There’s a new species on the Endangered List: environmentalism. It’s under attack from all sides – soulless corporate entities and their blithely ignorant shareholders, the politicians they have in the trunks of Lexuses, the free market weasels, the religious rapture set, the spit-laden microphones of bleating radio personalities, and our enticing SUV-and-a-cheeseburger culture of convenience. But it’s also under friendly fire, from stridently self-righteous activists who alienate ordinary Americans to keep their favorite band from selling out. They all want the same thing – to convince you that environmentalists are just a bunch of tree-hugging granola-head hemp-clad Phish fans with white-guy dreadlocks just looking for a ride to Burning Man, dude.

That’s why I’m here. I’m an average American, just like you. I haven’t sported white-guy dreadlocks for months. And I’m taking the power back. I’ve pitched my tent on a wooden plank in the upper most branches of environmentalism, and I’m gonna perch here sipping my yerba mate until the bulldozers give up and go home. Bring on the talking points, bitch! I won’t give up without a fight!

I’ve been following environmental politics closely for years, and it’s not unlike waking up every day of your life and smacking yourself repeatedly on the head with the broad end of a shovel. A dull ache and a sense of boredom. But I’m not going to let environmentalism go down that easy. I’m going to fill you in on all the gory details, and when I run out of sugar-coating I’ll just chase it with booze. It may be dire, ugly and grim, but you need to hear it.

Otherwise, I’ll pull this cord and blow it up. Oh yeah, I’ve got a vest full of explosives. I am the sole member of the Environmentalism Liberation Army, and I’ll blow environmentalism sky high if it comes to it. Out of love.