music
to go with this sad story: The
Fracking Song
The
morning sun was rising over a sleepy Spanish town. Where am I? Jeremy
Motherfracker wondered, peeping through the curtains of his hotel
bedroom window. Judging from the architecture, this wasn't the South
with its Mexican-style whitewashed houses, but as far as
Motherfracker knew it could be anywhere. For more than three weeks he
had been travelling Spain, going north, south, east & west,
sleeping in a different bed every night while visiting the company's
operations over daytime. Mundo Entero Energy Corp., as the firm's
Madrid based Spanish subsidiary was called, were doing one hell of a
job. Soon the whole countryside would be infested with drilling
towers, injecting highly pressurized water mixed with chemicals and
heavy metals into underground shale rock formations in order to
literally break free billions of tiny bubbles of natural gas.
Fracking
was hard work for small profit margins, but as long as local
authorities were left to deal with cleaning up the ruined landscape –
not to mention the poisoned groundwater reserves which basically
rendered the soil above unfit for agriculture – it was certainly
worth the trouble. From an energy company's upper management point of
view, that is. Jeremy Motherfracker was aiming to land an upper
management position soon.
There
was a knock on the door and a woman's voice.
“Señor
Modafaka?”
“Fracker,
please.”
“El
desayuno está servido.”
“Coming.”
Friendly,
stupid people, those Spanish. You raped their country and all they
were able to come up with was obedience with a smile. Well, they
didn't have much choice, in all likelyhood, with their economy
pillaged by Wall Street and Brussels. Still, it was good to see there
was so little resistance. The incidental environmentalists'
gatherings were dealt with swiftly by the well-instructed police.
Rule number one: always use excessive force. Rule two: keep raising
levels.
He
had forgotten to bring a fresh tube of toothpaste and he had very
little toothpaste left. Jeremy Motherfracker was used to brushing his
teeth both before and after breakfast, but he wondered if he
shouldn't change this habit. It was Tuesday now and he wouldn't be
back in Madrid before Friday evening and he was certainly not going
to buy a local brand. You never knew what you'd get if you didn't buy
the best. And the best, according to Jeremy Motherfracker, was his
trusted blue tube paste, composed of natural elements from one of the
world's last pristine areas.
Same
with food. There was no guaranteeing even the best restaurant's food
was free of genetically modified elements. Certainly in a country
like Spain, with its lackadaisical style of governing, the big GM
firms had been freely sowing their utterly untrustworthy seeds. Every
Saturday a metal box containing fruit, water, bread and ready-made
meals was delivered at his Madrid hotel. Motherfacker would bring it
along and have the places where he stayed heat up his meals,
preferably over a cooker, though he accepted the occasional micro
wave operation.
He
decided to cut back his teeth brushing to twice a day, after
breakfast and before going to sleep.
Downstairs
in the dining room he wouldn't touch any of the delicious looking
food. Instead he ordered to have him served one of his own bake-off
croissants and a cup of coffee made from his own water and coffee
beans. Better safe than sorry with all those chemicals flying around.
After
a frugal meal Jeremy Motherfracker went back upstairs. He needed to
brush his teeth another seven times before returning to Madrid. His
tube made of plastic – can't trust those metal ones – there was
no way of slowly rolling it up. He would have to just carefully press
out the right small amount. Adding to his misery, the maid had
accidentally forgotten to put the tube upside down, if it hadn't been
out of sheer stupidity. As was his custom, he had asked her to clean
up his bathroom after he had got ready for the night, ensuring he
would find the place perfectly in order the next morning.
With
the lid off, he began pressing the tube between the fingers of his
left hand while keeping the brush at a ready in his right. But the
paste had sunken too deep to be pushed out this way. Motherfracker
stuck the brush between his teeth and now applied the strength of
both hands. Why did the goo resist him? It hadn't by chance dried up,
had it? Jeremy considered adding some drops of water and shake, sort
of home style frack it, but he feared the paste might get all liquid.
Anyway, can't trust tap water these days, certainly not in fracking
areas.
The
tube resting on the edge of the basin and now applying force with
both hands, suddenly a large blob of toothpaste shot out.
Damn
it.
There
was certainly worth of four brushings on the basin's lazy slope.
Motherfracker thought of saving it, but he immediately realised the
detergents used by the maid were not to be trusted. Can't trust
anything in this toxic world of ours, Jeremy Motherfracker was
convinced.
Carefully
he began dipping his brush into the toothpaste dripping which was
slowly sliding into the sink, making sure he would only touch sofar
uncontaminated parts. What a waste, he meanwhile was thinking. Just
when almost all is gone, I start spoiling the remains.
The
situation reminded him of something, but he wasn't quite sure what
of.
He
was angering himself, Motherfracker noticed. He had always been like
that. When all wasn't perfect, he would feel a blind rage taking hold
of him, making him want to ravage, rage and destroy. How he hated
this country his bosses had sent him to, the vast swats of useless
beautiful countryside, idly baking in the sun, and its docile,
catholic populace. How could they accept their fate so easily?
There's no gratitude for rape, didn't they know? Those who didn't
resist, who didn't fight, who didn't see their fellow men as
adversaries, didn't deserve protection.
Jeremy
Motherfracker maniacally began brushing his teeth. He had never
succumbed to the electric brush, since the engine couldn't withstand
the pressure his temper required. Stupid, useless invention.
Spain
was to be looted, pillaged, intoxicated, ruined, ravaged, raped.
Soon, people living near fracking sites would start getting sick. But
the obvious correlations would be denied, doubted and obfuscated,
with investigators handsomely paid off if necessary. By the time
horrible skinburns, cancers and nerve system disorders had become
epidemic, they would be out, on to the next stupid, lazy, useless
country. They were doing it to the world.
Jeremy
Motherfracker washed his mouth with his own water, derived from one
of the last pristine aquifers on the planet. Still three days before
he was returning to Madrid. He needed new toothpaste fast.
Motherfracker
pulled out his mobile phone and called his secretary.
“Christine?
Could you send me a tube of my toothpaste asap? If you get to it now,
I can have it in my hotel tomorrow.”
“Jeremy?
Aren't you slightly exaggerating?”
“If
you can locate a supplier in Europe you are welcome to have them send
me some, but I doubt if it is sold outside the States.”
“That's
not what I mean, Jeremy. I mean, do you really have to wake me up for
this?”
“Wake
you up? It's eight o'clock.”
“Wherever
you are, perhaps, but not in Washington.”
“What?
Oh, sorry.”
“I'll
see to it first thing in the morning. Are you okay out there?”
“Never,
Christine, I'm never okay. Remember that.”
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