In the Gulf where it was born,
Lived an oil spill that fouled the sea,
And they tried to end its life,
But they were useless, BP,
So He golfed and took vacation,
Then He ate to get his fill,
And the crisis spun out of control,
And now we call it His oil spill,
We all live with Obama's oil spill,
Obama's oil spill, Obama's oil spill,
We all live with Obama's oil spill,
Obama's oil spill, Obama's oil spill.
Bobby Jindal He did ignore,
So in three Novembers He's out the door,
And the fat lady begins to sing.
(Vuvuzelas play)
We all live with Obama's oil spill,
Obama's oil spill, Obama's oil spill,
We all live with Obama's oil spill,
Obama's oil spill, Obama's oil spill.
(Full speed ahead, Mr. Oil Spill, there's a beach ahead!
Full speed over here, sir!
There's an oyster bed! And the White House!
Aye, aye, sir, gush!
Oil Spill! Oil Spill!)
As we learn to live with sheen (live with sheen)
Every one of us (every one of us) wants Him to leave (him to leave)
He is confused (he is confused) incompetent still (incompetent still)
About Obama's (about Obama's) oil spill (oil Spill) (Haha!)
We all live with Obama's oil spill,
Obama's oil spill, Obama's oil spill,
We all live with Obama's oil spill,
Obama's oil spill, Obama's oil spill.
(fading)
We all live with Obama's oil spill,
Obama's oil spill, Obama's oil spill,
We all live with Obama's oil spill,
Obama's oil spill, Obama's oil spill.
With musical accompaniment for those without an ear for song.
UPDATE: Thanks to Nice Deb for including the spill in her Thursday Oil Spill Blog Links.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
I Guess I Got Carried Away
It's gets boring down here; you'd be stir crazy too if all you did was pump 1.5 to 2.5 million gallons of oil into the Gulf all day long. I didn't really mean any harm. I guess I just got carried away.
It's that robot's fault. One of those damned little bastards that's laughingly been trying to help BP suck up more of my gusher. It kept pestering me too much. The little thing's a flirt, bouncing around, back and forth, like a dog happy to see its master. So I decided to mess with it.
All I did was introduce it to Frank Zappa. I played a little Joe's Garage (hey, if SpongeBob can have music under the sea, why the hell can't I?). When the CD got around to the tune Sy Borg -- where Joe goes into the closet to have a groovy orgy with robots -- the little bugger started flitting around like a TeleFunken U-47 and, before I knew it, the bastard was blabbering on about government sponsored recreational services while plooking my venting system. It didn't take long for the robot to drop dead from over-exhaustion, and there was my cap, all plooked up. BP had to remove it, and my gusher become a volcano again.
Poor BO. I bet he's a little mad I stole his thunder today. I told him the front page belongs to me.
It's that robot's fault. One of those damned little bastards that's laughingly been trying to help BP suck up more of my gusher. It kept pestering me too much. The little thing's a flirt, bouncing around, back and forth, like a dog happy to see its master. So I decided to mess with it.
All I did was introduce it to Frank Zappa. I played a little Joe's Garage (hey, if SpongeBob can have music under the sea, why the hell can't I?). When the CD got around to the tune Sy Borg -- where Joe goes into the closet to have a groovy orgy with robots -- the little bugger started flitting around like a TeleFunken U-47 and, before I knew it, the bastard was blabbering on about government sponsored recreational services while plooking my venting system. It didn't take long for the robot to drop dead from over-exhaustion, and there was my cap, all plooked up. BP had to remove it, and my gusher become a volcano again.
Poor BO. I bet he's a little mad I stole his thunder today. I told him the front page belongs to me.
Hey, BO: The Front Page Belongs to ME
When BO sits down with Gen. Stanley McChrystal today for a beer summit over the Afghanistan war chief’s loose lips, he’ll just be trying to knock me off the front pages.
On the one hand, I’m impressed with the swift and bold action he’s taking with McChrystal. If criticizing BO was all it took to get his prompt attention, I would have started this blog a lot sooner than three weeks ago. Then maybe the effort to kick my ass would be a lot further along.
But the fact is, even if BO manages to give McChrystal one of the pink slips he wears around the Oval Office to match the new furniture he had Interior Decorator Ken Salazar install, he won’t be feeling pretty and witty and bright for long.
