If a woman were President, she would slap the "Drill, Baby, Drill" Bitches and send them to their room. Sorry Mr. Obama, you were my choice, and I respect you immensely, but if a woman were in the White House, the oil spill would be cleaned up by now or BP’s assets would have been seized. Do you think putting 10,000 boats in the water to clean up the spill is unreasonable? I think the spill lasting for 59 days is unreasonable. What do you mean you don’t have the technology? Then why were you drilling that deep in the first place?
If a woman were President, the oil would never have made it to shore. She would have collected it before it ever got close. Let’s talk about low ball, flow rate, educated opinion guestimates. Expert, who? She would have called Joe The Plumber! Everyone knows that a good plumber is worth his weight in gold. In this case, it’s liquid gold in the form of black, ugly crude fowling our shores, beaches, and waterways, and killing our beloved sea creatures. She would have had compassion for the hard working men and women crying on camera over the loss of their heritage and livelihoods. She would have massively fined BP for every second past 48 hours that the leak continued making it economically prohibitive to allow the oil to continue to spew into the ocean. She would have never allowed them to use a chemical dispersant that hangs like large gobs of snot at the bottom of the ocean again killing all the bottom feeding creatures (especially since that chemical makeup is a mystery to everyone except BP.) I’ve heard the story before, proprietary blend in the natural gas drilling industry with the fluid used for fracing. Many women in my neighborhood came down with never before seen forms of Adrenal Cancer.
The spokespeople for BP are liars, and yes, they do have an English accent. If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, you get the inference. If a woman were President, she would have the nerve to tell them we don’t want you here befouling our shoreline. Her rallying cry would be "America for the Americans." She would usher in a new period of isolationism and self-reliance on renewable energy.
A Woman President wouldn’t have gone to bed with the oil companies in the first place. She would have been held accountable to a higher standard for a lot less money. No, I am not referring to that “Drill, Baby, Drill” trailer bitch from Alaska who is rumored to have spent her publishing windfall on new boobs for Trailer Hubby Todd, I’m referring to a real woman President.
Showing posts with label Drilling Animal Habitat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Drilling Animal Habitat. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Having The Heart For It
Great racehorses are said to have great hearts. The average size of a race horse’s heart is 6lbs. The Veterinarian that performed the autopsy on Secretariat estimated that his heart was three times the size of a normal horse’s heart at about 22 lbs. Secretariat’s large heart is from the x-chromosome received from his Dam. It is called the x-factor and was traced to the Dam, Pocahontas. Her lineage is traced back 200 years to the Great Eclipse who had a heart that weighed 14 lbs. It is why Secretariat was able to win the Triple Crown and the Belmont Stakes by 31 lengths establishing a new track record that still stands today.
Several years ago, we were living on a ranch south of the Town of Silt, Colorado along County Rd. 331 or Dry Hollow Road. We lived in a log home built in the late 1800’s, a home that had a Sears Kit Home shell built around the logs in the early 1900’s. It was on a twenty five acre parcel with a large stream running through the property at the base of a 100acre Mesa. It had great character. It once was the center or hub of activity because it had the only water and well. Ranchers and farmers would bring their livestock and horses there to refresh and nourish. It had the feel of antiquity. The bluffs above were inhabited by hoot owls, nesting red tailed hawks, and bald eagles. We found out quite by accident that a large mountain lion called the ranch and the bluffs home. My good cat friend, Big Mike, disappeared our very first night there. He was the man. Unfortunately unknown to us, the big, big cat was THE MAN. We never saw Mike again.
Welcome to “The Hadios.” Life was hard but wonderful. Only Big Mike’s son Dom, a more timid version of his dad was able to survive. Our rescue ranch had grown and we needed the extra land for the horses and for our school. Students were coming to Kathy’s classes from all over the world. It was great enjoyment filled with learning, healing, and miracles.
The geological structure of the semi-arid landscape, and rocky formations also lent itself to natural gas drilling. The large gas companies did just that. We often joked that it was Saudi-Silt. The regulations on the number of gas wells that could be drilled in a certain area were deregulated under George Bush’s Administration. Everywhere you looked at night you saw miniature Eiffel Towers lit and working. The support crews for wells are tremendous and the flow of traffic and trucks were at times almost unbearable. So were the accidents, too numerous to mention. The current catastrophe in the Gulf is not an isolated incident. It is business as usual.
