Source: Bigstock

Strange news from the Czech Republic (or Czechia, or Czech-Land, or World of Czechs, or whatever the place has decided to call itself this month), where a colony of beavers have just built themselves some dams in the Vltava River Basin.

This doesn’t sound like it should really be news at all, but the clever beavers just happened to have constructed their wood-and-mud dams in the precise same locations as the area’s incalculably less efficient humans were planning to throw up some dams of their own using far more expensive steel and concrete, saving the Czech state millions in building costs.

Planning permission had already been granted for the human dam project for some time, but no spades had as yet been plunged into any soil, due to interminable legal disputes about who actually owned the land. Yet it turned out the eager beavers didn’t give a fig for abstract concepts like title deeds. Instead, like typical gypsy tinkers throwing up a new illegal caravan site on a supermarket car park in two hours flat overnight, the law-flouting mammals just rolled up under cover of darkness and did what they wanted to do anyway.

Czech zoologist Jiri Vlček went into Bohemian rhapsodies over the animals’ actions, saying beaver construction workers possess certain innate advantages over their human counterparts these days: “Beavers are able to build a dam in one night, two nights at the most, while people have to get building permits, get the building project approved, and find the money for it. But of course a [human operating a mechanical] digger working on his own could build it in about a week.”

Yes, he could do—until the bureaucrats decide to get involved and stop him from so much as patting down the topsoil with a child’s toy plastic trowel, that is. This all got me thinking: What’s the stupidest consideration that has ever had to be taken into account by a modern-day planning committee, in these times of endless compulsory Local Community Consultation Plans and legally obligatory Environmental Impact Assessments? The champion answer came from what was famously called the Land Down Under by 1980s pop group Men at Work—who, in 2020s Australia, would find themselves forcibly unemployed due to gay eco-fanatics.

Beetaloo Faces Waterloo
The remote Beetaloo Basin in Australia’s Northern Territory is absolutely full of lovely, burnable shale gas. Such hydrocarbons are highly valuable, of course, meaning the Australian government was keen to start handing out licenses for extracting the stuff—which, in 2023, it did, giving the green light for thousands of fracking wells to be dug across the entire arid moonscape.

Thing is, in our era of alleged “climate catastrophe,” the Australian government is also equally desperate to appear eco-friendly. Therefore, unlike Czech beavers, the hairless bipedal virtue signalers in Canberra decided they first had to waste the best part of a decade making a fake show of going “uum,” and “aah,” prior to inevitably just signing on the dotted line with BP or Shell in the end anyway. Consultation after consultation went ahead between interested “stakeholders,” as they are called in contemporary administrative jargon, and civil servants, wasting endless time and tax cash.

The viewpoints of anyone at all had to be considered. All you had to do was contact the relevant authorities and tell them the drilling might seriously affect you, and you would automatically gain the right to a hearing. Which is how a self-declared “mermaid” named Amber McBride ended up addressing a quango called “The Scientific Inquiry Into Hydraulic Fracturing in the Northern Territory,” held at the Alice Springs Convention Center on 3 August 2017.

Preserve Us From Amber
Who is Amber McBride? Well, in her own verbatim words of self-introduction to the inquiry, as contained in the official transcript of the occasion, “My legal name is Amber McBride and I self-identify as an ecofeminist warrior mermaid fairy princess cowgirl, and my chosen name is Fanny Waterfalls.”

Displayed openly on Amber/Fanny’s Facebook page, you will find several deeply distressing images of her cosplaying as a giant supernatural orange tiger-woman, a chalk-painted Aborigine in a black evening dress, and the world’s least fairy-like fairy, a massively obese Titania in a frilly pink tutu. If Amber really is the Sugar Plum Fairy, it can only be in the limited sense that she has consumed so many of these sucrose-laced items that she is scheduled to die of galloping diabetes before the age of 40. Watching her wobble into the committee meeting, she looks big enough to contain a minor shale-gas field in and of herself. Whenever she farts, she can probably power half of Adelaide.

Once placed before a court of esteemed scientists and legal professionals named as the Honorable Justice Rachel Pepper, Dr. David Ritchie, Dr. Alan Andersen, and Prof. Barry Hart, Amber proceeded to fill them in on her own highly impressive credentials. It turned out her grandparents once lived in a small town called Rainbow, and that her parents “met at art school in New South Wales and fell in love at the Nimbin Aquarius Festival,” before going on to conceive her “in a tent on a mountain,” later setting up something called a “self-sufficient art farm” (you can eat paintings now?), where they allowed her to live “an idyllic fairy princess childhood,” one she never grew out of.

As befits the ultimate spawn of a town called Rainbow, the fairy lady’s parents christened all their kids after colors, hence her own position on the color chart as “Amber.” Together with her siblings “Green” and “Red,” that made a whole set of traffic lights.

Naturally, being an Australian, Amber also likes her Amber Nectar: not Castlemaine XXXX as on the classic 1980s beer ads, but a disturbingly different form of yellowish fluid instead. Following a midlife queer environmental awakening, Amber began to call herself “Fanny Waterfalls”; U.S. readers may need to be told that in British and Australian English, the word “fanny” means “vagina,” as opposed to “asshole.” Hence, her chosen new queer fairy name actually appears to mean something like “Gushing Pussy,” although to U.S. ears it may just make her sound like she has dysentery.

