Vol. 13, No. 3,248 - The American Reporter - September 12, 2007

Conster Nation

by W.R. Marshall
American Reporter Correspondent
Charleston, S.C.

Printable version of this story

CHARLESTON, S.C. -- Ken Lay died last week.

Huzzah. Huzzah.

There are some dead who don't deserve respect.

If I had a chariot I'd tie his lifeless corpse to the back and drag him through the streets of Houston - slowly enough to let every one of his former employees spit on him - before towing his worthless carcass to the middle of what was Enron Field where he'd fry on a pyre of worthless stock certificates.

And that would be too good for him.

I wanted him to rot in prison for thirty years.

I wanted him to live a life far worse than the life he forced on thousands of his employees; decent hardworking folks whom he stuck with shares of a company that was as hollow as he was immoral, shares that he forced them to keep even as he dumped his and made millions.

I wanted him to know what it's like to lose your future.

I wanted him to be paroled when he was 90, broken and forgotten.

I wanted him to die alone, choking on the dog food he was eating out of a can with a dirty spoon, sitting on a creaky wooden chair in a crappy one room apartment in the worst part of the worst town you can think of.

Do I seem angry? Imagine how mad I'd be if I'd owned Enron stock.

Lay was only 64, so there is some solace in the fact that he died young. They say he died of a heart attack and we can only hope it was a painful myocardial infarction and not peacefully in his sleep. But we know that wasn't the case, hell, this was a guy who thought he was innocent to the end, a guy who was $100 million in debt and still spent $200,000 on a birthday yacht for his wife because; "it was difficult to turn off that lifestyle like a spigot."

Difficult for him, but he sure didn't lose any sleep when he turned it off for the thousands of people who worked for him, or the millions he screwed during the California power scam.

I heard one of the talking heads on cable call Lay "controversial."


A close play at home is controversial.

Full frontal nudity is controversial.

Dave Chappell is controversial.

Ken Lay wasn't controversial, he was what the late Hunter Thompson called a "thieving pig f***er."

The tragedy in all this - and it's as Greek as it gets (Sophocles would have known what to do with this guy) - is, obviously, not Lay's death, and as tragic as the loss is for the thousands of employees and stock holders, and it's prodigious, it's not the worst part, not the Greek part.

The worst part of all this is there never was, nor will there ever be, any outrage from his peers, from his pal, the President. He was just good ol' Kenny Boy, doing what they all do. They'll speak fondly of him at his funeral, they'll laud him, they'll speak like Antony over the dead body of Caesar - thieving pig f***ers take care of there own.

So I'll speak for the rest of us; those without private jets, those without Presidential cell phone numbers, those without spigots for money. I'll speak for those with a conscience.

Ken Lay died last week.

Huzzah. Huzzah.

Copyright 2007 Joe Shea The American Reporter. All Rights Reserved.

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