Bees, you ask? Maybee. A starry, starry night sky, Carl? Perhaps. Wendy McCaw’s daily deposits into the Cosmic Bank of Negative Karma? Conclusively. The drip drip dripping of dollars down the drain in Iraq? Definitely, but some of those billions of drips may reverse flow, if recent reports out of Iraq prove more trustworthy than the Bush Administration’s far-from-intelligence anyalyses prior to their ebullient Blitzkreig of Baghdad.
It's the oil, stupid!
My bullshit detector is pinging on this one. Colorado firm IHS has stunned some of the Iraqi politicians and oil engineers by doubling their estimate of the proven oil reserves buried deep beneath the bloody sands of the war-torn country, this time in highly contested Al-Anbar province. I find the timing and location suspect as well as the whole report. Can you say WMD? Wouldn’t it be incredibly convenient if the poor Sunni province suddenly had its own strategic reserves of oil?
With lines in the sand drawn by the Shi’a, Sunni and Kurds dating back centuries, getting any of these three to peacefully agree on a unifying direction for their fragmented world would take a miracle. Last time I looked, the miracle maker wasn’t on the planet, but I hear Haliburton is having an under-fire sale on used oil field equipment, which may not save your sorry soul, but it will save you a couple bucks in this lifetime.
For Haliburton and their ilk, the writing on the wall is in blood and those chicken shits left America and moved to Dubai. That’s dubious, at best, and Dubya is still trying to find Dubai on the map. He has great faith that it’s far right of Texas, though we all know that nothing is more far right than his Crawford Ranch.
The Nookyuler Cowboy and his Beltway Banditos will ride off into the glow of a fast fading sunset of foreign policy decisions, which leave a warm fuzzy feeling in their fat cat wallets. But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Tehran is the sun. Hold on to your quill, Will – that warm glow on the horizon doesn’t look like the rising sun. If that isn’t a mushroom cloud hanging over the Islamic hardliners’ heads, I’ll eat my dosimeter badge.
However, my foresight could be obscured by all these gamma rays flitting about like fireflies on an incredibly toasty Texas night. Note to self: Stop by Target on the way home and buy some lead-lined underwear, pick up canned goods at Alpha-Beta and a box of Ahmadinejad’s Crispy Camel Crackers for the kids. It’s going to be a long nuclear winter, with no winners.
Finding 100-billion barrels of Big Oil beneath your feet can send a crude neocon into cardiac arrest, which may be the only arrest some of these greedy fucktards ever experience, but I’ll gladly take it. I can only pray that, like Kenneth Lay, the guilt will eventually get to some of them. Yet, I doubt that Big Dick Cheney has ever met a deposit he hasn’t liked. Likewise, he’s made many of his own across our country’s crumbling Bill of Rights in the past seven years.
Speaking of piles of shit, how’s that Attorney General doing? Gonzo needs to go back to The Real Muppet Show and leave the interpretation of our nation’s laws to people with a full set of working frontal lobes. Of course, the Commandant in Chief continues to have fool faith in Alburrito and wants to stay the course till the mission is accomplished.
If complete disdain for America’s legal foundation, grossly inept foreign policy, the indifferent killing of thousands of innocent men, women and children and the continued raping, pillaging and plundering of Mother Earth was your mission, then gee, George, I think you’ve accomplished it. You better hang a banner across the U.S.S. Constitution’s poop deck before the grand old lady goes down for good, which might be your last blowjob prior to impeachment.
Ahh, a guy can still dream, can’t he, about the Land of the Free? If you’re going to steal the great American Dream, replacing it with an outsourced Third World ghetto while moving all your assets offshore or to Paraguay, perhaps, like some World War II Nazi escape artist, you could at least humor us with a better song-and-dance routine while ramming your message home to the brave patriots who, sadly, bought front row seats to this Mid-East cluster fuck.
Since your Magic 8-Ball has, apparently, told you that Global Warming is no more real than the Tooth Fairy, whom I hear Ann Coulter calls the Tooth Faggot, I am not surprised that finding more dead dinosaur goo delights you and your crude buddies to no end. Point to ponder, Mr. Pointy-Head Presidente: Burning fossil fuels creates greenhouse gas emissions, which help heat the atmosphere and are contributing to some very nasty, life-ending problems for our planet.
Finding more oil isn’t going to help one iota. That’s like floating in the middle of the ocean on a tiny rubber dinghy, you’re parched and dying from thirst in the baking noonday sun, when a barge filled with Morton Salt bumps into you. Even if an errant pelican drops by with a pouch full of Margarita Mix and a bottle of José Cuervo, the best you can hope for is to numb your senses to the inevitable and kiss your stupid ass goodbye. Only a smart bird gets the worm – the dodo just drinks the tequila. Any alcoholic should realize this.
If the 100-billion barrel bonanza beneath the bloody sands of Al-Anbar really exists and was not fabricated by some right-wing neo-con stink-tank for the sake of holding the bungling Iraqi government together, then its discovery doesn’t bring the country even one step closer to peace. Five years of horrific atrocities at the hands of and because of their ill-prepared liberators, who have yet to bring the Iraq National Oil Company back online to its pre-invasion production levels, prove to Iraqi nationals that America is incapable of fixing all that they’ve broken.
It will take years to rebuild the infrastructure in Iraq to even begin to take advantage of an energy source that is hopelessly antiquated and only fueling our fast track to oblivion. Nuclear power isn’t the answer, either, for until mankind wakes up and realizes that just because it has discovered the technology to create something, if they don’t know how to get rid of it, recycle it or render it benign, then it should never leave the laboratory.
One of the first things you learn how to do when taking ski lessons – is how to stop. Global warming will ensure that fewer people need worry about stopping, in the future, for there will be less snow to get started on down another painful path to a species-ending crash. The only moguls left will be in hiding with Swiss bank accounts.
When consumers around the world tighten their belts and start walking or bicycling more, then they’ll not only lose weight and feel better about themselves and their environment, but their actions will force Big Oil to take a big step back and reevaluate their mission statement, if they want to survive along with the rest of us.
Offshore accounts and distant walled estates worth millions will mean nothing when fresh food and water can’t reach you and the air you’re breathing is choked with the gritty soot generated by your gargantuan greed. You’ll be run over by your own karma.
I hope I’m alive to see the day when Big Sun, Big Wind and Big Hydro have long since laid Big Oil to rest, leaving it in the ground where it belongs. May it decay in peace with all the other outdated waste on this planet: political and religious extremism, rampant imperialism and selfish consumerism. Greed is not good, Gordon.
The Kat
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