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Friday, May 28, 2010

Fall of the House of Gusher

And God said unto BP: "Who did this? Who is responsible?" And BP was afraid.

And God said: "You have some explaining to do!"

And BP said "Just a run of bad luck, old man."

God fumed, and BP trembled, and the World Held Its Breath.

Just as BP began to apologize rather weakly to God ("...I blame the dinosaurs") it glanced at the clock on the Far Wall, shook its head and explained that it was '...running late and could tarry there no longer.' And quicker than you can say petroleum jelly all of the BP lawyers and Executives were streaming out of the Garden of Eden and heading to their cars. God shook His head and tears flew out.

Afterward, BP went to a very nice restaurant in town--it was there that it started to think about all the pretty waitresses it was going to fuck that night. And BP certainly banged its share, dear lads, no denying that. It certainly banged its share. Drunk and high on methane, it staggered from night club to night club, leaving a trail of black gold behind, a greasy beast loosed upon the pallid world, a hunter on its mating prowl.

When the long dark night was mostly spent, BP lingered briefly upon the besotted shore of the Ocean of Being, and felt the ooze of oil upon its feet, its skin morphing into sludge. BP laughed and cried and puked, then wheeled and made for home. Crawling up the driveway, it gently opened the front door, which swung with silent ease; so it gained a quiet entry like a thief made of cotton. It sneaked quietly up the stairs of its tony mansion in Heaven, lurching on the wooden steps but still it did not make a sound.

Carrying its shoes while walking nimbly to its side of the bed, it pulled back the blankets with great patience and care, and climbed ever so quietly into bed. But God was not fooled: He rolled over on His side to view his opposite number, opening one Great Penetrating Eye which bore through BP like a pitiless laser. God placed a wicked curse upon BP's genitals, upon its distribution centers and on its mini-bar.

"Fuck me?" whispered God beneath His beard as He rolled back on to His other side, facing again the western sky. "Fuck you."



  1. Brilliant. Pure comedy black gold, and poetic, too.

  2. BP is solely responsible for what happened in the Gulf. They must take its moral responsibility and take preventive measures to stop its repetition in future.
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We'll try dumping haloscan and see how it works.