Unfortunately for BO, I'm still front page news, thanks to federal Judge Martin L.C. Feldman, who quashed BO’s moratorium on deepwater drilling yesterday. In yet another blow for the Failure in Chief, Feldman said the Regime not only didn’t prove an all out ban was necessary but also that BO’s truth-changers misstated that the National Academy of Engineering supports a 6 month moratorium on drilling in the Gulf, when it does not.
I’ve said it before: BO lies and the Gulf dies.
When the news sifted down through the salt water in the Gulf last night, a lot of my oil field friends threw a party, thinking that happy days are here again, that they’ll be useful again, that people will love them again and will drive their cars to stores and on family vacations instead of to beaches on Tybee Island, Georgia, to form human booms in protest against Big Oil.
But my friends are pretty naïve. Never fear; BO won't ever stop trying to Rahm his ideology down your throats. He’s ordered Salazar to focus his efforts on writing a new set of lies the Regime can use to stop deepwater drilling in the Gulf. I guess that means there’ll be a moratorium on that order of pink drapes for the West Wing, for now.
Meanwhile, BO’s already managed to stop sand berm dredging off the coast of Louisiana, presumably because he had enough shrimp and crawfish and crab to eat during his visit last week and doesn’t plan to return anytime soon, unless a round of golf is involved.
If I wanted to be cynical, I'd say that BO really does want to shut down all the drilling rig operators and suppliers that rely on all the oil under the Gulf. I’d say he really does want to put tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of oil rig-dependent Americans, out of work. I’d say he really does want the oil companies to take their big fat bank accounts that funnel currency into the American economy and move to countries that aren’t looking to steer their societies back to something resembling pre-Industrial Age civilization.
Who am I kidding? I have more than enough facts to unequivocally say the BO Regime continues to act stupidly.
On the one hand, I’m impressed with the swift and bold action he’s taking with McChrystal. If criticizing BO was all it took to get his prompt attention, I would have started this blog a lot sooner than three weeks ago. Then maybe the effort to kick my ass would be a lot further along.
But the fact is, even if BO manages to give McChrystal one of the pink slips he wears around the Oval Office to match the new furniture he had Interior Decorator Ken Salazar install, he won’t be feeling pretty and witty and bright for long.
Unfortunately for BO, I'm still front page news, thanks to federal Judge Martin L.C. Feldman, who quashed BO’s moratorium on deepwater drilling yesterday. In yet another blow for the Failure in Chief, Feldman said the Regime not only didn’t prove an all out ban was necessary but also that BO’s truth-changers misstated that the National Academy of Engineering supports a 6 month moratorium on drilling in the Gulf, when it does not.
I’ve said it before: BO lies and the Gulf dies.
When the news sifted down through the salt water in the Gulf last night, a lot of my oil field friends threw a party, thinking that happy days are here again, that they’ll be useful again, that people will love them again and will drive their cars to stores and on family vacations instead of to beaches on Tybee Island, Georgia, to form human booms in protest against Big Oil.
But my friends are pretty naïve. Never fear; BO won't ever stop trying to Rahm his ideology down your throats. He’s ordered Salazar to focus his efforts on writing a new set of lies the Regime can use to stop deepwater drilling in the Gulf. I guess that means there’ll be a moratorium on that order of pink drapes for the West Wing, for now.
Meanwhile, BO’s already managed to stop sand berm dredging off the coast of Louisiana, presumably because he had enough shrimp and crawfish and crab to eat during his visit last week and doesn’t plan to return anytime soon, unless a round of golf is involved.
If I wanted to be cynical, I'd say that BO really does want to shut down all the drilling rig operators and suppliers that rely on all the oil under the Gulf. I’d say he really does want to put tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of oil rig-dependent Americans, out of work. I’d say he really does want the oil companies to take their big fat bank accounts that funnel currency into the American economy and move to countries that aren’t looking to steer their societies back to something resembling pre-Industrial Age civilization.
Who am I kidding? I have more than enough facts to unequivocally say the BO Regime continues to act stupidly.
Monday, June 21, 2010
I Am Holding BO's Presidency Hostage
I'm beginning to convince myself that BO has forgotten all about being a "really good one-term president." He wants to be number 1, all right. No doubt about it ... but he's looking for a top finish at the bottom, to be lower than Jimmy Carter, the worst president ever – until now.
