Liberals hate oil

Sure, I'm in Massachusetts, notorious democratic stronghold, cradle of the Kennedys --who got rich the good liberal way, not by selling you legal oil to pour into your car, but by being drug dealers: selling you illegal booze you could pour down your throat-- home to the arty-farty Berkshires, wherein I am currently located.  A place that probably has more mimes than plumbers.  So if your toilet breaks, a mime will come to your house and teach you how to pretend to poop, instead.

And liberals hate oil. Oil reeks of Bush and things Bushy and Texas and killing A-rabs to keep our lawn tractors full and Bush and fat-cat businessmen with cigars and giant oily bags of loot with dollar signs on them and Bush and oligarchs and Bush. Unfortunately, as with so many things we deprecate and fulminate against --our parents, our jobs, cable television, Barry Manilow-- part of the hatred is wrapped up intimately with the undeniable fact that we need these things desperately and even secretly like and admire them.  But oil isn't like our jobs --grumbling like an underground cancer bothers oil not a whit-- nor is it like our parents --we can stomp off to our rooms all night long and oil isn't going to give a shit. 

Massachusetts realizes this, surrounded and filled as she is with giant petrol tanks to warm the rural houses and lots full of huge, thirsty plows to deal with the narrow wintry highways that wind through gentle hills, punctuated by the kind of fire hydrants that have long golf-hole-style flags on them to indicate where they are in deep, deep snow.  Massachusetts needs her oil.  And judging from the proudly gleaming (and occasionally even decorated) oil tanks everywhere, Massachusetts LOVES her oil.  But oil is bad. Oil is a slut. Massachusetts loves her oil, but only call it by dirty, dirty names. You naughty, naughty, oil.  I wasn't able to get pictures of the trucks for Gross Oil or Throw Up-y Hideous Turd Squeezings Oil, but you get the drift.