After spending a year aiding the Third World in developing economical ways to turn shit into profit, Zach & the Bunnies needed a vacation, and since no vacation is complete without Lord FreeLuv, they needed him. But where was he? To find him, the Bunnies turned their friend, the retired professor of luv, Moolah Bro Zacharin. They found him hiding on his Mexican commune, trying to relax with Poliandri, his beloved wife. He greeted them with extreme anxiety:
“What are you doing here? Do you know what my wife will do to me if she sees me with you?”
“Will she be jealous?” they joked and winked.
“Shut up! Shhhh! What do you want?” he whispered in trepidation.
“We want you to lead us on another exciting, danger- and adventure-filled search for the most desirable man on Earth!”
He smiled sheepishly. “Well, I suppose I’m not too old to help you look for FreeLuv again. But I’m broke. You got any luv?”
“Just a little,” they lied.
“Give it to me and I’ll invest it in the luv market. There it will grow and multiply, if you know what I mean. With our monthly earnings, we can fund the greatest adventure this world has ever seen! So, what do you think?”
They loved his sweet-talking ways. “We’ll gladly give you everything, but we want to be sure the lord is still alive. Could you ask God whether we’d be wasting our time and money or not?”
“I’d be glad to. God and I have a special relationship. Wait here! I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Moolah Bro Zacharin sprinted down the road and approached the Church of the Celestial Booty at breakneck-speed, then leapt over the waist-high berry bushes lining the path and assaulted the holy doors with his tongue (that’s a poetic way of saying he shouted to be let through the doors). Sadly, his oral assaults went ignored until he screamed at the sight of the church’s formerly fat cat. Its emaciated corpse staggered through the door and collapsed at his feet. Then Olyshit appeared.
“You’re too late, Zach! The lord has already come and gone!”
Ha! That was a blatant lie! The rapture had hardly started. Ignorant, Zach stood guiltily and nervously in the doorway. Preston the preacher saw the look in his eye and teased, “Come in, Zach. I know who you’re looking for. I can help, but only if you luv me.”
“I l–”
“Hahaha!” The professional buffoon, the Grand Doofus Arrears, laughed rudely, breezed past the prince of love and quipped, “Still trying to find yourself, Zach?”
This was followed by a depressing report from their economist, Olyshit: “The lord should be shot! He seduced us and left us all banged up and pregnant! How many millions bear the burden of debt because of his reckless luv making?”
Aghast, Zacharin followed him into the garden. “Satan! Satan! Satan! You faithless devil! I saw the lord in action! His ass is our only hope. Without it, we’d already be broke. Sure, we wasted most of his luv, but if we invest the leftovers wisely, we could once again be on the right side of the Boss’s accounting ledgers!”
The Grand Doofus snorted, “The lord’s ass is generous to a fault! It gave us so much luv that everyone’s sick of it and not even our friends want it. Now a wheelbarrow full of luv can’t even buy us a pumpkin, a sugar plum, a dumpling or even an itsy-bitsy sweat-pea.”
Moolah Bro Zacharin didn’t hear him. He was distracted by the tasty herbs and shapely blossoms in the church garden. He was so hungry he tried to eat a few while the Grand Doofus Arrears reasoned aloud, “Luv must be earned! It’s in the Constitution! Everything must be paid for! I say we crucify Lord FreeLuv for giving luv to millions of lazy, subprime citizens like ourselves. We wasted all our luv on prostitutes!”
Preston began to sermonize, “As it is written, ‘Once upon a time the world’s most generous man gave bags full of sugar to the hungry, and each new year he gave them more, until after seven years his sugar company was broke.’ Thus God warns us against reckless generosity.”
While the congregation clapped and cheered to hear such wisdom, Zacharin bitterly complained, “Luv and sugar have nothing in common! Luv makes me strong. Did you see me run like the wind? I leapt right over that hedge,” he boasted, pointing at an ankle-high row of flowers before doing a handstand, a backflip and a cartwheel. Everyone was utterly ashamed at this display of agility, so they covered their eyes with their feet.
“Zach, what have you been sniffing?” the preacher asked. “Luv is a cheap substitute for heroin. The real prince of love will give us genuine love when we earn it!”
“That’s right. This luv is crap!” commented the Grand Doofus Arrears.
“You can call the lord’s luv crap, but crap is manure, and manure is God’s fertilizer! It makes flowers bloom beautifully, and so it has made Amerika’s beautiful economy bloom!” Zach reasoned, and it was a beautiful piece of reasoning indeed.
