how friendly he was, and how much people liked him, and how much I would like him, and when would I come and meet him? But I always kept putting it off, and now it's too late.

I'll never get to see him catch a tennis ball on the fly and drop it into the wire panniers of a moving bicycle. I'll never get to see him run along side and untie the cyclist's shoelace as he ran. I'll never get to see him lift from Jane's shoulders the crushing weight of depression that medication could never touch. I'll never get to shake his paw or rub his belly or feel his soft, warm tongue on my cheek. He's dead and gone, murdered in cold blood by a cruel and heartless man.

But he's not forgotten. He lives in the hearts of those he left behind, and in the hearts of all who love dogs and justice more than they love the cops.