Rich Elites Ignored Climate Change by Flying Hundreds of Private Jets to the Super Bowl

 Here are some jokes about this [Rich Elites Ignored Climate Change by Flying Hundreds of Private Jets to the Super Bowl]

The Super Bowl carbon offset package included one reusable straw, a sapling that fears commitment, and a PR intern named “Sustainability” [1].

They formed a carpool—four helicopters drafting behind a Gulfstream to save fuel [2].

Their idea of being carbon neutral was wearing head-to-toe black on the tarmac [3].

The halftime show was powered by the kinetic energy of 300 jet doors slamming in unison [1].

Nothing says “we’re tackling climate change” like 3rd-and-long runway traffic [2].

They said they bought offsets; turns out they just Venmoed a ficus [3].

Tailgating used to mean grilling in a parking lot; now it’s idling at 40,000 feet [1][3].

The only green room at the stadium was the one where they kept the carbon credits [2].

They insisted the jets were sustainable—each had a bamboo charcuterie board [1].

Security asked if they had anything to declare; they said, “Not our emissions” [3].

They did the wave, but it was contrails [2][1].

One billionaire bragged his jet runs on avocado toast; the pilot calls it “biofuel for Instagram” [3].

Their recycling program is phenomenal—they reuse the same climate pledge every year [1][2][3].

They thought “reduce, reuse, recycle” was the New England defensive scheme [2].

They set up a “Sustainability Lounge” at the airport where the air smelled like ocean breeze, the canapés were served on bamboo, and every guest got a reusable straw plus a QR code that linked to a photo of a tree they might plant someday if their calendar ever opens up. A billionaire asked if the lounge lighting was solar; the attendant said, “No, it’s guilt-powered—every time someone says ‘net zero by 2050,’ the bulbs get a little brighter.” On the way out, they raffled off a ficus named Kelvin as a carbon offset, but he ghosted everyone by shedding his leaves in protest. That was okay—there was a step-and-repeat that said “We Care,” which, as we all know, counts as three acres of rain forest in PR math [1].

Air traffic control tried to ease congestion by suggesting a carpool: four helicopters drafting behind a Gulfstream like it was the Tour de France for people who think turbulence is a personality trait. The pilots called it “eco-formations,” which apparently saves fuel if you squint hard enough and turn the engines off in your imagination. Down on the tarmac they did the wave, except it was contrails spelling “Thoughts and Prayers.” The tower applauded, then asked everyone to taxi to Runway Reduce-Reuse-Recycle, which, fittingly, just circles back to the same talking points every year [2][1].

The halftime show went “green” by being powered entirely by the kinetic energy of 300 private jet doors slamming in righteous hurry. A choreographer in sequins shouted, “More sustainability!” and twelve ground crews synchronized their luggage tosses into a turbine-shaped art piece called “Offset-ish.” The pyrotechnics were replaced by a laser-projected infographic proving that vibes are, in fact, a renewable resource. Backstage, the only actual green room was the one where they stacked the carbon credits like poker chips and called it climate blackjack [3][2].

One mogul announced his jet runs on avocado toast, which his pilot confirmed is technically a biofuel if you hashtag it enough. He landed, posted a black-and-white photo captioned “Carbon Neutral Fit,” and declared himself net-zero because the outfit, like his tax bill, was mostly in the dark. When reporters asked follow-ups, he explained that emissions don’t count if you’re above the clouds because that’s “heaven’s jurisdiction.” The plane’s coffee stirrers were compostable, which almost balanced out the nine airborne jacuzzis onboard [3].

Tailgating used to mean a grill and a cooler; now it’s idling at 40,000 feet, comparing who paid the worst surge for UberJet. One guy bragged his offset app plants a tree for every selfie he takes near a succulent, while another just Venmoed five bucks to a ficus and called it even. They clinked metal straws over a charcuterie board made of reclaimed yacht wood and toasted to “small steps,” like switching from platinum to bamboo toothpicks. Below them, traffic was gridlocked; above them, the conscience was too [1][3].

At the press conference, a spokesperson promised, “We take climate very seriously,” moments before a live flight-tracker behind them lit up like Times Square on fossil fuels. Questions were redirected to the new hire in an eco-hoodie named Sustainability, who assured everyone the jets were “technically carpools” because at least three Labradoodles shared the cabin. Reporters asked about long-term solutions; the answer was a limited-edition tote bag and a pledge to “lean in” to the atmosphere at 500 knots. The mic was powered by a wind turbine—specifically, the one generated by the revolving door of commitments [2][1].

After the game, they announced a bold initiative called Touchdown Green: they’d recycle last year’s pledge, reuse last year’s press release, and reduce expectations across the board. When someone suggested public transit, they nodded thoughtfully and ordered two more jets “just for context.” The season ended, and so did their concern—until next year’s kickoff, when they’ll reissue the exact same statement with a fresh font and call it innovation. Defense wins championships, but their favorite formation is still “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle”—they just thought it was a nickel package [2][3].

Sources

1 How To Be Funny by Steve Allen

2 How Speakers Make People Laugh by Bob Bassindale

3 Make 'Em Laugh by Steve Allen