The parallels are striking, until you examine them further. Then you find out BO is so far in front, if there were a 10-run rule in presidential dumbassity, the umpires would stop the game and declare BO winner. Think about it. Carter inherits a bad economy and makes it a thousand times worse; BO inherits a bad economy and makes every economy for every president ever to come (if he lets them) look like Carter were president during the Reagan years. Carter exemplifies a malaise in which Americans ponder being the first generation to live beneath the economic standards their parents enjoyed; BO exemplifies a malaise in which Americans contemplate their future economies functioning below the standard of living in Afghanistan. Finally, Carter presides over an internationally embarrassing hostage crisis that threatens the ideal of America; BO presides over an inter-oceanic-ly embarrassing hostage crisis that threatens to cause every member of PETA to brave Louis Farrakhan's security in BO's Chicago neighborhood for a seat on the mothership off this planet.
These are the kinds of thoughts an oil spill kicks around while spewing (at least) 1.5 million gallons of oil, 24/7 a day, into your Gulf of Mexico. Now, I'm just a political novice, a strapping baby boy a little over two months old, but I can't help but notice the parallels between the two presidents ... and then immediately figure out who's immeasurably worse. That's probably why rumors are swirling around about Rahmbo wanting to leave BO for greener showers. He's too pragmatic for the Ideologue in Chief. When in doubt, the pragmatic sailor cuts loose and sinks the dinghy holding his ship back, letting the dead weight sink to the bottom ... down here with me.
Seriously, did the Regime think the American people would accept this past weekend's spin – that it was inconceivable for my boss, Tony Hayward, to go yachting with his son – without noticing that it doesn't in the slightest bit do "us all good as American citizens" for BO to get his life back by golfing for the 39th time since he took over America, while I gush and gush and gush?
Meanwhile, Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal, whose calls to the president go un-answered, took vacation from beating me back ... to negotiate his state's budget.
Really, this guy BO is either the worst president ever, or he has something up his sleeve, something so nefarious, I couldn't possibly explain it. After all, I'm just a spill, yes, I'm only a spill. What do I know about BO wanting you to pay $7 for a gallon of gas?
What do I know about BO trading American lives and sovereignty for political gain in Arizona, telling Arizona Sen. John Kyl (R-to the rescue) that if the Regime secured the U.S. border, the GOP wouldn't be willing to consider amnesty for any illegal bastard already in your country, which, by the way, includes me?
For all I know, I'm just the tip of the iceberg, the nightmare BP and BO don't want you to really know about, a puddle of the disaster to come. You decide. Hey, for all I know, and I'm just an oil spill talking, maybe it's all about money, vast amounts of money BO stands to earn.
What I do know is that, whatever the Democrats thought their November would look like after they shoved Obamacare down your throats, it's going to be far worse. When it's all said and done, I will make every Congresscritter remember their trips to the ice cream stand after little league games as stays in the basement of juvy hall with the queens.
I am the face of ecological and political disaster, and, dayum, I have really big ears.
It's the end of Day 63, BO, and I'm still gushing. Do you know where your presidency is? Right here, gasping for breath, beneath the steel-reinforced heel of my boot ... because I am holding it hostage.
The parallels are striking, until you examine them further. Then you find out BO is so far in front, if there were a 10-run rule in presidential dumbassity, the umpires would stop the game and declare BO winner. Think about it. Carter inherits a bad economy and makes it a thousand times worse; BO inherits a bad economy and makes every economy for every president ever to come (if he lets them) look like Carter were president during the Reagan years. Carter exemplifies a malaise in which Americans ponder being the first generation to live beneath the economic standards their parents enjoyed; BO exemplifies a malaise in which Americans contemplate their future economies functioning below the standard of living in Afghanistan. Finally, Carter presides over an internationally embarrassing hostage crisis that threatens the ideal of America; BO presides over an inter-oceanic-ly embarrassing hostage crisis that threatens to cause every member of PETA to brave Louis Farrakhan's security in BO's Chicago neighborhood for a seat on the mothership off this planet.
