Home > Frac > Santa Clause, Purple Squirrels, Cancerous Deer, Fractivists

Santa Clause, Purple Squirrels, Cancerous Deer, Fractivists

February 14, 2012

To be completely honest, I have no idea what time it was.

I just remember that I was trying to walk as quietly as possible down my hallway. It seemed to be a simple task at the time, gray shaggy carpet was an undeniable ally in my sneaky quest on that cold December night. I, armed with a bowl cut and my ninja pajamas felt the part. That didn’t serve to quiet my nerves.

You see, it was Christmas and I had to pee, I had to go badly. I’d held it as long as I could but I was only six years old so the pee pee dance was out of the question as I was lying in my bed under my Charlie Brown sheets.

It was the middle of the night and I knew that I ran the risk of seeing the Big Man in Red eye to eye. This was going to be a risky operation. Back to the shaggy carpet I crept, wide eyed and attentive, darting into the hallway. My ninja jammies were serving me like PF Flyers had helped Benny “The Jet” Rodriguez outrun “The Beast” in “The Sandlot”. The bathroom was only a short walk, but as we all know, short walks are long when silence is required and late night urination is LOUD in the way that firecrackers are loud. This wasn’t the only instance in my life where the volume of late night bathroom breaks and the flush of the toilet felt as though it would be so loud as to wake the whole house and the dead…or worse yet, let Santa Clause know that I was wide awake and aware that he could be conducting his covert gift drop at the exact time I had to “go” so bad that my teeth were floating.

Freaking hot cocoa, I knew our love affair was too much for my little bladder to hold…but I don’t even like Egg Nog, I was all about the cocoa. How many gifts would this cost me? Risky, risky.

My eyes wrapped around the corner of my door frame. The hallway was dimly lit but the Christmas tree, that beautiful bright Christmas tree, was radiantly flooding my intended path with multi-colored blinking light.

Drats.

I would have to make a run for it. If I ran quickly enough, maybe Santa wouldn’t recognize the three foot blur. Maybe he would mistake me for an elf and let the whole thing ride. Maybe he wouldn’t, Santa is a crafty old man, seasoned my centuries of perfectly accounting the activities of little children world-wide.

Man, I had to go. Squirming, I ran for it. I ran across the hall to the bathroom doorway with speed that I was proud of. I was six-year-old proud. I was lightning.

I forgot that I was wearing socks of course. When I hit the tile floor of the bathroom my little socks caused me to skid into a whirlwind of disappointment and dread. *SLAP* My little body skipped across the tile as my hands fell flatly on the tile.

“NO!” My brain screamed, this was no time for an actual yelp. Santa would have certainly heard that. I rolled into the shadows like any six year old ninja would. I closed the door as silently as possible, turning the handle at eye level so that there was no click when the door shut to the lock. If Santa couldn’t see who had run into the bathroom, maybe he would dock my brothers some presents instead of me. I jammed a towel at the bottom of the door to keep the light from spilling through.

Sweet glorious relief. I aimed at the side of the bowl to muffle the report. After I was finished, I debated as to whether or not I should flush. I decided not to. Sanitation could wait. I needed to get back to bed and fast. I needed Santa to think that I had been sleeping the whole time. Somewhere inside, I knew that sleep wouldn’t find me. I thought “Man, if I get back to bed, and Santa wasn’t here, then I will hear him make his delivery of goods.” The anticipation gripped me the same way that having to pee had before I endeavored to fulfill my quest to meet King John.

I was right about not sleeping but it wasn’t for the reason that I had previously thought. When I opened the door to scurry back to the bedroom, it happened.

There he was, the big man himself, his mustache frothed with milk, crunching cookies, a gift in hand.

It was my dad.

The fantasy was over, the dream done. At six, I stomped back to my room realizing that silence was pointless. Santa was dead. He had been replaced by a large man named “Dad” and part of my childhood died in the door frame of the commode.

We had a conference the next day after my joyously ignorant brothers rejoiced in the generosity of Santa. I interrogated my parents.

“So the Easter Bunny, he isn’t real?! And the Tooth-Fairy?! She is a product of my imagination?!” I didn’t say “product of my imagination” but you get the drift.

The Fairy Tale was over.

For whatever reason, this is the story that came to mind when I read this recent article from Grist about how Frac’ing could have caused the now famous Purple Squirrel. A few weeks ago, there was this story about a cancerous deer in Dimock, PA, also, they claimed, the result of Hydraulic Fracturing.

How much more ridiculous can this get? That Purple Squirrel and that wart covered deer were no more the cause of Fracturing than Santa Clause is responsible for delivering billions of presents to billions of children worldwide in a single night.

The goofy thing is that these reports are gaining traction. People are actually circulating this garbage. Children believe in Santa Clause because they don’t understand the laws of physics and they can’t possibly wrap their brains around the fact that Santa’s late night deliveries of gifts are entirely impossible on this terrestrial plane. Adults know that Santa Clause doesn’t exist because he can’t. Their gift receipts prove that.

Those who know about Hydraulic Fracturing know that the reaches Fractivists are going through (similar to the way that retailers love the obligation to purchase gifts created by the belief in Santa Clause) are the causal factor in the perpetuation of their cause.

They want Frac’ing held responsible for everything. Earthquakes, water contamination, air-contamination, ozone destruction, global warming, melting ice caps, sick people, the death of the American dream, attacks on families, Purple Squirrels and cancerous deer. These are all issues they have attempted to link with Frac’ing.

They can’t prove it, but they like that the average Joe doesn’t have the time to do their homework.

If the Average Joe would do his homework, he would find Dad eating the cookies in the Fractivist camp and realize how completely ignorant they sound. I want there to be a “Death of the Fantasy” moment like there was for a six year old ninja who looked on the truth of Santa Clause for the first time and I want them to grip the reality that it presents.

The truth is the truth and the truth will out. I want to be there when it does, then maybe, the sweetness of truth and the death of a fantasy believed by so many will come full circle and I will finally be happy to know that Santa and his fantastical cohorts were never real.

 

 

 

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