The Fairy Queen
Other than mental illness, what could have caused this supposed “ecofeminist warrior mermaid” to have chosen such a bizarre and obscene name as “Fanny Waterfalls”? The simple fact that, as well as being a “fairy princess cowgirl,” she also self-identifies as an “ecosexual,” a new subset of queer identitarians who claim to gain erotic satisfaction from engaging in consensual sexual activities with Planet Earth itself, and all of its natural manifestations—like trees, rocks, soil, mountains, and rivers.

You can see my recent fuller article on these weirdos here, but Amber defines the phenomenon succinctly as the practice of “treating the planet as a lover” in order to set a good moral example to others and “help someone decide to recycle or not” after they’ve just seen you sucking off a stalagmite or fingering a mudhole. As such, on her Facebook page, Amber has photos of her quite literally hugging trees.

Amber told the Fracking Inquiry committee that being part of “the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender, Intersex, Queer, and Questioning Community” lent her special insights into environmental issues within the Northern Territory—she’d probably gain even more in Queensland. Attending a Gay Pride festival in Alice Springs (another good potential queer piss-play name) in 2013, Amber explained that “I met some beautiful local sister girls, from this country, who shared with me the Dreaming of the Caterpillar Story.”

By “beautiful local sister girls,” Amber meant black lesbian Aborigine women, the “Dreaming” referring to ancient native “Dreamtime” creation myths about the giant island continent. Being in a sexual relationship with Australia itself, Amber seems to consider herself an honorary Abo, too, having once “married the Earth” in a special ceremony, and so thinks herself close enough to the Dreamscape to be let in on all its special secrets. Thus, she somehow knows more about the likely impact of fracking upon the place than the ignorant “whitefella” scientists do, as they have never yet licked out the Nullarbor Plain or bummed Uluru with a strap-on didgeridoo like she has.

This profound psycho-sexual-Aboriginal connection has allowed Amber to realize the Beetaloo region is haunted by a Dreamtime “rainbow serpent” that once enjoyed “flying through the sky” but then went underground in the basin and began “creating waterways” there. Under the soil, Amber explained, “There is caves. There is unknown territories, and I believe that there are beings in those caves…. They’re deep underground in hiding or have something else going on,” and drilling down there might kill them all. Worse, it might also kill her new gay girlfriend—one of the Beetaloo’s rivers.

Going Bareback in the Outback
During her wanderings across the Northern Territory, Amber continued to explain, she “fell in love with the river” in question, and the feeling was mutual, with said watercourse allowing her to sit down right in its middle without drowning her, at which point she had a massive orgasm during which “all the fireworks went off in my brain, and it was so right for me.”

Having heard all “the draining stories” about the proposed fracking of the Beetaloo Basin, Amber felt this would constitute a literal rape of her girlfriend and the surrounding environs. “The hydraulic fracturing of the Earth upsets my whole being,” she complained, what with “all that drilling [and] penetrating.” Determined to protest, Amber began living in a tent (presumably a massive circus one) “on the front line,” getting “immediate [telepathic] confirmations” from Planet Earth whenever she erected it in the correct spot requiring activist protection.

Displaying her vast grasp of scientific knowledge, Amber protested to the committee about “all these informations about the water catching on fire in America” and “chemicals unknown being stabbed into the Earth.” But they aren’t “chemicals unknown,” though, are they? The fossil-fuel companies know perfectly well what chemicals they’re using during the fracking process, it’s just that Amber doesn’t because she’s not a chemist or an engineer, just a mad queerbo who cums in rivers.

Frack Widow
What is far, far worse than Amber’s loony ramblings, however, is the embarrassingly obsequious level of respect with which they were received by the assembled committee members, or “guys with ties,” as they apologized for being (even though their leader was a tieless woman).

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Waterfall, and we certainly appreciate you coming here today, giving up your time, giving up your energy,” the Honorable Justice Rachel Pepper told Amber once she had finally finished dribbling. “I would just like to say, that was one of the best presentations we’ve had,” added Dr. David Ritchie. Jesus Christ, what were the other ones like? Dame Edna masturbating with a boomerang?

There really are legitimate “stakeholder concerns” that should be listened to during drilling projects, about matters like pollution, disruption, the desecration of genuine native sacred sites, and so forth. But if Western nations are now so far gone in their desire to be “inclusive” of the demented and invented pseudo-concerns even of outright insane people like Amber McBride/Fanny Waterfalls, who warn you not to start digging lest you disturb the sleep of a multicolored rainbow gay-snake living in an imaginary dream cave at the center of the Earth, then absolutely nothing is ever going to get built, anywhere, ever again.

How can such foolish, self-imposed obstacles to industrial progress now possibly be overcome in places like Australia? With recent events in the Czech Republic very much in mind, couldn’t the fracking companies just turn up one night, dig all the wells anyway, then tell all the Abos and hippies that moles did it?