These are the kinds of thoughts an oil spill kicks around while spewing (at least) 1.5 million gallons of oil, 24/7 a day, into your Gulf of Mexico. Now, I'm just a political novice, a strapping baby boy a little over two months old, but I can't help but notice the parallels between the two presidents ... and then immediately figure out who's immeasurably worse. That's probably why rumors are swirling around about Rahmbo wanting to leave BO for greener showers. He's too pragmatic for the Ideologue in Chief. When in doubt, the pragmatic sailor cuts loose and sinks the dinghy holding his ship back, letting the dead weight sink to the bottom ... down here with me.
Seriously, did the Regime think the American people would accept this past weekend's spin – that it was inconceivable for my boss, Tony Hayward, to go yachting with his son – without noticing that it doesn't in the slightest bit do "us all good as American citizens" for BO to get his life back by golfing for the 39th time since he took over America, while I gush and gush and gush?
Meanwhile, Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal, whose calls to the president go un-answered, took vacation from beating me back ... to negotiate his state's budget.
Really, this guy BO is either the worst president ever, or he has something up his sleeve, something so nefarious, I couldn't possibly explain it. After all, I'm just a spill, yes, I'm only a spill. What do I know about BO wanting you to pay $7 for a gallon of gas?
What do I know about BO trading American lives and sovereignty for political gain in Arizona, telling Arizona Sen. John Kyl (R-to the rescue) that if the Regime secured the U.S. border, the GOP wouldn't be willing to consider amnesty for any illegal bastard already in your country, which, by the way, includes me?
For all I know, I'm just the tip of the iceberg, the nightmare BP and BO don't want you to really know about, a puddle of the disaster to come. You decide. Hey, for all I know, and I'm just an oil spill talking, maybe it's all about money, vast amounts of money BO stands to earn.
What I do know is that, whatever the Democrats thought their November would look like after they shoved Obamacare down your throats, it's going to be far worse. When it's all said and done, I will make every Congresscritter remember their trips to the ice cream stand after little league games as stays in the basement of juvy hall with the queens.
I am the face of ecological and political disaster, and, dayum, I have really big ears.
It's the end of Day 63, BO, and I'm still gushing. Do you know where your presidency is? Right here, gasping for breath, beneath the steel-reinforced heel of my boot ... because I am holding it hostage.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
An Oil Spill Runs Through It
It's day 61. I'm still here. No one's kicked my ass yet. Not even close.
Oh, my employer claims to be kicking my ass. BP sucked up or burned off 25,000 barrels of me yesterday. It's an impressive figure, I must say ... because it's at least the amount I'm still gushing into the Gulf every day, if not more. But don't take my word for it. Want to have a better visual than the spill cam in the sidebar to your right? Here's another way to see what 25,000 barrels a day heading for your coastline looks like.
BP did kick someone's ass: My boss, Tony Hayward, is no longer my boss, a day after getting raked over the coals for political theater by all those big talkers in Congress. The good news is that our "Small People" expert is now getting more involved. I think I just felt a shiver in my stream.
Meanwhile, BO's big plan for kicking my ass continued to unfold yesterday. Don Quixote and his tilting at windmills Cap and Tax agenda will make you pay $7 a gallon for gas. I'm sure that will plug my damn hole. Come to think of it, you probably won't be driving much anyway. Not when unemployment around the Gulf goes up while deep water drilling profits go to Brazil, where politicians seem to be less concerned with showboating and more interested in improving their country's economic positioning in the world.
It's all part of BO's new plan of action: If I ignore it, the spill will go away.
That's why he spent $1 million of your tax dollars yesterday to speak for 10 minutes in Ohio about a "big ... deal," stimulus-funded construction. Few cared, and even fewer heard him, especially not the construction workers who should have been earning $200 to build a nearby hospital building but instead were ordered to take the day off without pay so BO could safely read from his teleprompter.
Not that Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal needed extraordinary security at about the same time, but he did need the Coast Guard to stop messing with the barges he'd gathered to suck up my oil and keep me from fouling his coastline even further.
And while Jindal continued to work for a living, BO expanded his carbon footprint, flying from Ohio back to DC to take in a ballgame at Nationals Park. At least he couldn't confuse it with "Comminsky Field." Thankfully no one asked him to throw out the first pitch.
All I can say is that when BO speaks of me on the unemployment line in 2013, he'd better not speak of me badly. I am his legacy.
Eventually, all things merge into one, and an oil spill runs through it.