President Angel came to church in a heliocopter{5} and was welcomed with a cacophony of bells and whistles as he shimmied up the pulpit.
“Mister President!” Zacharin shouted over the hubbub. “Please tell me where I should invest my luv if I want it to grow and bear fresh juicy fruit.”
“Zacharin, you fool, are you drunk on poetry again?”
“Uhmmm …. Mister President, be honest with me for once. Should I fertilize the government by buying bonds or should I fertilize a corporation by buying shares?”
“What kind of stupid question is that? Of course, you should buy peaches and squash. The future is in peaches and squash!”
“I’d rather invest in some hot babes. Hot babes are in demand!”
“Zach, I think you should invest in me,” Preston suggested, flashing an expanse of stockinged leg. “I’m incorporated and hot on the stockings market!”
Angel slapped the transgendered preacher for his naughty behavior, balanced himself on the front pew and launched into this tolerable mini-sermon:
“My friends, I’ve come here today to remind you that Amerika has a manifest destiny to become great again. As your president, I work day and night to save your asses from economic winter. The lord has abandoned us, but have faith in me, your democratically elected president, for I have nearly mastered the art of producing luv in quantities large enough to get our economic engine roaring again!”
Wow! That was good news. Everyone almost cheered, but the fools soon lost interest in cheering and quickly hopped out of the church.
“Hey! I’m not finished! Hey! Zach!? Preston!” shouted the president. He looked up to the Heavens for mercy as a dollop of bird poop splattered on his head.
His cries went unheeded. The church was empty. The hungry and thirsty congregation had hopped outdoors to begin its much anticipated church picnic.
Alkyda Arrears chomped into a raw, unwashed African pear and immediately metamorphosed into a monkey. Zacharin avoided the fruit, but was already feeling intoxicated from the poisonous fragrances wafting from the garden. Now he couldn’t remember why he had come to church, so he idled the time away with his perverted finger stirring the stigma and squeezing the ovary of a zucchini blossom.
“Zacharin! Are you raping flowers now?” asked Preston.
Zacharin guiltily withdrew his finger. “Sorry. Flowers and gardens always remind me of FreeLuv. Arrears, where should I invest my luv?”
“Zach, invest in your government. We’ll take care of you.”
“I think I’d rather invest in a pig.”
“You’ll have to find Lord FreeLuv first, and you’ll never find him if you don’t appeal to his weakness,” said Arrears with a wink.
“The lord’s belly loves pills, doughnuts and freshly slaughtered human meat!” Olyshit yelled as he swallowed thirty pills and immediately lost his disgusting hair and had the best seizure ever.
Zacharin was horrified by the news regarding the lord’s diet. He always imagined his savior peacefully browsing on tea leaves, munching evergreen needles and being friendly with sex-crazed pandas and koalas. He couldn’t believe it. He wanted to ask the president what he thought, but President Angel and his administrative buddies had sought relief from the nation’s economic woes by smoking a pile of marijuana. They were now out of reach, flying in a cloud of smoke.
After the picnic, President Angel and company convened inside their church to discuss the possibility that Lord FreeLuv betrayed them for foreign friends and would never bail them out with a second cash infusion, and that consequently the government would perish in a calamitous bankruptcy. It was too horrible to imagine. They shuddered with dread at the thought of living without a government.
“If the government perishes, civilization expires!” lamented the president. “The Amerikan government is God’s puppet on Earth. We do what He commands, as a shadow government obeys the shining being who casts the shadow while remaining safely out of sight, and necessarily so, for his brilliance would burn our eyes. I … wait, what point am I trying to make?”
“That we should wear sunglasses in Church!” some stupid kid quipped.
“Now I remember. Citizens are like sheep, no, like children. Right. And children cannot raise themselves. They’d eat each other alive without a government.”
Penelope Hayyew, the First Lady, had rarely seen her husband so animated. It really excited her reptilian brain. In a fever of lust, she used her imagination to imagine, illegally and in shockingly graphic detail, how her husband would orally fill and stimulate her buttery bunny hole. That’s a woman for you. Thank goodness men understand the spiritual world beyond the flesh and understand that the world of numbers, which transcends the material world, can destroy the material world by sucking everything into the Big Bottomless Bunny Hole. No man on Earth knows how to plug that hole.
Chief Economist Olyshit thought he had the answer and offered this horrible advice: “If the lord doesn’t come to our rescue, we’ll have to screw the enemy real good.”
