President Angel’s smear campaign backfired badly, so he promoted him to Ambassador of Death. His first assignment was in the U.S. Embassy of Terraristan. Chuck went there thinking he was visiting a land of hot babes, beaches and sunshine, so imagine his surprise when he found the luxurious embassy buried in dust, without electricity, without appliances or running water, and without a parasol in sight. As for the beaches, well, he found plenty of blazing sunshine, but no shoreline and 144,000 rotting corpses instead of vacationers.
“There must be a mistake!” he shouted at the sky. “Why did you send me to a graveyard?”
His all-hearing iGod replied, “Are you presidential material or not? These people need your help.”
“But they’re dead!”
As if on cue, one of the dead sat up: “Ambassador Bollocks, please take me to Amerika!”
“TAKE US ALL TO AMERIKA!” cried a hundred thousand corpses sitting up in unison.
Ambassador Chuck cringed. “Have pity on Amerika!” his iGod commanded. “If you don’t help the living dead, they’ll swim to Amerika, seduce the daughters of our billionaires and pollute our genetic heritage!”
“That’s terrifying! So, what do you want me to do?”
“You numbskull! Resurrect the local economy! Resurrect it quick, but for God’s sake, don’t make it better than Amerika! I do not want to die of envy or have to move!”
The wrinkled and maggoty old corpses danced excitedly, whooped and licked their parched lips. Ambassador Bollocks told them to shut up and sit down. Instantly, the crowd fell silent.
“Thank you.” Then, turning to his iGod, Chuck shouted, “What do you want me to do? Call Amerika for a gigantic fast food delivery?”
“Where is your self-esteem? You were once my Lord FreeLuv, the fountain of luv! Chuck Bollocks, with your gift for luv, you can transform this barren desert into a living buffet! Luv is all you need for life!”
“I can’t even give life to a woman; how do you expect me to give life to a desert?”
An extraterrestrial glow appeared in the night sky. The nation’s idiots dreamed of aliens, but I have seen most of the universe, and I assure that the only aliens are angels and winged saints. As for that extraterrestrial glow, that was God’s inter-galactic Luv Device descending from Heaven. It was the acme of technology, the greatest gadget ever invented. It wasn’t metallic or shiny. To the untrained eye, it looked just like a banana. It landed harmlessly at Chuck’s feet, but a minute later, the accompanying User’s Manual bounced off his fat head. He had half a mind to crap on it, but thanks be to God, for he scanned the whole thing with his trusty iGod and got this perfect translation in spoken words:
You are now the proud owner of the Magic Banana Luv Device. It is self-replicating and it can transform beaches into peaches and deserts into desserts. Just locate a warm, moist spot, then gently press your Magic Banana Luv Device into it. Next, if you’re not too busy, provide sunlight, water and air. Do this ever so religiously and your Magic Banana Luv Device will produce all the wealth that you and your family will ever need.
Ambassador Bollocks whooped, “Praise be to God, for he has rescued me from failure with his amazing magic banana!”
The living dead also whooped, and actually they whooped with even more energy.
Armed with God’s patented Magic Banana, Ambassador Bollocks did his utmost to turn Terraristan into a healthy paradise, but the task was too great for God’s chosen one. In a silence of the night, he cried out, “I’m sorry, but no Hero, however mighty, not even Hercules and Muhammad working together could do this job. I need help!”
After hearing this heart-wrenching confession and plea, President Angel politely asked the Terraristanis for their permission to send 70,000 Amerikan workers into their country, to help the good ambassador bury the Poisonous Poppies of Hell and create a the so-called Living Buffet of Paradise. Of course, the Terraristanis granted permission.
Without delay, nearly one million angels parachuted down from the sky. They were Amerika’s mighty Farm and Forest Forces (F&FF). These super-healthy, highly-skilled dynamos worked tirelessly with the Earth and the Terraristani women as they joyfully planted their Luv Devices all over the parched and cracked land. Thanks to the helpfulness of the local people, the work was completed faster than predicted. Billions of Magic Banana Luv Devices sprouted like green origami machines. If that doesn’t help you visualize the miracle, imagine billions of ultra-high tech futuristic solar-hydro-mineral-air-powered micro-plant-factories. In short, God’s miraculous technology transformed the dead desert into a land flowing with edible calories suitable for animals.
After nation-wide celebrations, the F&FF were treated as heroes and received millions of invitations to live in Terraristani. Of course they refused to betray their beloved Amerika and they assured the locals that they could easily maintain their micro-plant-factories without foreign expertise. Even dumb kids could do that.
Well, I thought that was the end of the Terraristani problem, but you know what foreigners are like. Just days later, they began complaining that their Magic Bananas did not provide all the necessities of life. They demanded that Amerika provide free air-conditioned homes. Any other country would have balked at such an extravagant demand, but Amerika was truly exceptional. President Angel asked Ambassador Bollocks to lead the new mission, and with brilliant foresight, he sent the Amerikan Building Corps (ABC) to help him. They were warmly welcomed. Indeed, during many weeks of arduous work, they were regaled with many feasts and sleep-overs.
The following will give you an inkling of God’s inspired home designs. Each habitat was built around a tree, looked like a pile of mud, and was topped with thatch. These pretty little homes was equipped with space-age rocket-stoves and the cutest little chimneys. The Terraristanis sincerely appreciated Amerika’s gifts and invited President Angel to live with them in their beautiful new homes.
