BP Secret Mission – The Harvard Lampoon

Smellfungus #

| Issue Editor: SWR '19 | Art Editor: SW '20

BP Secret Mission

  MMM '20

“Come. On. Fweebly. We’re going to get caught if you keep taking your sweet time to make it over these fences,” I say swiveling my head around to watch for guards.

Fweebly Demarcus was not a tall man. He was not handsome or bright. And he always smelt of peanut butter and clams even though he was allergic to shellfish and afraid of the consistency of spreads. He was not my first choice to assist me in this mission. In fact, he was not my second. But he was not my third choice…

And I am? Why, I’m surprised my reputation hasn’t preceded me. I am Charles British Petroleum, heir to the British Petroleum family fortune, master of all trades, jack of nothing. I am a playboy billionaire by day and a rich love-making machine at night. And currently, I am breaking into the Baltimore Aquarium to kill as many sea turtles as I can before I get tuckered out. Kill sea turtles, and put BP back on track in the public eye.

“For the last time, Fweebly, the logic is simple and air-proof,” I say rolling my eyes. “I like killing animals. Sometimes BP kills animals accidentally with oil spills. If I get to them before our oil does, then there will be no animals left to kill.” Fweebly gives me that: “Please sir. I can’t get over any more fences because I’m a little weenie who can’t carry the 400 pounds of sea turtle killing supplies you made me pack.” I gesture to the 15 fences ahead of us before we get to the fence outside the sea turtle exhibit and nod my head derisively.

“Two steps backwards, one step forward. You said it yourself Fweebs. This will be great for our company.”

“That is not what I meant, sir,” Fweebly says between gasps for breath while I acrobatically clear a fence. “I meant every time we try to do something good, we end up making two mistakes in the process. And this time we’re not even trying to do something good.”

“Well if we do this and then one more bad thing, say… a bomb placed…. somewhere, our public relations are bound to take one step forward. Listen, just leave the math to me,” I shout, hopping back and forth over a particularly tall fence just to prove my prowess.