Listen here, you little ♥♥♥♥♥.
You are growing up in one of the most beautiful places on earth.
Everything here is all decked out elk and the imperial majesty of winter and you, ingrate children of the snow, spend all your time in classes learning about things.
They will teach you nothing about ice skating on the bones of your enemies or lighting moose on fire or felling trees the beaver way or how to make friends in a blizzard, which is with a shovel.
What I'm saying is, it's beautiful as a mushroom cloud out here, and by the time your grandchildren can enjoy it, it's all going to be a tepid ocean anyway, so whatever you do, put some of it inside your head before it's gone.
It's all yours, you bastards.
It's yours.