Oh, my employer claims to be kicking my ass. BP sucked up or burned off 25,000 barrels of me yesterday. It's an impressive figure, I must say ... because it's at least the amount I'm still gushing into the Gulf every day, if not more. But don't take my word for it. Want to have a better visual than the spill cam in the sidebar to your right? Here's another way to see what 25,000 barrels a day heading for your coastline looks like.
BP did kick someone's ass: My boss, Tony Hayward, is no longer my boss, a day after getting raked over the coals for political theater by all those big talkers in Congress. The good news is that our "Small People" expert is now getting more involved. I think I just felt a shiver in my stream.
Meanwhile, BO's big plan for kicking my ass continued to unfold yesterday. Don Quixote and his tilting at windmills Cap and Tax agenda will make you pay $7 a gallon for gas. I'm sure that will plug my damn hole. Come to think of it, you probably won't be driving much anyway. Not when unemployment around the Gulf goes up while deep water drilling profits go to Brazil, where politicians seem to be less concerned with showboating and more interested in improving their country's economic positioning in the world.
It's all part of BO's new plan of action: If I ignore it, the spill will go away.
That's why he spent $1 million of your tax dollars yesterday to speak for 10 minutes in Ohio about a "big ... deal," stimulus-funded construction. Few cared, and even fewer heard him, especially not the construction workers who should have been earning $200 to build a nearby hospital building but instead were ordered to take the day off without pay so BO could safely read from his teleprompter.
Not that Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal needed extraordinary security at about the same time, but he did need the Coast Guard to stop messing with the barges he'd gathered to suck up my oil and keep me from fouling his coastline even further.
And while Jindal continued to work for a living, BO expanded his carbon footprint, flying from Ohio back to DC to take in a ballgame at Nationals Park. At least he couldn't confuse it with "Comminsky Field." Thankfully no one asked him to throw out the first pitch.
All I can say is that when BO speaks of me on the unemployment line in 2013, he'd better not speak of me badly. I am his legacy.
Eventually, all things merge into one, and an oil spill runs through it.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
My Boss Goes Before the Small People
After his boss made so many friends the day before, my boss found some small people to meet today, Day 59 -- members of Congress. Yesterday the bosses met with even smaller people, the BO Regime. Naturally, all the small people had really big things to say. They're really good at making big talk.
Like yesterday, when BO puffed out his chest (yeah, I know, you need a microscope to tell) and called the $20 billion damage claims fund he extorted from BP a good start, saying he’d “continue to hold BP accountable.” That’s some ass kicking right there. At least you all weren’t too dumb to understand it.
BO never did mention whether he’d be adding any of the campaign donations BP gave him over the years to the pot, which will be managed by “independent, third-party” Kenneth Feinberg – BO’s pay czar. Al Capone would be proud.
At today’s hearing before the House Energy and Commerce Committee, Tony Hayward, my bumbling boss, said he was sorry about me (everybody’s sorry about me; nobody loves me), but then he wasn’t very good at answering the many pointed questions from the small people. You can imagine the big talk he inspired.
Eliot Engel, a New York Dhimmicrat, peppered my boss with questions my boss said couldn’t be answered until BP completes its investigation into why I’m now an oil spill, then he had a hissy fit.
“Mr. Hayward, let me just say with all due respect: I, like everyone else here, and everyone else in America, [am] thoroughly disgusted. I think you're stalling, I think you're insulting our intelligence and I really resent it."
Bart Stupak, Douchebag-Mich, had some big talk too, asking my boss if he thought he’d be my boss for much longer: “We are not small people. But we wish to get our lives back. I’m sure you’ll get your life back, and with a golden parachute to England.”
Stupak didn’t mention the golden parachute he gets himself when he has to retire in December (because of this, you'll remember) from looting America serving in Congress. Higher office, the gift that keeps giving.
Henry Waxman, Douchebag-Cauli-for-nia, laid into my boss pretty heavily, too, flapping his donkey ears as he went along, the words seeming to bang against his teeth as they tumbled out: “There is not a single e-mail or document that shows you paid even the slightest attention to the dangers at this well.”
Waxman, naturally, didn’t say anything about the music nights, vacations, golf tours, and other distractions that kept BO from paying attention to me, too.
My boss should have mentioned that Stupak and Waxman love receiving political contributions from the oil and gas industry, along with every other member of the Energy and Commerce Committee. But he didn’t.