President Angel exclaimed, “In that case, you can prepare to be screwed, Olyshit! We’ll do the honorable thing and declare war against all uneconomical people—especially against all those poets who write unprofitable poetry!!!!”
This suggestion won a round of applause that ended when Olyshit explained that the president had spent years working on an epic poem about his penis. After a long pause, Vice Doofus Arrears advised the following, “Let’s fight the big fat cats whose predatory habits are consuming the country!”
These words were met with awkward nods and head scratching. President Angel positively twitched, for he loved his fat cat. Sucking in his stately gut, he remarked, “I think you’re forgetting something important, dear Arears.”
“What?”
“Exactly who are the fat cats?”
“Women—of course!” he shot back. The room gave a sigh of relief. “Women are the fat cats who devour our incomes! Science proves it! Their breasts are nothing but fat. And their padded asses are very fat compared to our humble asses.”
Arrear’s remark about fat cats and asses had General Sitting Duck quite confused and moderately worried. You see, Amerika’s zoos and schools had always encouraged him to love animals of all sizes, even the largest tits, peckers, boobies, rats, pussies, beavers and asses. Preston nervously shifted his impressive ass and warned, “God never disapproved of fat asses or fat breasts. How could He when His own parts are too large and bounteous to imagine?”
Even Zacharin was satisfied with this explanation, but satisfaction gave way to fresh worries about how to raise money and avoid death by the BBBH. After hours of brainstorming, the president’s evil chief psychologist, Odeus Retard, came to the rescue. Odeus suggested that the government “wage war against the multitude of ghosts haunting Amerika.”
General Zulu mused, “Do we really have ghosts in Amerika?”
“Lots!” said the mad psychologist. “Haven’t you noticed? George Washington’s ghost is everywhere. We can’t stop seeing his body in books and in our minds. And we are still thinking about dead and decayed Lincoln, and—no offense to President Angel—but we’re seeing angels and talking to God, Winnie the Pooh, Donald Duck and Jesus Ben Muhammad as if they’re here and listening. Why won’t Amerika let the dead rest? Why? Why this fascination with the dead? The dead are worm meat and ashes! The Amerikan Psychiatric Association warned a century ago that our obsession with the dead must be limited to Halloween.”
President Angel grumbled.
General Zulu asked, “Excuse me, but how can we fight ghosts? Aren’t they already dead?”
The chief psychologist replied, “Elementary, my dear Zulu, to defeat an animate enemy, killing is necessary; to defeat an inanimate enemy, the opposite is necessary. Am I understood?”
He was not. Everyone was dumbfounded and profoundly befuddled.
The madman sighed, “Fine, let me explain. The opposite of killing is making life.”
Still no one understood.
“The opposite of killing … in plain English,” he added while awkwardly twerking on his chair, “the ghosts must be loved and given life! Yippee yahoo!”
This display of talentless idiocy was followed by stunned silence and hesitant clapping.
Fortunately, the president interjected these enlightened words, “Odeus, would you be so kind as to demonstrate how you would fuck a ghost? If your demonstration impresses me, I’ll ask you to personally retrain every Amerikan soldier.”
I leave the rest to your imagination—but only if you’re interested in Hell.
When Zacharin returned to his clients, they did not mince their words: “So, Zach, did you get any leads about the lord’s whereabouts?”
He gave the Bunnies a suave, all-knowing look, and replied, “I know the lord’s coordinates by heart, but the lord told me you are not worthy of the truth until you invest everything in his name.”
The Bunnies were so excited, they gave Zach most of their luv. Following God’s advice, Zach took the loot to a Las Vegas investment firm called the Whirly-World Bank. Its chief investment wizard, Mr Hannibal Leitch, was an all-around nice guy. He invited Zach and the Bunnies to his home and even let them ride his bull in the yard.
Well, after hours of fun and games, Zach had to be reminded about his business, and as Chinese food was being served, Hannibal gently eased into the serious conversation: “With your consent, Mr Zacharin, I’ll invest everything you have in Chuck Bollocks’ Good Shit Company. Ever hear of it?”
Wow—thought the Bunnies. Chuck Bollocks has a company? They loved the idea of giving Chuck their luv. But Zacharin was hesitant.
“Wait a moment, girls. This company’s name seems suspicious to me. Mr Leitch, is this company true to its name?”
“Well, manure—or crap, as you call it—is highly profitable, and the No Shit Company produces only the highest quality, locally-produced eco-shit. And, just last week it began sales of a living machine that recycles organic matter into digestible packages called vruggies and freatables. I expect astronomical sales ’cause ’merikans are crazy about eco-shit.”
