In 1974 I learned how to drive. From that day forward I have squandered the futures of all peoples on the planet. I pissed away their inheritance. Screw 'em.
I'd like to thank all the US presidents since the Titusville, Pennsylvania oil wells of 1859 for making plans to keep me happy right up till the bitter end.
I'm still paying a mere 15 cents per cup of gasoline, in spite of declining production in three-quarters of oil producing nations; in spite of the gurgling sounds issuing from the tired, giant fields of the U. S. of A.; in spite of the mounting debt of war.
Somebody must be doing something right.
I went from stealing my dad's car keys in 1977 and picking up my friends with his huge station wagon and driving, literally, from gas station to gas station because we had nothing else to do; to living in a magnificent vinyl-and-chipboard "home" with two SUVs, one for each spouse--and my son has his own car. No need to steal dad's keys anymore. God bless America.
George Bush is one forward-looking dude. The deep reserves of petroleum that Jehovah planted for God-fearing American freewheelers are no longer over here but over there. It was a brilliant advertising campaign that promised "yellowcake," "aluminum tubes," and Saddam bin Laden, but that managed to deliver in excess of a hundred thousand barrels of sweet light crude per flag-draped coffin we put up as investment. A real killing, that.
I'm proud to know my own son will have plenty of fuel with which to power his even-larger super-UV in the future, so that he can drive his own kids to Sunday school over in the next state (where it's "Red"). There my grandkids will learn that "fossil" fuels are a silly myth promulgated by secular humanist professors. We all know Jehovah seeded the earth with petroleum reserves on October 24, 2004 B. C. and He will continue to provide.
But these things take time. The waters running out of the East Texas, Prudhoe Bay, and California oil fields are signs and portents that our leaders had to meditate over sagaciously before divining God's will. Cheney then waxed oracular: "This is a war that will not end in our lifetimes."
Even the Liberal Democrats can be thankful: They can afford the gasoline for the drive to D. C. for their hypocritical protests; they got plenty of oil-based paints for their little protest signs; and they can eat out of their plastic bags of sunflower seeds, dried pineapple, and macadamia nuts gathered from the four winds.
And no endangered walruses gave birth to the Liberals' Priuses, you know. I just have to laugh at their blindness. Thankfully, the Dems of the last few years already anointed our Commander-in-Chief with the divine right of kings. He'll just keep them in oodles of "alternative" bio-fuels to shut them up.
Just pour Iraq right on into Kansas and we'll be golden.
When we have a huge new war memorial to get all sentimental about-and the whole planet between our boots, one planted in Kirkuk, the other in Orinoco sludge-don't forget to thank me for it.
I'd like to thank all the US presidents since the Titusville, Pennsylvania oil wells of 1859 for making plans to keep me happy right up till the bitter end.
I'm still paying a mere 15 cents per cup of gasoline, in spite of declining production in three-quarters of oil producing nations; in spite of the gurgling sounds issuing from the tired, giant fields of the U. S. of A.; in spite of the mounting debt of war.
Somebody must be doing something right.
I went from stealing my dad's car keys in 1977 and picking up my friends with his huge station wagon and driving, literally, from gas station to gas station because we had nothing else to do; to living in a magnificent vinyl-and-chipboard "home" with two SUVs, one for each spouse--and my son has his own car. No need to steal dad's keys anymore. God bless America.
George Bush is one forward-looking dude. The deep reserves of petroleum that Jehovah planted for God-fearing American freewheelers are no longer over here but over there. It was a brilliant advertising campaign that promised "yellowcake," "aluminum tubes," and Saddam bin Laden, but that managed to deliver in excess of a hundred thousand barrels of sweet light crude per flag-draped coffin we put up as investment. A real killing, that.
I'm proud to know my own son will have plenty of fuel with which to power his even-larger super-UV in the future, so that he can drive his own kids to Sunday school over in the next state (where it's "Red"). There my grandkids will learn that "fossil" fuels are a silly myth promulgated by secular humanist professors. We all know Jehovah seeded the earth with petroleum reserves on October 24, 2004 B. C. and He will continue to provide.
But these things take time. The waters running out of the East Texas, Prudhoe Bay, and California oil fields are signs and portents that our leaders had to meditate over sagaciously before divining God's will. Cheney then waxed oracular: "This is a war that will not end in our lifetimes."
Even the Liberal Democrats can be thankful: They can afford the gasoline for the drive to D. C. for their hypocritical protests; they got plenty of oil-based paints for their little protest signs; and they can eat out of their plastic bags of sunflower seeds, dried pineapple, and macadamia nuts gathered from the four winds.
And no endangered walruses gave birth to the Liberals' Priuses, you know. I just have to laugh at their blindness. Thankfully, the Dems of the last few years already anointed our Commander-in-Chief with the divine right of kings. He'll just keep them in oodles of "alternative" bio-fuels to shut them up.
Just pour Iraq right on into Kansas and we'll be golden.
When we have a huge new war memorial to get all sentimental about-and the whole planet between our boots, one planted in Kirkuk, the other in Orinoco sludge-don't forget to thank me for it.
