As long as the nation’s fleet of private jets can take to the skies there’s no call to whine about so-called climate (the Dems’ name for weather). There’s a right way to think about it, just do a thought experiment. Imagine the Rio Grande frozen by some flukish Arctic blip. Poison blood can just walk across the ice straight into Texas — steal your Evinrude, peep at your wife, whatever. Crazy, right?

First of all, flukes happen. Welcome to life as we know it. Old Mother Nature can be uppity — she’s a woman! But there’s a come-to-daddy moment when the chips are down, and that’s when the private jets go airborne, from Boca Chica to Belarus, from Dallas to Davos. They carry the right fellas doing the right thing in the right places for the right people to make the weather great again.

As long as gushers outnumber dusters, wealth is protected, the lobby’s good-’n-greased, the dark money flows, and there’s a firm hand on the till, the world can count on right guidance in all weathers. You can take that to wherever you hide your stash, pardner.

(c) 2024 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved