In what experts are calling a 'feverish collaboration between nature and incompetence,' California has once again erupted into a spectacular inferno that makes Dante’s ninth circle look like a gas barbecue. The beast of a blaze, licking at the heels of panicked motorists, is a grim reminder that the Golden State’s emergency services are thinner than a supermodel’s patience at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Local news anchors, grief vampires, have been gurning at screens as footage shows charred sedan shells and a sky the colour of a bruised misprint. 'We are beyond stretched,' confessed a fire chief who looked like he had borrowed his posture from a question mark. 'We’re using garden hoses and prayers.'
Residents fled in scenes reminiscent of a Molotov cocktail hurled into a kindergarten. One evacuee, a man who introduced himself as 'Mitch, a serial entrepreneur,' said he grabbed only his Beats headphones and a jar of artisanal mayonnaise. 'The flames were right there. They looked vegan,' he wept.
The authorities, meanwhile, are blaming 'climate change, arson and perhaps a psychic dog.' This reporter suspects the real culprit is a confluence of greed, apathy and a broken air conditioning unit in the governor’s mansion. But what does a gin-soaked miscreant know?
As the fire marched relentlessly toward the billion-dollar real estate of Hollywood Hills, celebrities took to Twitter to express concern about their carbon monoxide detectors. 'I am safe, thank God, but my Malibu beach house is currently roasting like a pheasant in a vagrant’s campsite,' tweeted an actress whose moisturiser costs more than eight fire engines.
Emergency services have reportedly been mobilised from neighbouring states, though they are arriving to find all the hotel rooms booked by tech bros fleeing the smoke. This is a state that can make a burrito app in an afternoon but cannot douse a fire that has been burning for weeks. The cognitive dissonance is enough to make a cat laugh.
This correspondent, while reviewing hotel reviews on his mobile phone, noted that many are criticising the 'lack of marshmallows' in the emergency response. This is, after all, America. Every disaster is a potential for a snack break.
In the governor’s defence (an act that feels like gargling with broken glass), he has declared a state of emergency, which is a bit like diagnosing a heart attack with a bicycle pump. State funds have been allocated, though it is estimated that 40% will vanish in consultants' fees and another 30% in 'efficiency studies.' The rest will be spent on a press conference where the governor’s hair does all the acting.
The fire has been described as a 'firenado' by the internet, a term that doesn’t appear in any meteorological textbook but does exactly what it says on the tin. It spins, it kills, it terrifies. Just like the news cycle.
As I pack my typewriter and my flask, I can only marvel at the sheer audacity of a land that builds its cities from kindling and then expresses surprise when they catch fire. California, I love you like a sick relative. But dear God, will you ever do anything about the smoking?
