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.