The Bunnies agreed, but Zach was skeptical. “The Chinese have the shit market cornered. Not even a lord can compete. Does the Good Shit Company have anything marketable?”
“Well, the company is now developing reservations in Africa and Australia and marketing them to foreign governments as a way to save government money. It’s pure genius! These super-reservations—that’s what they call them—provide all the necessities of life for free, so they’re being marketed as place where governments can dump prisoners, welfare cases, terrorists and other parasites. Granted, they’ll have to live without luxuries like politicians, but people will get used to that.”
“No politicians? I don’t think anarchy can be profitable.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. These reservations will make great safaris, the first human safaris, and they could be used for perpetual reality shows.”
Zach and the Bunnies had always wanted to be in a reality show, so they invested half of their hard-earned life savings and danced home. The next day, their stocks crashed back to Earth. By way of apology, the company sent every investor a box of vruggies, but Zach and the Bunnies wanted more and rushed straight back into the lion’s den.
“You hoodwinked us!” said Zach with all the anger he could muster.
“I beg your pardon, but it was an accident. No one could have foreseen that disaster. But you’re in luck! I can now sell you shares in the amazing land development company called Paradise Enterprise Estates.”
“Wow. We love the name! Paradise Enterprise Estates! It sounds golden.”
“It is. PEE is no ordinary company. It’s the nation’s only builder of affordable Disney-inspired eco-housing projects. It’s owned and operated by the real Chuck Bollocks.”
“Hoorah!” the Bunnies whooped.
Zach was skeptical. “Wait, how can it make money building affordable homes?”
“PEE only works for the government, which is desperate to stop years of anti-poverty protests by putting people into affordable homes. Of course, the government couldn’t afford to give real homes to all those millions of bums, so PEE builds open-concept eco-homes without internal walls, plumbing, gas lines and electrical wiring. They also build with volunteers and free materials—any junk they can find. So, their operating costs are zero.”
“So PEE puts a roof on four walls and calls it a home?”
“They put a roof on one circular wall and call it a home,” said Angela laughing. “And they cut corners so well that the roof is really just the wall caving in on itself.”
“That’s amazing!” Zach exclaimed.
“But why would anyone would want such a home?”
“Good question!” Zach lied.
“Well, let me explain. People want PEE homes because each one is unique, and they’re mortgage free and very easy to maintain. Plus, residents will become famous. You see, our government intends to promote PEE settlements as tourist attractions where people can visit and see how lucky they are to live in proper homes and cities. Plus, residents have a chance to win fame by simply surviving.”
Now the Bunnies were totally impressed, for they had always wanted a chance to become famous. So, they invested half of their remaining savings. That was too bad, for if they had done their due diligence they might have predicted another crash. Luckily, the company sent all their investors a box of consoling vruggies.
“Boohoohoo! Boohoohoo!” the Bunnies wept and cast their vruggies away. “Oh Lord FreeLuv, where are you?”
After crying a river they felt better and, to my surprise, their belief in Amerika was strong again, so strong that once again, without even consulting God, Zach and the Bunnies decided to invest their remaining savings at Swin & Del Securities, the most profitable investment firm in the City of London. Its CEO, Mr Angelo Peterson, patiently listened to Zach brag about surviving two previous investors. When the retelling of the double tragedy ended, Mr Peterson kindly explained, “Relax, Zach. I’m not like those swindlers. I actually hate money, your money especially.”
“That’s a relief,” said Zach and the Bunnies nodded. “We hate our money, too. It’s far too much trouble to get it and far too easy to lose it.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place if you want making luv to be easy. At Swin & Del, profiting is as easy as sleeping and making music. We simply invest everything in the revolutionary Big Shit Corporation and let you have all the profits.”
The Bunny-babes liked the sound of that. They loved anything prefaced with the word “revolutionary.” But, as usual, Zach was a lee-e-e-e-ttle skeptical. “I hope this revolutionary corporation isn’t into vruggies or dung-shaped homes,” he worried out loud.
“BS invests in children and is a bona fide child developer, not a land developer,” Mr Peterson explained in his reassuring tone.
“That’s mighty interesting. Does it buy the cheap ones, cut their hair and nails and put meat on their bones before selling them to wealthy child prospectors? Or does it fund college studies and collect a percentage of earned income once its products are gainfully employed?”
Mr Peterson laughed, “BS is run by scientists. It uses scientific breeding and parenting techniques on secluded, environmental laboratories complete with state-of-the-art housing specially designed to create kids that are so intelligent that the whole world will pay just to watch them!”
