Not a day goes by when I don’t hear about British Petroleum doing something they are not supposed to do, denying it, being caught at it and… not a damn thing being done. They continue to pour Corexit into The Gulf at night, to keep the oil from the surface, or whatever the intricacies are, in order to avoid having to pay for their evil actions, which will inevitably lead to the deaths of thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands; who knows?
The control of the corporations is now official; it became official when the Supreme Court declared that it was perfectly legal for them to purchase the presidency or any other political office they desired. It became even more official when BP demanded that the American Government, sworn into office to represent the best interests of the citizens, immediately represent the interests of a pack of nationless scoundrels and get out there and lie like a Southern Baptist preacher about swimming safety; tasty and nutritious fish, cool healing rains and a chick at your door with a bag of pot. I think I got that last homily wrong. It might not even be a homily.
I want British Petroleum destroyed. I want it broken up into pieces and parceled out and sold and every dime sent in the direction of their victims. I want a tornado to pick up a house in Kansas or Kensington and drop it on the head of the Queen of England, while she’s wearing one of her stupid hats. I want a wooden stake driven through the heart of every Rothschild on the planet and I want to see the smoke curl, while the body bursts into flames and the jaw cracks open and the darkness screams from the mouth, as it rises above the stinking corpse and carries whatever residue is masquerading as a soul right down to the lowest bowels of Hell. I want all those blood stained clowns that assisted in this affair turned over to a howling mob of enraged fisher folk so that they can be used for bait or to chum the waters of the Gulf in case there are any fish left that want a piece of the action.