Climate Scientist: I Will Be 4 Degrees Hotter By 2030
An inconvenient truth — for my haters.
Rising sea levels. Raging wildfires. My ex Jessica’s final letter before she moved back to Austin.
I’ve studied these phenomena as a climate scientist for years, and I have come to an inescapable conclusion: I will be at least four degrees hotter by 2030.
The data does not lie, and my goal of becoming an absolute snicky-snack in the next decade is numerically assured. Evidence abounds both in laboratory settings — my colleagues have made repeated note of my broadening shoulders and surgically enhanced hairline — and the “real world,” where I regularly shower, experiment with cologne, and wear jeans that fit my swelling quadriceps.
As a climate scientist, I was trained to analyze complex sets of data and to make educated predictions about future conditions. Here, based on my own observations, are several:
- Seasons will change: Rather than winter, summer, spring, and fall, it will be hot boy summer all the time.
- With just a two-degree increase in my hotness, the second-order effects of the change will be increasingly intense. Calculations suggest I may go so far as to buy a rowing machine.
- I will wear a large gold watch, which will double in size by 2043.
- Computer modeling shows that I could be cast in modeling shows by mid-decade.
- Droughts will increase as those that meet me are left increasingly thirsty.
My forthcoming swagger was not inevitable. Had policymakers, institutions, and Jessica taken my potential seriously, this change could have been less disruptive. Widely available evidence was ignored by friends and family who should have known my sudden interest in skincare was not “just a phase.”
Denialism, however, will get us nowhere. If my nutrition and self-confidence plans continue on their current trajectory, I could be as much as 8 degrees hotter by mid-century, placing me firmly in what scientists call the “grand-zaddy” zone.
Culture will grind to a halt as all artistic output pays tribute to my pristine figure. Democracies will shudder under the weight of my transformation. Policymakers will have to implement reforms, such as banning average schlubs from making eye contact with me. Jessica, in her old age, may even apologize for her hateful screed against my hat collection.
This change may be inconvenient to some. I realize my warning may be ignored. As Albert Einstein, a hero of mine, once said: “let the players play, let the haters hate, and let karma handle their fate.”
I agree.
Twitter: @HeIsMaxBarth
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