I tried an experiment. Inspired by the Global Warming or None Like it Hot segment in An Inconvenient Truth, I schlepped a giant ice cube upstairs to my bath tub.

With the bathtub full of warm water – to simulate rising temperatures – I gingerly lay the ice cube in the tub and waited. 1…2…2 and a half. 3 minutes in, my large block of ice was sweating cold water, sliding down the sides, entering the tub, one drop at a time. As the water level rose, I grinned, for the power I experienced at that moment was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

Control. A controlled experiment.

Until the bathtube overflowed, covering the bathroom floor with enough water to submerge my darling feet (full disclosure – I was wearing galoshes), I experienced the experience of losing control.

Anticipating the flood, I had also placed my daughter’s stuffed animal, a polar bear, on the bathroom floor. It didn’t swim as well as I had hoped.

Postscript: Inspired by the classic rubber duck, in a follow-up ‘controlled’ experiment the stuffed polar bear was substituted with a plastic one, since plastic floats beautifully in water.

Now, the Yeppo Talks Podcast.

Show Notes for How to Conduct a Controlled Experiment:

00:11 Intro
00:22 Form a Hypothesis
00:28 Test the Hypothesis
00:34 Evaluate the Hypothesis
00:42 Wrap-Up

In a week that reported Bill Gates is no longer the world’s richest man because he gave away a huge chunk of his fortune (Philanthropist) and Charlie Sheen lost his job on Two and Half Men because he gave away a huge chunk of his brain (Pisseditallawayatist), Yeppo Talks gives you a very busy podcast. Busy, busy, bee-zee. Full of comedy, timely and timeless (yet to be determined), Yeppo Talks is here for you because time zips by and then we wonder, “What the hell was that all about?” So let’s be thankful for the one important thing we can hold on to: lunacy.

Show Notes for Smurple:

00:16 Word of the day
00:30 Joke of the day
00:44 Editorial – What to Do About Climate Change
01:08 New Music with Keith – Charlie Sheen’s Dad
02:06 Traffic Report with Margaret’s Boyfriend
02:40 Weather Report with Margaret
02:52 Wrap-Up
03:12 Yeppo Talks Theme and Credits

You can watch the Charlie Sheen’s Dad video here. And check out Smurple Talks here. And this week’s show is here:

This sketch is special, a blend of my childhood faves, Eddie Murphy & Richard Pryor. Sketch Bitch would not be out of place on Saturday Night Live.

Show notes for Sketch Bitch:

00:11 Introduction
00:24 Sketch Bitch samples
00:38 Special requests
00:55 Collectable Sketch Bitch Products

This episode focuses on relationships.  How they work, how they break down and a way to fix them. Fix them, that is, the Yeppo Talks way. On today’s episode, two new characters are introduced: Margaret and her guy. Lovers in a dangerous place. On with the show.

Show notes for Margaret’s Boyfriend Part 1:

00:11 Margaret’s boyfriend and Margaret
00:45 Eleven O’Clock News
00:51 Lovers in Space

On today’s podcast, meet Evil Dum Dum. In the unaired prequel to this episodic adventure, Evil Dum Dum had kidnapped his archenemy, Beulah, cycling on the French Riviera, and brought him back to his dungeon.

Show notes for Evil Dum Dum:

00:11 Baritoned narrator
00:23 Sinister monologue and character exposition
00:47 Showdown

Second sketch of the season includes a snippet of Shakespeare’s Richard III before morphing into the plight of the polar bear. Feel free to check back every Wednesday for a new episode.

Show notes for Lament of the Polar Bear Part 2:

00:11 Richard the III
00:21 Richard the Texan
00:31 Richard the Standup

So begins the first season of Yeppo Talks. The following is a public domain joke. I don’t take credit in the writing, just the performance. Part 2 is next week.

Show Notes for Lament of the Polar Bear Part 1:
00:11 Introduction
00:18 Enter Mummy Bear
00:19 Enter Malcolm
00:29 Punchline

Ice is taking it’s time to form in northeastern Manitoba. Late to arrive but the polar bears are waiting, the result is that our white furry fish-loving snarlies may be marooned, so to speak, with no means of getting to where their food is plenty. Thus (pretentious) Therefore – prediction – polar bears will starve.

Is this true? Before it even happens, can this be so? For those of us watching the polar ice caps melt by satellite, is this a surprise? Can I continue this tirade of questions without substantially going forward? Shucks, forget about me, would you, let’s look at the possible tragedy. The bears need sea flesh.

Three hundred and thirty-three polar bears were interviewed and two out of every three said more or less the same thing: “If I get any thinner you’ll be using me for a rug!”

So, how about, why don’t we, let’s send some aid. Not a cute seal, maybe a barrelfull of freshly caught Atlantic farmed salmon or tilapia or some fake crab meat. But I’m just wondering, because it is a briiliant idea, what if the ice never comes back? What then?

So how about, why don’t we, help those bears help themselves. Y’know, give a polar bear some fresh sea flesh and you feed them for a day but teach them to fish and…oh, right, they know how to fish. It’s the arctic that’s gone kablooey on them. Well, maybe we can teach the polar bears to be more like us. Go to school, get a good job and then they can get whatever they want at the grocery store. 