My boss should have mentioned that 5 of the top 10 recipients of BP lobbying money were sitting before him today on the committee: John D. Dingell (D-Mich.), Joe Barton (R-Tex.), Ralph M. Hall (R-Tex.), Roy Blunt (R-Mo.), and Fred Upton (R-Mich.). But he didn’t.
My boss should have mentioned that the reason BP was drilling so far out in deep water instead of in Anwar or along the shore or pulling oil from shale was because of the federal government. But he didn’t.
If he had, I bet all those big talkers up there on the energy committee would feel really small.
But that’s okay. Tony Hayward probably won’t be my boss for long, for good reason. BP probably won’t be around much longer to employ me, for good reason. And many of the small people sitting up there on their bully pulpits today will soon feel a lot smaller, once voters hold their little feet to the fire in November for their complicity in my big mess, among many, many others.
You can read more about what happened at today’s hearing here. I’m tired. I have to finish pumping the rest of my daily 1.5 million gallons because no one’s plugged my damn hole yet.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
I Am Still Kicking BO's Ass
There he was, in the glare of the spotlight, behind the great resolute desk (for a change, without his shoes propped up), delivering his first Oval Office speech, attempting to project a demeanor of calm and competence and leadership.
Except I couldn't help but think he looked like a cockroach dressed as a used car salesman desperate for a sale, trying to con the American people into thinking that he was kicking my ass, so he could skitter safely back into his crack in the wall after the camera went dark.
Now, I’m just a spill, I’m only a spill. My vision is somewhat distorted, what with some of me evaporating or being eaten by bacteria while the heavy, gloppy rest of me congeals in a sticky mess that slathers your shores with toxic waste that is harder to clean up than an Al Gore affair.
And yet, to me, BO looked as if he were a crack addict on a six-week binge selling a pipe dream, long past being able to seize control of all the oil I'm spewing into the Gulf but damned if he wasn't going to toss enough words out there and hope they made you forget about me. BO was angry about me, and the position in which I'd put him, but he was as helpless in front of that camera as a newborn with a soiled diaper. And, sitting behind that desk, he probably had one, too.
He even said it himself, his head barely poking out of my oily sheen: I don't know what caused this, I don't know how we're going to fix this, but we’ve got to do something.
Oh, sure, he took action: He hired an Oil Spill Czar, one former Justice Department official Michael Bromwich, a guy so qualified he has no significant experience with oil and gas issues, but OH! is he an ass kicker.
Yes, there BO was, on Day 57, showing decisive action, pledging to exhaust every idea, like suddenly embracing the Dutch offer to send skimmers to pick up my oil, after declining it way back when I started gushing, back when BO KNEW, just days after I was born, that I could be his Titanic.
Yes, there BO was, after nearly 2 months of disaster, giving the speech he should have delivered in April. There he was, telling you he would refuse to accept inaction, except when he has a tee time.
Not that BO doesn't have a plan. He’s going to plug my damn hole by completely ignoring me. To BO action means getting Congresscriminals off their duffs to finally deliver him a Cap-and-Tax bill he can be proud of.
I have to hand it to the Thinker in Chief, though … his plan really shows how you’ll tackle your dependence on foreign oil. I mean, with the moratorium on deep water drilling in the Gulf, the Bay of Rigs will suddenly become the Bay of Wind Turbines and Solar Panels and Efficient Cars and Homes. Meanwhile, investing your tax dollars in the development of clean energy technology will make all that oil slaking your coastline disappear before your very eyes!
After all, who needs those deep water oil rigs anyway? They can all move to Brazil, taking with them the 40,000 people who work on them, putting the hundreds of thousands of people back on the mainland who depend on them out of work. That’s a jobs jobs jobs bill right there, if I ever saw one.
To you, last night, BO was saying: “I don't have all the facts, but I think Oil Spill acted stupidly ... so I’m going to take advantage of this crisis to fulfill my destiny” … as America’s worst president ever.
Contrast BO’s words words words with Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal. While BO rolls up his sleeves to eat snowcones, Jindal, meanwhile, wades into the mud, building barrier islands to stop my flow from reaching precious estuaries, doing BO’s job for him, just like Jan Brewer.
Pretenders talk, leaders walk.
Yes, all I saw last night was a man shriveling inside a pressure cooker. His cheerleaders on MSNBC saw it too, retaliating with pouty recriminations from one guy who normally would murder his own mother to defend BO and another who used to get tingles upon hearing His voice.
