Notice of Lease Termination
Landlord: Earth
Tenants: The Human Race
PLEASE BE ON NOTICE that your planetary lease is hereby terminated. You are directed to gather all your members, pack up your belongings, and depart the planet immediately. I’m giving you one day to get out. And, while I’d like you to leave the property in the same condition as you found it, I know that’s not realistic. Just leave.
This week, you humans celebrated what you refer to as “Earth Day.” Well, I’m the Earth, and I’m having a day. A hell of day, if I may say so. Thanks a lot for bringing me hell. Please take it with you when you leave.
When I tell you that you’ve got one day to get off my surface and away from my atmosphere, I’m referring to one of my days, not yours. You base your days on my rotation. Every time I spin you count it as a day. My days are based on movements of the universe. To me, a day lasts a thousand years. That should give you enough time to pack up and move out.
Why am I terminating your lease? It’s quite simple: you didn’t honor our agreement. When I put you naked monkeys in charge, we agreed that you would take care of the place. We had a deal. I provided you with land masses replete with nourishing soil, lakes, rivers, forests, savannahs, mountains, glaciers, plains, and deserts. I gave you access to my bountiful oceans and other bodies of water. All I asked in return is that you keep the place clean.
I gave you the animals. I tinkered with them to make your home more hospitable. No more dinosaurs – they would have eaten you. (If I only knew then…) No more saber-toothed tigers. (Such messy eaters!) No more giant sloths; once I created humans, you had sufficient sloths among you. No more pterodactyls. They’d devour your pets and farm animals. And that giant sea snake? I knew it would freak you out, so I bought it a ticket on the extinction bus. The things I did to make your home planet friendly, habitable, and supportive.
I gave you plants. You have trees. Some of them bear fruit, some can be turned into dwellings. I gave you grasses to feed your cattle and other domesticated animals. I gave you plains covered with wheat so you could make bread. I gave you corn, legumes, vegetables, seeds, and dates. I gave you grapes and barley so you could make wine and beer, because I know how much you like those things. I even gave you plants that you can smoke. I didn’t care if you set yourself on fire; just don’t set me on fire.
But you wouldn’t stick with the program, would you?
I filled the oceans with a bounty of sea creatures. Many provided you with a healthy diet, while others are simply beautiful to look at. See what you have done to my wonderful oceans.
I surrounded you with a protective blanket of air and ozone, to keep you safe from dangerous radiation. I gave you rain and snow to help you make food and drink. You were given lakes and rivers, iridescent ponds with fish and flowers, ecstatic waterfalls, clouds, and sunsets.
I gave you rainbows; you turned my sky brown.
All I asked in return was that you take care of the place. Go ahead and fish my oceans, but don’t overdo it. Avoid throwing your trash into my magnificent seas and retrieve any garbage that fell into them. Go ahead and hunt the animals, I said, but leave enough to keep the species intact. Farm the land, I told you, but don’t waste it. You broke every promise.
Look at the mess you are leaving behind: The air is dirty and unbreathable in many of your cities. You managed to poison most of the groundwater. You are turning farmland into deserts. You dump your waste into my beautiful oceans. My animals, your companions and support, are becoming extinct at the fastest rate in my existence. Everywhere you go you leave behind a smoking, empty wasteland.
Need I mention that you gave me a fever?
Start packing. Build rockets to the moon, or Mars, or whatever unfortunate world you decide to inhabit next. Looking back, it’s clear that I put the wrong species in charge. I screwed up; I trusted you. Just get out and I’ll replace you with a superior species that has a lot more respect for me, as well as common sense.
Leave the dogs here.
Finally, in honor of your Earth Day, I have one more thing to tell you:
Take your stinking paws off me, you damn, dirty apes!