Stop Crying Over Spilt Oil

12 Jun

I’ve been in a mild state of panic ever since that whole Boobquake thing and have avoided Nando’s (mainly because it’s too fucking expensive) as well as my unopened subscription copy of Hustler (the postman ‘found’ my ‘lost’ copy after I threatened to shove a vuvuzela up his asshole). I have not been able to look at a tit the same way again thanks to that motherfucker in Iran who says earthquakes are God’s way of telling us to stop bouncing boobs on the unstable Earth’s crust. Because it’s evil.

And now I’m equally fearful of abortion clinics.

If you haven’t yet heard of the worst environmental disaster in American history and BP’s alleged claim that we’re all just crying over a bit of spilt oil (an estimated 40,000 barrels leaking into the Gulf of Mexico daily, for over a month), then you must have your vuvuzela stuck very far up your poophole. Or you’re trying to help the postman dislodge one from his and keep missing the news (I may have received my ‘lost’ copy of Hustler after impaling the reluctant postal service worker — tip: KY has more than one use, just in case you’re also tempted to help an annoying South African suddenly ‘lose’ his vuvuzela during the next Bafana game).

Back to the deep-sea fuck up of gigantic proportions oil spill that BP wants everyone to believe can be fixed with a bit of oil dispersant. The boob-hating God of the Iranian dude and the angry God of fundamentalist Christians have teamed up (they may be conjoined twins) to give us the lowdown on this leaking catastrophe — an abortion clinic caused it. That’s right, Joseph Herrin reckons that an “abortion supercenter” in Houston, Texas is the reason why the Baby Jesus allowed BP to fuck up the ocean (the oil slick is likely to end up in the Atlantic as well, in case you’re interested in how far oil can be dispersed).

Just in case you were also wondering how many pieces of dried fruit he has where other people usually have an evolved brain, this pickled-Herrin chap observes that the Houston clinic has six storeys. People who  have fruit pips rattling around inside their heads really fucking hate the number six. It’s supposedly the number Satan has invisibly tattooed on the foreheads of all homosexuals, secular humanists, lesbians, vegetarians, barefoot runners, bisexuals, catholics, environmentalists and just about everyone else on the planet who is going to miss the Rapture-train. Most of us, in other words. And because this wicked building has six storeys, it must have been built by the devil and the Whore of Babylon. And caused the oil spill.

So there you go, BP you’re off the hook. This has nothing to do with your incompetence.

Abortions caused this. Not BP. Yeah, right!

Other than shoving the occasional greased vuvuzela up an annoying South African’s asshole, I suggest that after the World Cup we all donate our exhausted vuvuzelas to BP. They will have more than enough plastic to create a massive pipeline from the gushing oil leak all the way to the nearest McDonald’s (please, not Nando’s — we have enough problems with breasts).

Namaste, morons. Including you idiots who run BP. If you implement my ingenious plastic plan, your share price will shoot right back up into the Stratosphere. Except for vegetarians and health-conscious dipshits, everyone loves the oily taste of McDonald’s.

Memorable WTF Quote: ‘Unless the church embraces the pain of childbirth the creation will perish. Make no mistake, Yahweh will have His sons. The question remains, “Will you be one of them? Or will you be found in the pleasure-loving harlot when her plagues are meted out to her?”‘ — The Pickled Herrin

[Yep, he said ‘in’. In like a pleasure-seeking vuvuzela.]

Note to BP: Plug. the. fucking. hole. already.

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