They just couldn’t understand why BO hasn't been able to stand on the shores of the Gulf, lift his arms in the air, and summon all of his otherworldly powers to part my oil from His water.
That's because he can't. Even after he meets today with my boss and feigns kicking BP's ass, after all of the empty rhetoric, the fact remains that His response to me makes Bush's response to Katrina look, well, like people from NOLA think Bush did a far better job than Obama is doing.
And that isn't going to change because everything really comes down to this. Obviously, I am still kicking BO’s ass -- 1.5 million gallons at a time.
Except I couldn't help but think he looked like a cockroach dressed as a used car salesman desperate for a sale, trying to con the American people into thinking that he was kicking my ass, so he could skitter safely back into his crack in the wall after the camera went dark.
Now, I’m just a spill, I’m only a spill. My vision is somewhat distorted, what with some of me evaporating or being eaten by bacteria while the heavy, gloppy rest of me congeals in a sticky mess that slathers your shores with toxic waste that is harder to clean up than an Al Gore affair.
And yet, to me, BO looked as if he were a crack addict on a six-week binge selling a pipe dream, long past being able to seize control of all the oil I'm spewing into the Gulf but damned if he wasn't going to toss enough words out there and hope they made you forget about me. BO was angry about me, and the position in which I'd put him, but he was as helpless in front of that camera as a newborn with a soiled diaper. And, sitting behind that desk, he probably had one, too.
He even said it himself, his head barely poking out of my oily sheen: I don't know what caused this, I don't know how we're going to fix this, but we’ve got to do something.
Oh, sure, he took action: He hired an Oil Spill Czar, one former Justice Department official Michael Bromwich, a guy so qualified he has no significant experience with oil and gas issues, but OH! is he an ass kicker.
Yes, there BO was, on Day 57, showing decisive action, pledging to exhaust every idea, like suddenly embracing the Dutch offer to send skimmers to pick up my oil, after declining it way back when I started gushing, back when BO KNEW, just days after I was born, that I could be his Titanic.
Yes, there BO was, after nearly 2 months of disaster, giving the speech he should have delivered in April. There he was, telling you he would refuse to accept inaction, except when he has a tee time.
Not that BO doesn't have a plan. He’s going to plug my damn hole by completely ignoring me. To BO action means getting Congresscriminals off their duffs to finally deliver him a Cap-and-Tax bill he can be proud of.
I have to hand it to the Thinker in Chief, though … his plan really shows how you’ll tackle your dependence on foreign oil. I mean, with the moratorium on deep water drilling in the Gulf, the Bay of Rigs will suddenly become the Bay of Wind Turbines and Solar Panels and Efficient Cars and Homes. Meanwhile, investing your tax dollars in the development of clean energy technology will make all that oil slaking your coastline disappear before your very eyes!
After all, who needs those deep water oil rigs anyway? They can all move to Brazil, taking with them the 40,000 people who work on them, putting the hundreds of thousands of people back on the mainland who depend on them out of work. That’s a jobs jobs jobs bill right there, if I ever saw one.
To you, last night, BO was saying: “I don't have all the facts, but I think Oil Spill acted stupidly ... so I’m going to take advantage of this crisis to fulfill my destiny” … as America’s worst president ever.
Contrast BO’s words words words with Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal. While BO rolls up his sleeves to eat snowcones, Jindal, meanwhile, wades into the mud, building barrier islands to stop my flow from reaching precious estuaries, doing BO’s job for him, just like Jan Brewer.
Pretenders talk, leaders walk.
Yes, all I saw last night was a man shriveling inside a pressure cooker. His cheerleaders on MSNBC saw it too, retaliating with pouty recriminations from one guy who normally would murder his own mother to defend BO and another who used to get tingles upon hearing His voice.
They just couldn’t understand why BO hasn't been able to stand on the shores of the Gulf, lift his arms in the air, and summon all of his otherworldly powers to part my oil from His water.
That's because he can't. Even after he meets today with my boss and feigns kicking BP's ass, after all of the empty rhetoric, the fact remains that His response to me makes Bush's response to Katrina look, well, like people from NOLA think Bush did a far better job than Obama is doing.
And that isn't going to change because everything really comes down to this. Obviously, I am still kicking BO’s ass -- 1.5 million gallons at a time.
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