That’s my dream. To save those white furry PB’s. But SNIFF! I’m sad already. I imagine the fake CGI polar bear in those Coke commercials  (aren’t they cute?) swimming and swimming and swimming and never finding another bottle of Coke.

And now, for your listening pleasure, Lament of the Polar Bear Part 1

My bathroom has soap that smells like melon. The fragrance – infused with 6% real melon – reminds me of the beach and everything I love about the beach:

Sunshine
Ocean air
Salt water
Waves
Pink sand

Smells of Melon is my friend. A vacation in a bottle. Hand-washing is the single-most important thing in my life right now. I’ll wash my hands for no reason at all, just so I can dream of pink sand.

Bermuda has pink sand. Bermuda is stunning. Have a look.

See the pink sand? If you think Bermuda is heaven, it is – heaven for rich folks. It helps to have loads of money to vacation in Bermuda. Even more to live there. Buy a million dollar house and the island is yours. Not all of it, just the land where the house sits. But what a place to sit! 

I know someone who lunched with Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones in Bermuda. Rich and famous people are preferred on the island. At night, I love to stroll past the yachts, looking up at the stars. I imagine I’m a star. I feel like the King of Bermuda. My ego engulfs the island. I’m a wise old fish (or a rich old shark) starring in my own beach movie.

Notice there aren’t any stars in this picture. That was the night before Hurricane Florence. God thought that if you’re going to think you’re in heaven, a little hell is worth the price of admission. So God made hurricanes. I’ve never been on the li’l isle of Bermuda during hurricane season. It’s freaky.

Freaky weather is okay, if you don’t mind your hair shooting up or your dog getting plastered into a fire hydrant. Actually, I’d love to see what happens to the dog just for the reaction of the dog owner. Actually again, I’m puzzled by anyone who stays on the island during this Act of God.

“I paid a million bucks for this palace and I’m going down with it!!!”

Admirable enough. But it’s not a ship and you’re not a sea captain. Leave. Max out the house insurance and fly up to Saskatchewan. Nothing ever happens there. Or anywhere away from the hurrah of the hurricane, preferably near a drug store, where they sell Smellin‘ Melon soap.

Lather up, sniff and wait for the pink sand.

The World Health Organization (WHO) says to avoid Mexico. Outbreak. Swine flu. Apparently, you’ve got to look over your shoulder or some swine will stab you in the back. Reps @ WHO, however, also say that eating pork is absolutely fine. Bacon, pork chops etc. Cook the beast well and the worst you’ll get is a clogged artery.

So how is this swine flu getting around? The virus gets passed from pig to person through the air. It’s airborne. So whatever you do, don’t sneeze on a pig. And if you hear a pig sneeze, run for the showers. And unlike mad cow disease (when the cows went nuts despite psychotherapy) and avian flu (when the birds kept flying around despite our strongest protests), in this case we cannot blame the pig. Pigs don’t carry hankies. They don’t even have sleeves. Humans have mastered the sleeve sneeze, where the sneeze germs go straight from nose to our sleeves. The germs don’t rocket out and infect unsuspecting peeps. Result: Fewer sick people, our laundry doubles.

I remember the avian flu. Watch out, overhead, it’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s… No one I knew got the bird flu. But then again, I’m a vegetarian and I don’t associate with anyone who eats flesh. Poor birds. Now the poor pigs. I’m sure it’s the animals getting back at us. We’ve had mad cow disease, bird flu and now the swine.

What’s going to happen when our pets get tapped? Then we got nowhere to hide. I remember a cold November, the landlord was in a cheap mood and the heating didn’t go on until November. My kitten caught a cold. One morning, the kitten bounded over to me at the sink and sneezed on my foot. That’s how I caught Feline Flu. Now, if I knew then what I know now, I would have gone to Emergency right away. Believe me, Feline flu is next. I know it. We live so close to our pets, we must be passing stuff back and forth.

After serious reflection, I declare a War on Flu. As much as I loved my cat, I think we need to kill all our domestic animals pronto before the next media pandemic hits. Feline flu, canine flu, goldfish flu… it’s just around the corner. I’ll bet you two tickets to Mexico that it happens.

Global warming is great because you don’t have to wait all year to see the summer again. It just appears. Yes, it’s freaky to get a warm blast in winter, but if you’re paying attention, it’s also a pleasant surprise. Like a large income tax return. You weren’t counting on it, but what the hell.

Global Warming isn’t only about the planet getting hotter, though. It’s about freaky stuff going down. For centuries, when freaky weather occurred people said things like:

“It’s snowing in July. Oh my God, we’ve offended God. Let’s do a human sacrifice to make God happy.”

But in modern times we are smarter and we know better. Today, we say things like:

“I can’t believe it’s snowing in July. This is nuts.”

But then the snow stops and we head back to the beach. While some still think we should try another human sacrifice, others are wondering, “Hot scorching sun followed by flurries followed by more scorching sun, all in an afternoon? This is really nuts.” Don’t worry, it’s really simple.

