Barversations: AKA Bar vers at ions #oilspill

Barversations: AKA Bar Vers at ions #oilspill & more.

“What would you do?” Carl Simon asks.

He sits up in the chair, his back still crooked as he pushes himself from the bar and sits the way he rests, “I’d send in subs and do deep sonar imaging. To see how the topography of the well looks, peaks and valleys. Then do some drilling to suck from the reserve in places that weaken the flow from the leak to make capping it much easier. I know Obama said no more off shore drilling but this is just a thought I’ve had. What I would do is when the leak can be capped then synchronize with the other’s and shut it off. Then figure out how to make sure nothing like this can happens again.”

He lights his cigarette again, “If offshore drilling is to ever take place? One way to keep it safe is to keep subs in triangle formation around ‘em, doing 360 digital imaging for miles and miles and with quick camera drones out their in contact with each other, with sonar that allows substance rendering and of course execution capabilities if need be. And make sure they move on small batteries to spin cylinders and run primarily on water propulsion and can feed the battery to quicken each other to a need be place… know what they mean?”

The Reporter laughs like most do they laugh out of fear and hope, though he’s sincere, “Be stealth.” He get’s off the stool, note pad and pen still jotting. “Any other Idea’s?”

“I’ll try and figure out how to word the expandable tubing with glue gun technology with metal installation that moves back in forth to create warmth enough to avoid Ice crystals and explosion. Though honestly I’d like to think what’s going on today is going to work. But if you need my help just ask and I’ll be there.” He jot’s quickly as he makes his way to the door, like a sniper he takes down the words on the paper while still being able to says “Thank you.”

The voice’s of what was thought to be an extinct species, the dodo bird; keeps squawking in different pitches, wishes and idiocies. He mocks their commands and tries to get them to open both eyes and quit pretending, “It’s been how long now?” in the O’i-o-idiocy?

The juke box plays an obnoxious tune of irony; they love irony around here though they don’t realize it’s a prat fall on a plank, who are you in ‘the Jew of Malta’? Can we get another show and quit with the Romeo and Juliet puppet master shit. You’re wasting your life, think about that thought.

A woman laughs, a man drops a bottle in the trash, another man fakes a cough. A girl all of sudden becomes obnoxious and yells something of a possessive manner. The music from the speakers lapse into silence and into another song as the show doesn’t.

“Now you can get back to babbling at me.” He pulls out a cell phone that doesn’t work, doesn’t press any buttons and raises it to his head, “Yeah is that you, well sure they’re still babbling at me, they think I’m the anti-christ, though idiots don’t realize the anti-christ isn’t a single person, it’s a movement of idiots that will destroy the world trying to sacrifice people deemed heretics. ”

He pauses. People try and say hot words, that’ll throw him off like a hundred people playing Plinko but he knows that can’t work.

“Yeah, yeah. I know to the ones low on the totem it’s suppose to be a joke, but it’s no game, this is it, genocide. Drag people though misery. And then you got them morons who make themselves the meek. Piss themselves, sweat and never bathe, be careful and steadfast. You don’t know there hoodoo is real.”

He listens for a break in their gush.

No one tries to understand, it’s still the chorus again. Prude, rude and in need of prunes.

What do they expect to get when there is a more than a mic and wire listening… they won’t see it coming.

Examples have been made and there’s still enough money to be made off making another prison and having them work for pennies to sell their products for much more.

He jumps of the stool raises his hand, Hey does anyone know how this explosion happened? Was it remote? What’s the history of everyone on board! What’s the history of the survivors? Are there still logs of who docked where recently that had sub’s in the area before this blew!?!?”

Silence and nobody says anything in there fighting fish bowls.

“And you expect wings?... where are you flying to nowhere on delta as a child?”

Silence as some shuffle and try to figure out a way to distract from the issue at hand.

“More than that appears that way.”