Stephen Hawking is one of our last living geniuses. As far as science is concerned, we have many amazing, brilliant scientists alive at the moment, thankfully. Genius, however, is rare and not a word we can easily throw around. That being said, Stephen Hawking is, without a doubt, one of the most brilliant minds on the planet.
This year, Donald Trump has made many ridiculous claims against climate change and dismissing it as a hoax. He’s even gone as far as to say that the United States should issue a “Parexit,” otherwise known as exiting the Paris Accord. If you don’t already know, the Paris Agreement was reached by 195 countries at the United Nations Climate Change Conference in Paris in 2015, aimed at coordinating global efforts to fight climate change and try to undo some of the damage we have already done.
Basically, Donald Trump wants us to withdraw and somehow act like we have no horse in the race, like acid rain clouds, hurricanes, earthquakes and ozone layer holes are just going to skip over the United States or that the melting polar ice caps are just going to ignore us. Frankly, he’s a moron and now Stephen Hawking has drafted a letter to let him know.
Dear Mr. Trump,
At this point in time, I have found it necessary to reach out to you and educate you on some finer points of science. If you continue to insist on these ridiculous notions that are going against already agreed upon factors that have been looked at by the world’s leading scientists, I am afraid that we are going to have to give you a scientific demonstration. You see, with every action comes an equal and opposite reaction. As it stands, when one makes bold, asinine comments, such as the ones you have been making, the community you are rallying against has but one recourse: to respond, in kind. So, with that being said, let me start with some indisputable scientific facts that will help to cement the idea in your head that you have spoken out of turn and that you are going against science: I’m going to kick your f*cking ass!
That’s simply it. You keep running your goddamn mouth about some sh*t you don’t know anything about, and we’re going to have to beat you down until you wish you had your mama’s teats to suck on again. You’re going to cry like the big, fat baby you are. I’m going to take my motorized wheelchair and run a few laps on your ass, until the only thing you can see are treadmarks. You’re going to wander through the world naked, blind and cold, until I run you over again and spin my wheels in between your buttcheeks. It’s game over for you, bitch. I grew up on the mean streets of Oxford. Do you know what it’s like out there? We use baby fingers for christmas crackers. Now I’m just going to use your goddamn face. This is science, bitch. We’re going to end you.