You see, like us, our weather patterns now have short attention spans too. So many of us have ADD that we have willed the weather patterns to change willy nilly. For example, if you are bored from being in your air-conditioned home on a hot summer’s day, just close your eyes and say:

I know I’m bored. I know I’m bored. I know I’m bored.

In a few minutes, it will rain. You may have wanted the temperature to drop just a little so you could go outside, but again, don’t worry. The rain will soon stop and the sun will shine radiantly for all in the land to partake in it’s golden glory. But don’t go and pee because you’ll miss it.

I was startled by a picture of Andrew Lloyd Webber in yesterday’s paper. Was this the same ugly guy who created Evita, Jesus Christ Superstar and The Phantom of the Opera? Somehow, he had gotten uglier.

The skin was pulled back, the corners of the mouth pointing up to the moon, all wrapped up in a petrified smile. It gave me nightmares on elm street. Was this plastic surgery? If so, it failed. Webber is now a shoe-in as the next Phantom.

“Don’t look at me, I’m hideous!”

It must be plastic surgery, I said to myself. So I snooped around and it turns I’m not the only person who noticed this (No link provided. That site traps you and prevents you from returning to the warm bosom of Yeppo Talks). Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber’s face has indeed been phantomized.

Webber has joined the long list of famous peeps who’ve said no to aging.

“No, no, I will not get old and die,” they say.

I say, “Yes, yes. Die you will.”

The problem is plastic people don’t decompose as fast as real people. So how do we govern so many plastic people in the world? Do we reduce, reuse or recycle? Well, reducing is out of the question because Dr. Snips is making a killing. Don’t ever make changes if it cuts into your profits (unless it’s your face). Reusing is already happening as we have to suffer through photos – and moving pictures – of these facial disasters. But that leaves us with the same problem – far too many plastic people in a global warming world.

Recycling, then, is the only solution. This is what we do. As soon as these faux-faced folks die, we don’t bury them – we give them back to the Plastic Surgeon’s Society. The happy-go-lucky butchers at the PSS are then legally bound to recycle the plastic face parts for future Hollywood stars. Consider it part of the production budget, but at half the price.

I believe many will find this a brilliant fix to the plastic people problem. It reduces the carbon faceprint while cutting costs. But I know some won’t be completely satisfied because we’re still stuck with an ark-full of ugly peeps.

I had a modest goal for Earth Hour. As my pupils cosied up to a flickering candle, I began my Earth Hour ready to speed-read all of Ghandi’s autobiography. 528 pages in 60 minutes. An inspirational moment requires inspirational reading. But when I scanned my street Saturday night, dozens of hamsters were asleep at the wheel. Their damn windows were lighting up the block. After screaming “Bloody Virtue,” I took stock of the situation. Was I expecting too much?

 Can I expect every individual to give up important rituals like Hockey Night in Canada, web-surfing or microwaving a piece of bread for an entire hour? That’s a helluva long time. It’s unrealistic. It’s also unfair. Maybe someone had a good reason to microwave their bread. Perhaps it was a granny who lived through the war, going years without any creature comforts and now the microwave is all that keeps her from deep sadness. But I don’t want to save the planet alone. Earth Hour is about being united. I want to do it together. If I’m doing this alone I’d only want to brag and bragging is not my style. I’ve never bragged, ever. Okay, only six times.

So I decided I was not going to read all of Ghandi’s autobiography. I was now going to read every other page. It was an awesome decision. I felt like one of the gang. I then skipped two pages at a time, then every three pages and as Ghandi’s journey became incoherent, I read every fifteenth page, leap-frogging to the end. I was done in 20 minutes (Solar-powered watch by candlelight). I smiled. I gazed into the flame of my still flickering candle, wax dripping down. Oh no! What would I do for the rest of Earth Hour? Reading was out, the last book I read was a drag. And then I remembered that one earth hour is only twenty minutes on Jupiter. Technically, I wasn’t on Jupiter but:

If
twenty Jupiter minutes = 1 Earth Hour,
then
all things being equal I had done my time

Einstein would agree that time is relative. So I turned on all my lights, microwaved some bread and went outside to join the party.

Some businesses fly and others, to survive, have to reinvent themselves. Some get close to death and ask for charity. The Big Three Car Companies need to skip the bailout and serve the needs of the people.

FACT!
Selling more portable polluting machines that kill the environment is not going to win public favor.

SOLUTION! If hundreds of other companies have greened up, so can the car companies.

Now let’s be clear, they haven’t all become environmentally friendly. They’ve just greened up. Green logos, green billboard ads, green t-shirts, green stickers, green promotional products – eye-catching and still planet-killing.

Slightly on the insincere side, but a fab move and you can’t bitch with success. And success is what the Big Three need. So stop waffling Big Car Guys. Go green. And I don’t mean electric or hybrids. Nope, too costly. I’m saying paint all the cars green. The Green Revolution has reminded us the life-and-death importance of fashion. It’s got to look good before it feels right. So cover the problems with a coat of fresh, grass-smelling green paint. And the next wave of immigrants will arrive in the land where the streets are lined with green.