“Wow. I wish I had used BS. Who’s using this amazing service?”
“President Angel. All his kids are BS kids.”
Zach and the Bunnies were blown away. They emptied their wallets on Mr Angelo’s lap and went to the nearest shelter for the homeless to wait for good news. The next day they somewhat expected bad news, so they were not entirely surprised when the company shipped them boxes full of vruggies and a hundred BS infants from India, China, and elsewhere. An accompanying letter begged the Bunnies to love their children and hilariously assured them that if they “provided such value-adding services as breast-feeding—you would be rewarded with years of love.”
Thus Zach and the Bunnies were bamboozled not once, not twice, but three times. Oh, I’ve never laughed so hard in my life!
Let’s be honest: even semi-intelligent rabbits would have quit the investing business, but I guess you had to hand it to the Bunnies—they weren’t quitters. Despite their losses in the lottery of life, the Bunnies did not lose hope in the land of opportunity. In fact, they were more intent than ever on becoming successful investors.
Faith in Amerika is one damn powerful religion.
Well, this time they chose to invest with Skruyu Financial Trust, and excellent Wall Street financial firm, but not even they knew more about the future than God knows. The company’s chief broker, Mrs Angela Fox, treated her clients to a free lunch before it was time to do the deed.
“Before we proceed,” Zach began, “Please swear that Skruyu Financial won’t screw us.”
Mrs Fox kindly swore, though she swore with a smile, for she was shrewd enough to know that her customers secretly loved getting screwed, for everyone always does. Of course, the Bunnies made quite a show of not wanting to be screwed, so Angela Fox assured them that she doesn’t even screw her husband. That won a roomful of laughter and made everyone comfortable enough to trust her. Finally, Zach lowered his voice and asked if Mrs Fox had any inside scoops on how to make some quick profits.
“Certainly,” she answered, winking. “I recently learned that Chuckie Bollocks –”
“Not him again!”
“No, this is Chuckie Bollocks, not Chuck. Chuckie is in the cutting edge soil manufacturing business.”
“The what?”
“It’s a very new industry. Turns out that most countries are running out of soil and just realized that they need soil in order to live, so the market is ripe. And the company’s manufacturing process is ingenious. Low costs and high returns. They produce millions of tons of fertile soil every year.”
“Wow! How the heck do they do it?” asked the Bunnies, who had always had a keen interest in all matters related to soil.
“Good question! According to their brochure, 50% of their production depends on taking and composting all the crap and sewage produced in Washington D.C. The other half of their soil comes from the funeral industry.”
Zach wanted details.
“Remember when President Angel announced that the country can’t afford to cover good land with rotten cemeteries and how corpses started piling up in warehouses? Well, Chuckie came to their rescue. He bought them for pennies and composted them. Now that line of compost is the hottest seller among gardeners.”
“What a genius! We’ve heard enough! Here’s half of our life savings. Please make it bear fruit … but no more vruggies-consolations, please.”
“You have my word. You’ll only earn luv with us.”
“Excellent!”
They parted with hugs and kisses. The next day, the company went broke. Well, thought the Bunnies, at least our money went to another good cause. I guess getting screwed never felt so good.
When it was quite obvious to everyone that all their luv had been stolen, Zacharin and the Bunnies begged God to lend Lord FreeLuv to them so that he might save them with a luv transfusion. God was willing, but the lord was engaged in other business, so, by way of consolation, God gave the beggars a beautiful a gold-trimmed consolation certificate that my editors have faithfully reproduced below:
|
Dear Luvers,
I wish I could live with you and help everyone in need, but my body has limits. Therefore I have written this luv letter and holy note to console all who seek my luv. Do not feel slighted or cheated. This note is the sperm of the spirit of luv and represents the full and equivalent value of the physical Lord FreeLuv (2,000+ ounces). Moreover, it is superior to the physical lord, for it is cleaner and it requires less maintenance and it will give you many years of pleasure if your imagination is fertile and if you do not question or mock it. Give it all the attention it deserves and it will reward you. The meaning of this note is the luving spirit of the lord, for he wrote it for you so that the living spirit of his luv might be in your thick skulls.
Happy reading.
Lord FreeLuv
|
Zach and the Bunnies thought it was a work of art. They loved it so much they read it backwards and in circles and put it to music. It was like a piece of God’s magic chewy gum: no matter how much they chewed, the taste just improved. And this goes to prove, no matter how unfair life seems to be, there’s always a happy ending for anyone with a little imagination.