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BP Oil spill in Gallons
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
American Hitler
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Ooopsie Daisy. Blow-Out Preventer Useless as Evidence?
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Halliburton: "Hey Nigeria! Here's $250 M! Buh-bye, thanks for playing."
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Cheney's Nigeria Connection? HELL-O!!!
Feinberg: "BP Will Pay Fee For pro-bono Lawyers"
Monday, December 6, 2010
The President's Shylock
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Julian Assange: We will Shoot this Messenger
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. CHU
Monday, November 29, 2010
TOO EVIL TO BE BELIEVED is NOT a reason for NOT ASKING THE QUESTION!
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Corporate Sabotage STILL ON THE TABLE
Friday, November 26, 2010
Un-Fucking Believable!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
THE SPILL IS BEING WONKED TO DEATH!!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The Woopsie Daisy Commission
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
OH REALLY? BP DID NOT SACRIFICE SAFETY?
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Whore Judge Blocks Media from Hearing
Thursday, November 4, 2010
WAR IS NOT A JOBS PROGRAM
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Fake Terrorism Again Rears its Pseudo Head
Monday, October 25, 2010
Why Pay NOAA to (expletive) LIE TO US?
Rick Scott: A *Criminal You Can Count On
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Have You Noticed? Nobody Mentions BP this election: nobody
Saturday, October 16, 2010
On Finance Reform, Foreclosures and Evictions
I haven't posted in a while. And I deeply apologize for that.
By “Brigid”, reply to Hubert George de Burgh-Canning 2nd Marques and 14th Earl of Clanricarde
Portumna County Galway, Ireland
Circa 1890
So you say we are cunning, ungrateful
Our cabin doors kept on the latch
Show nothing but squalor within them
While money we’ve hid in the thatch
That we smile in the face of “his honor”
And blessings invoke on his track
While we mutter a curse as he leaves us
And shake the clenched fist at his back
But you don’t give a hint, my Lord Marquis
That we dared not to own those few pounds
Or show signs of comfort around us
For fear of your sharp scented hounds
For fear of your spies and informers
On the watch to report to their lords
If their serfs had coin in their pockets
Or a decent meal on the boards
And you hint not , at times not long vanished
When ye chased us to woods and the caves
Where we wailed over the corpse of our freedom
A poor stricken nation of slaves
We are cunning, aye we needed cunning
When our lives were scarce held as right
And plundered unarmed and unlettered
T’was our last weapon left for the fight
It was men such as you taught us cunning
As up these old tales we must rip
When for Limerick’s trust they repaid us
With pitch-cap and gallows and whip
When we dared not stand upright and fearless
As men should on their own native sod
Nor dared the faith of their fathers
Save in secret to worship our god
Can it be your Lordship in College
Never heard a text all should know
Coming straight from the lips of our savior
Men should only reap as they sow?
Why the words of our poor hunted teachers
That ever kept school by the hedge
Could tell that if fathers eat sour things
Their children’s teeth will be on edge
And when savage things scattered the cockle
Through our lands years early to late
Till it choked the wheat of good feeling
You must now reap a harvest of hate
Then your Lordship says “nothing would please them”
Though you take but the corn and the wine
And leave us with freehanded bounty
The husks in the trough with the swine.
Oh specimen peer of our rulers
Great the anger with which you give breath
But no doubt we are very ungrateful
For rack rents, evictions and death
For fevered ones homeless at Christmas
Cast out by the snowy ditch side
While my lord draws his ermine around him
And scoffs at their rags in his pride
Ah my lords, up to this it was your day
Our bent necks were held in your thrall
For you were soft ease and rich plenty
For us were the labor and gall
But today we feel life in our members
Good blood each vein flows apace
Tis not the clenched fist to your back now
But sturdy demand to your face
Cling not to your old rules they are broken
Old customs have rotted away
Ireland must be at length for the Irish
No more in strange lands shall you squander
What this land our labor has sown
As of old fell the horse and the rider
You are now overthrown
*Hubert George was an absentee landlord who scarcely set foot in his Irish estate, using a number of land agents to evict 243 tenant farmers, and their families, between 1890 and 1893, for as little as 5 pounds sterling owed in arrears. He was condemned by fellow members of the English Parliament for his cruelty to his tenants.