Upstate New York Landowner Shale Gas Activist at NYRAD-R
Vic Furman comes up with his own rendition of a classic story as he imagines a very dark night before Christmas in Governor Andrew Cuomo’s New York.
Sitting up here on my hill in Chenango Forks as we approach Christmas with hunting season behind me, I’ve had time to reflect on all that’s happened over the last several years in New York. We just passed the one-year mark since Governor Andrew Cuomo dealt our part of the state a death blow with his ban on fracking. Like many others, I haven’t given up because I can’t afford to do so. In fact, these are the thoughts that came into my head as I reflected on the past year:
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ NY State,
Not a honest man was stirring, everyone waiting for their court date.
The affidavits were hung on the walls in Albany with care,
In hopes that a chastened Cuomo soon would be there.
They were counting the bribes, all snug in their bed,
Filling their political war chests in hopes of being fed.
Three amigos once, now two have been taken down,
It seems we’re down to one Green Gumby like clown,
Eric Schiederman’s job was as easy as could be,
Perhaps he, too, was crooked, or just couldn’t see.
I had to trust in Preet to put Andy in a prisoner’s cap
And had just settled my brain for a long winter’s nap.
When out from my computer there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to the keyboard to see what was the matter.
Hope building in my heart, I flew to the screen like a flash,
Only to read Preet saying “Stay Tuned” as he threw out his stash.
The Silver guilty plea looked good in the new fallen snow,
Giving me hope that Andy, too, would soon be sent below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But, Maya, Sandra and Josh with a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a cash drunk driver, so greedy and slick
I knew in a moment they were all up to another trick.
More rapid than eagles his SUV’s, they did come,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Josh! Now, Sandra! Don’t be a vixen!
“On, Maya! On, Zucker! Time to fix ’em!
“Let’s give the NRDC something to celebrate,
By sticking it to those hillbillies of Upstate.”
“To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!”
And, just like that the gang had stuck it to us all.
As dried leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
So went the truth, away up into the sky.
And, up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of goodies paid for by taxpayers – and St. Andy too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on my solar-paneled roof
The prancing and pawing of each little fractivist hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Andy came with a bound:
He was dressed all in nylon, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with others oils and soot;
And he looked like a political peddler just opening his pack:
His dark eyes! How they threatened! His sarcastic grin! What a hack!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose up in the air;
His big mouth boasting as if he didn’t have a care.
And a fake beard of an Ithaca hippy that was as white as snow;
The stump of a crack pipe he held tight in his teeth for those who didn’t know.
And the smoke it encircled his swelled head like a halo,
As the fractivists cheered and the NRDC said “Well done, fellow.”
St. Andy was full of himself and shook like a bowl full of jelly,
Whenever the assembled praised him and fed his political belly.
But, he turned on a dime and became a right angry old elf,
When the words Silver and Skelos were linked to himself.
A wink of his eye told me there was revenge in his head.
And, his self-righteousness gave me to know I had much to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his dirty deed,
“I’ll show those upstate secessionists what they need!”
And, then he filled all the stockings with coal accompanied with notes,
“No gas for you, you Upstate hillbillies, unless you change your votes.”
Then, laying his middle finger aside of his nose,
and giving a wink to his fractivist friends, up the chimney he rose.
Taking back all the toys, he sprang to his sleigh, telling his reindeer to “beat feet,”
“There’ll be no Christmas for these Upstater friends of Preet.”
Indeed, I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“No Happy Christmas for you Upstate, so enjoy your dark night!”