In a blaze of glorious incompetence that would make Nero blush, Colorado has delivered a masterclass in catastrophic mismanagement. Three firefighters, those brave fools who run towards hell while the rest of us run away, have been consumed by a wildfire that is now merrily skipping across the Utah border like a pyromaniac kangaroo on PCP. The authorities, in their infinite wisdom, have declared it a 'fire of note.' Note to self: if three dead heroes constitute a 'note,' I'd hate to see a full symphony.
Let's talk about the elephant in the room, or rather the charred carcass of an elephant that no one wants to acknowledge. Climate change? Don't be absurd. This is clearly a case of insufficient prayers and an overabundance of dry brush, which is nature's way of saying 'you should have raked the forest.' Our politicians, those feckless peacocks, are now doing what they do best: holding press conferences where they look concerned and promise to 'get to the bottom of this.' The bottom, as always, is a pit of taxpayer-funded impotence.
But spare a thought for our fallen heroes. Johnson, a father of two who died 50 yards from a safety zone because his GPS told him to turn left. Martinez, a 12-year veteran who was last seen giving his oxygen mask to a panicked deer. And poor O'Malley, the rookie who was still paying off his gear from a company that makes 800% profit on flame-resistant underpants. Their sacrifice will not be in vain. It will be used as a cautionary tale in the next budget meeting when someone suggests cutting fire department funding.
Meanwhile, the fire rages on, consuming everything in its path. It has been dubbed the 'Mega Inferno 9000' by local news, who have clearly outsourced their naming department to a 12-year-old playing Minecraft. Evacuations are underway, but let's be honest, trying to evacuate people from their McMansions in an orderly fashion is like trying to herd cats through a revolving door. One resident, interviewed as his house turned to ash, said 'It's God's will.' Indeed, God's will is notoriously fond of poorly enforced building codes and drought-stricken forests.
As I sip my lukewarm airport gin from a flask shaped like a fire extinguisher, I ponder the absurd theatre of it all. The nation will mourn, then forget. The fire will burn, then stop when it runs out of things to eat. And next year, we will do it all again, because learning from mistakes is for people who don't have reality TV. Rest in peace, lads. You deserved better than a headline sandwiched between celebrity gossip and a recipe for beetroot hummus.
