Seen to the left in actual size is the world's smallest violin, playing a special rendition of "My Heart Cries for You" in honor of George Monbiot, aka George Moonbat. The collapse of the global warming hoax has made him tragically aware that his life has been a waste of time. Whimpers Moonbat:

No level of evidence can shake the growing belief that climate science is a giant conspiracy codded up by boffins and governments to tax and control us. …

The attack on climate scientists is now widening to an all-out war on [pseudo]science. Writing recently for the Telegraph, the columnist Gerald Warner dismissed scientists as "white-coated prima donnas and narcissists … pointy-heads in lab coats [who] have reassumed the role of mad cranks … The public is no longer in awe of scientists. Like squabbling evangelical churches in the 19th century, they can form as many schismatic sects as they like, nobody is listening to them any more."

Not the corrupt ones who let Big Government buy their integrity, anyway — and not warmist propagandists like Moonbat either, even though it breaks the poor guy's heart.

Even Moonbat comes close to admitting that belief in global warming is a matter of obedience to leftist ideology. He quotes from an article in Nature:

Those who see themselves as individualists and those who respect authority … "tend to dismiss evidence of environmental risks, because the widespread acceptance of such evidence would lead to restrictions on commerce and industry, activities they admire". Those with more egalitarian values are "more inclined to believe that such activities pose unacceptable risks and should be restricted". … I would rather be pelting scientists with eggs than trying to understand their datasets. But my [political] beliefs oblige me to try to make sense of the science and to explain its implications.

But it's just no use, because the unwashed masses don't believe the corrupt and discredited scientists of Moonbat's choosing.

If they don't want to know, nothing and no one will reach them. There goes my life's work.

At the Telegraph, Warner reaches out with words of consolation:

Aw, George, don't be like that. Every prophet knows his moments of despair. You cannot be right all of the time. Lord Kelvin, former president of the Royal Society — today a bulwark of your cause — told us heavier-than-air flying machines were an impossibility and radio had no future. Many of us continue to believe you have a promising future as a national treasure, like one of those eccentric end-of-the-world sandwich-board men giving pleasure to the public. In time, as the affectionately renowned Moonbat, you could become the Michael Foot of global warming. Bear up, lad.

On tips from Byron and Mega. Cross-posted at Moonbattery.