Sometimes I fantasize about being hired by British Petroleum to help defend against the hippies, freaks and oil-slicked loon scrubbing chiba monkeys to provide a bit of support for a little company that’s just trying to earn a buck in this rough and tumble world economy. Someone has to defend the little guy, right?
Well, calling it a spill is really not the word for it. A “spill” consists of a tipped glass of milk and is easily cleaned up with a quick swipe of a paper towel. When in reference to Billionaire Polluters — a conservative estimate of 35,000 barrels of oil a day are being dumped into the Gulf of Mexico — that is categorized as the worst crude splooge in the history of gigantic corporate oopsies.
It was an accident! Lighten up! It’s not as if they thrust this environmental calamity on purpose.
Granted, Butt Pickers did their best to stave off security regulations that would require their operators to have their safety program audited every few years.
They also had an explosion at a Texas refinery that killed 15 workers and injured an additional 170. The gents had a little problem in Alaska in 2006 as well, but that was a mere 267,000 gallons of black gold that gave Prudhoe Bay’s gleaming tundra a nice brownish hue. Because who wants white after Labor Day anyway?
I spoke with BP CEO Tony “Wayward” Hayward and he told me from his yacht, between bites of decadent Beluga caviar that were thankfully not culled from the Gulf of Schmegxico, that he was doing his best to either burn the oil, filter it off shore or collect it for later processing. Two-thirds of the solutions will mean BP retains and resells the oil.
Thumbs up investors, all is not lost!
I had a few other ideas to help with the mess:
1. Inspire all the British chefs in the world to start using the Gulf of Mexico as their personal deep fat fryer. Their food is horrid to start with and they’d fry a withered thumb if given the chance.
2. Sell liquid samples to Starbucks and the rest of those snotty cafe bars and tell them it’s the new Mississippi Canyon Crude Roast. When they’re done, light them on fire. With recycled peat matches.
3. Throw hippies into the water. No real remedy for the spill. I just thought it was a good idea in general.
4. For every incidence of Sarah Palin’s brainless “drill, baby, drill” uttering, she has to eat all the flora and fauna affected by the spill. And if she says, “you betcha,” you can hit her in the head with a seagull dookie. It can be oil if it makes you feel less barbaric, but any firm projectile will do.
But how does this really affect us here in our little north coastal hamlet? It really doesn’t, right?
Well, I might have to pay a little bit more for the fish at Seaside Market and continue to refuse the offerings at Albertson’s. But being farther away from this disaster tends to desensitize and separates us from the “what if” scenarios.
But really, who cares?
You should. Most people treat this tragedy as a late night punchline or a target of polarizing political agenda that matters little in their daily lives.
I’m sure it matters to the 11 platform workers who were killed and the 17 who were injured. I’m sure it matters to the men and women whose entire livelihood depend on fishing and the tourism that take place in those waters. I’m sure it matters to all the wildlife that has been killed and the environment that’s been permanently changed.
Drill, baby, drill … right?
Filed Under: Doorman Diaries