Oil Resumes Death Throes

I will give oil bulls this; they are passionate.

It seems like with every breather we get, oil is whipped higher by these people, sporting their finest leather lashes as if they were cattle running in Wyoming. They drive the herd back across the open plains, trying desperately to reach the coast, where glory and riches await them.

Unfortunately for these souls, I am L.H. Musgrove, and China and Germany are malaria.

As they drive their livelihood tirelessly back to whence they came, tired and weakened by disease, I am waiting in ambush with a troop of marauders. As they come to the riverbed (all good ambushes occur at riverbeds), my men are carefully positioned in the hills for optimal range.

The oil-cowboys look right at me, seated by the river, cooking sausages (pork not included; I keep kosher while cattle-rustling) and creating the pretense of “just hanging,” so these men waive cheerily to me, still excited by their prospects despite their obvious, malaria ridden state.

And then we gun them down.

But just when I think I have all the men dead, the next wave comes over the hill sporting still more bounty. So we set up for them, and kill them too.

And then comes the next waive…

And the next…

And so I’m sitting here still, running low on sausages and with way more to keep track of than I had counted on.

How many more oil bulls can come to this crossing? I don’t know. But unless something key changes, I can tell you I’m going to keep shooting until I start running out of resources or get bored.

With how far I’m up on this trade, it’s looking like boredom might come first.

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