One particular full moon evening I was awoken by Kathy who was sitting beside our bedroom window. Our little ranch house was surrounded by a massive herd of Elk. She was quietly listening to them communicate. We had no idea that they clicked, whistled, grunted, and talked so much. It was a moving experience. We at first thought how blessed we were, but soon realized that they weren’t there because we had a particularly good aura about our ranch. They were there because it was the only safe haven amidst the drilling and fracing the goes on 24 hours, seven days a week. The poor animals habitat had been filled by brightly lit towers with drilling equipment and trucks that are never ending. They were dazed, confused and milling about because their migratory paths and grazing grounds were no longer.
We operated a healing ranch where amazing therapy was given to wretched animals who desperately needed it. There was nothing we could do for these creatures. We went to bed saddened beyond any grief we had ever known. They were gone in the morning. Only the big cat was there, out in the tree, calling out my friend Dom, but he was always too smart to fall for his ploy.
These days, I live in a wonderful home in a beautiful community, and I write. I think often of the days on the ranch, hearing my cell phone ringing and not being able to find it. Only to discover that my trickster Appaloosa Snowy was on the other side of the enclosure with it between his lips and shaking his head up and down. Laughing at me because he had stolen it from my pocket while I was mending fences, I got pretty good at mending fences after the herd of Elk would come and huddle at our little refuge. I never minded.
It brings me back to having a heart, a big one at that. I don’t write now because I have the heart to, the truth is, I write because I don’t have the heart not to.
Albert Bianchine
Several years ago, we were living on a ranch south of the Town of Silt, Colorado along County Rd. 331 or Dry Hollow Road. We lived in a log home built in the late 1800’s, a home that had a Sears Kit Home shell built around the logs in the early 1900’s. It was on a twenty five acre parcel with a large stream running through the property at the base of a 100acre Mesa. It had great character. It once was the center or hub of activity because it had the only water and well. Ranchers and farmers would bring their livestock and horses there to refresh and nourish. It had the feel of antiquity. The bluffs above were inhabited by hoot owls, nesting red tailed hawks, and bald eagles. We found out quite by accident that a large mountain lion called the ranch and the bluffs home. My good cat friend, Big Mike, disappeared our very first night there. He was the man. Unfortunately unknown to us, the big, big cat was THE MAN. We never saw Mike again.
Welcome to “The Hadios.” Life was hard but wonderful. Only Big Mike’s son Dom, a more timid version of his dad was able to survive. Our rescue ranch had grown and we needed the extra land for the horses and for our school. Students were coming to Kathy’s classes from all over the world. It was great enjoyment filled with learning, healing, and miracles.
The geological structure of the semi-arid landscape, and rocky formations also lent itself to natural gas drilling. The large gas companies did just that. We often joked that it was Saudi-Silt. The regulations on the number of gas wells that could be drilled in a certain area were deregulated under George Bush’s Administration. Everywhere you looked at night you saw miniature Eiffel Towers lit and working. The support crews for wells are tremendous and the flow of traffic and trucks were at times almost unbearable. So were the accidents, too numerous to mention. The current catastrophe in the Gulf is not an isolated incident. It is business as usual.
One particular full moon evening I was awoken by Kathy who was sitting beside our bedroom window. Our little ranch house was surrounded by a massive herd of Elk. She was quietly listening to them communicate. We had no idea that they clicked, whistled, grunted, and talked so much. It was a moving experience. We at first thought how blessed we were, but soon realized that they weren’t there because we had a particularly good aura about our ranch. They were there because it was the only safe haven amidst the drilling and fracing the goes on 24 hours, seven days a week. The poor animals habitat had been filled by brightly lit towers with drilling equipment and trucks that are never ending. They were dazed, confused and milling about because their migratory paths and grazing grounds were no longer.
We operated a healing ranch where amazing therapy was given to wretched animals who desperately needed it. There was nothing we could do for these creatures. We went to bed saddened beyond any grief we had ever known. They were gone in the morning. Only the big cat was there, out in the tree, calling out my friend Dom, but he was always too smart to fall for his ploy.
These days, I live in a wonderful home in a beautiful community, and I write. I think often of the days on the ranch, hearing my cell phone ringing and not being able to find it. Only to discover that my trickster Appaloosa Snowy was on the other side of the enclosure with it between his lips and shaking his head up and down. Laughing at me because he had stolen it from my pocket while I was mending fences, I got pretty good at mending fences after the herd of Elk would come and huddle at our little refuge. I never minded.
It brings me back to having a heart, a big one at that. I don’t write now because I have the heart to, the truth is, I write because I don’t have the heart not to.
Albert Bianchine
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