Press Conference
Ah, Earth Day. By far the greatest day ever. It's the kind of day that makes a paper salesman proud to play his small role in making Earth a better world by ridding it of its malignant jungles, growing like a cancer on the weathered skin of Mother Nature. We, the paper industry, are a lot like chemotherapy for the environment.
I walked up to my podium. The solar panel was in place beside me, it alone will power over 0.004% of my office electronics.
"Greetings, fellow Earth-lovers and paper enthusiasts!"
The crowd roared.
"Today," I continued, "is Earth Day. It is perhaps the most important day in the world. Even the name suggests so. There's no greater earth on Earth than the Earth."
The crowd roared and seemed confused.
"My fame has been skyrocketing lately, and I know you all want more of me."
"I LOVE YOU, HRG!" a young woman cried out.
"And there will be more of me." I looked out into the hope-filled eyes of my audience. "Together we will make the world a better place. We will put an end to pollution. We will fight the impoverished..."
"BOO!" The crowd bellowed.
"I mean, we will fight poverty and help the impoverished."
"Yay!" The masses cheered.
"Now, I will be taking your questions."
The woman who had previously screamed out at me jumped at the usher. She took the microphone from him and said, "Hi, I'm Elizabeth. Is it nice to be so sexy?"
"I get asked this question often," I admitted. "It is nice. It is very nice. I feel so sorry for all those unsexy people in the world, like my good friend Matt Parkman. Just think how hard life must be for him. That is why we need these social programs in place to help people like Parkman. We sexy people have to use the fame our good looks can bring to speak out on their behalf, because nobody wants to hear them."
An usher approached a familiar looking man. It was Jon, the so-called intergalactic gladiator. I knew this question would be trouble, but with my George Clooney powers of fame, nothing could throw me off.
"If Primatech is just producing and selling paper and paper products," he asked, "why is their facility responsible for 96% of the pollution in Odessa, Texas?"
"That is a good question indeed. Today, we are here to address the concerns of pollution. Some of you look at this with a broad brush of disdain, not realizing the true complexities of pollution. It has such a negative connotation, yet some pollution, such as that created by Primatech, is genetically engineered to improve the environment. There is no question our Ozone is depleting. Think of Primatech Pollution as synthetic ozone with none of the helpful side effects."
"That doesn't really answer my question," he replied.
It was clear this would be the stubborn cynic my publicist warned me about. Luckily, I brought visual aids to help placate his inquiries.
I waved over a Primatech intern with pictures on poster board and said, "If I may draw your attention to this photograph..."
"...as you can see, that is a lot of toxic waste. Any paper production facility can be expected to have large quantities of such waste when they offer top quality products like we do. We maintain a large staff of over three bio-geneticists. Now, you may be wondering why we would need them. Isn't paper dead? Well, it comes from trees, living organisms. We lock special trees we find all over the world in specially formed tree-holding cells in our basement. Our scientists perform a wide range of experiments and genetic alterations on these people...excuse me, trees, and as a result, we put out a lot of CO2 emissions, radioactive sludge and that stuff they make Grammys out of."
Jon was clearly suspicious, but I moved on anyway.
"Show the next picture," I said to the intern.
"Already we have begun implementing ways to cut down on the harmful pollution. We've hired Captain Planet to work in our waste refinery, personally supervising what leaves our facility and enters your water supply. Believe me, he is very particular when it comes to pollution. He only lets the safest and most beneficial pollutions to contaminate our environment."
More questions followed and I answered them all with the rhetorical wit of a flabbergasted philosopher. Finally, as things were drawing down to a close, an usher approached a uniformed member of the armed services. It was my publicist's idea.
Private Hudson stood reverently as he was handed the mic. He held it sturdy and spoke, "Do you have Prince Albert in a can?"
"Not anymore, but we do have Queen Elizabeth in a tote bag," I motioned at the intern who flipped to the next image.