Well, once again, that should have been the end of the Terraristan story, but as I said before, foreigners are the worst moochers. They were thankful for their free food and shelters, but now they wanted meaning, for somehow life felt meaningless. In a stroke of genius, Ambassador Bollocks offered to give them democracy, but the Terraristanis had no interest in democracy: “We’d rather by ruled by your president. We want laughter, and you he’s the funniest man we know.”
“What if he refuses?”
“Then we’ll go to Amerika and have children with all your women.”
“I see. Let me talk to President Angel and see if he can do some slap-stick with me.”
He called President Angel’s personal line and explained his predicament. The president was flattered but unavailable, but, unwilling to disappoint the Terraristanis, he sent them the Amerikan Clown Forces (ACF). They arrived in fart-powered vehicles and entertained those rude and uncivilized people by making their buttocks jiggle and their genitals twirl.
I thought that was the end of the Terraristani adventure, but just as Ambassador Bollocks took a leave of absence, those barbarians prayed for just one more favor. “What now?” I grumbled. “Televisions or signed copies of my Hollywood Bible?” Turns out they just wanted to honor Amerika’s greatest ambassador ever with a crappy portrait and a concert played with their asses.
The good ambassador felt unappreciated, so he went searching for love in the Kingdom of Saud. I warned Chuck of the dangers. I told him that Saudi women are so beautiful that if any one of them exposes any portion of their silky, sensuous skin, even a single nipple, men turn into pigs, roast in their own flames and suffer from eternal shame. That’s the truth. Why else do you think Saudi men keep those dangerous creatures covered and hidden?
Like I said, I warned my boy, but he didn’t listen. He flew to Mecca, the party center of the world, and bought a ticket to a popular unisexual mosque. After dressing in the local party wear, he was persuaded to participate in suggestive dancing, and when he had quite exhausted himself the women used unsolicited kisses to make him join their wicked conversations. Well, it wasn’t long before they realized they were talking to Amerika’s national treasure, the one and only Ambassador Bollocks. And that’s when the party ended.
Chuck was arrested and dragged to an oil refinery, where he was hooked up to tubes and pumps, forced to sleep and fed nothing but awful Arabic food. After about a week of this torture, the Royal Engineer of Saud arrived and examined the substance being extracted from Chuck’s body.
“Allah is awesome!” he gasped. “This liquid shit is superior to methane, propane and butane! Your ass produces better, cleaner fuels than all the world’s oil and gas fields!!”
“Well, thank you very much, but who gave you permission to extract my precious bodily byproducts?”
“Allah informed us that your body is a divine reservoir of luv, the cleanest and most potent energy in the universe! Now it is ours and we will charge the world as much as we desire! We’re going to be rich!”
“That’s good news indeed, but please tell your king if he does not set me free, I will ask my God to impregnate all your Arab women with black-skinned and blond-haired children!”
The Royal Engineer swiftly relayed the terrible threat on camelback to King Saudom, who foolishly laughed and dismissed it. A month later a million Saudi women reported mysterious pregnancies. Eight months later, King Saudom panicked, summoned his precious prisoner, personally apologized to him and begged him to reverse the curse on his kingdom.
This time Ambassador Bollocks laughed. “I’m sorry, Saudom, but history cannot be rewritten. Release me, return my stolen luv, and I will spare you from bearing the devil’s children, too.”
“Allah have mercy! You are free!” cried Saudom.
“But how can I live without your luv energy?”
Ambassador Bollocks pitied old Saudom. “Buddy, if you really want to have access to the world’s cleanest and most potent energy, look no further than your women. They gave me the energy to cross many deserts barefoot just to be with them. Simply feast your eyes on their beautiful noses and cheeks and hear their every breath and I swear, Allah will give you all the energy you can dream of.”
King Saudom thanked him and shared his advice with all the kingdom’s men, and by the Devil’s power, everyone believed him and the whole country descended into a blazing Hell too painful to describe. Thus Allah punishes the wicked.
Around this time, some crazy Jew wrote a movie script about God promising to give Amerika to the Jews. Native Amerikans have always been hospitable and ready to share their country with anyone, but after the movie was released Amerika had a problem: millions of Jews wanted Amerika all for themselves. They pointed to the many Jewrassic fossils found throughout the land. President Angel said those fossils were planted by Jewish film crews and politely declined to surrender our country.
Days later, the Prime Mufti of Israel, Ben Rabi Jacob, asked President Angel if Israel could buy or lease-to-own Amerika.
“I’m sorry,” President Angel replied, “but Amerika is not for sale or for lease.”
“I’ll pay in the currency of luv,” coyly suggested the Prime Mufti. “All under the table, of course.”
“How much?”
“The kings and prophets of old left us a shitload.”
President Angel was sorely tempted. The thought of more luv was tantalizing. He even thought of sharing some of it with his wife. When God got word of this intelligence gathering angels, He sent Ambassador Bollocks to Israel to talk some sense into Prime Mufti Jacob.
“Jake, I know how much you want Amerika for the Jews, but you don’t know what you’re asking for. No reasonable Jew would want to live in Amerika. We make Egypt and Pakistan look like Heaven.”
The Prime Mufti laughed. “Oh, ambassador, you are too funny! Everyone knows Amerika is awesome! Why else would God want us to occupy it?”
Chuck considered committing some mischief, but chose to tell the truth instead. With all the gentleness in the world, he explained, “Jake, God spoke to your ancestors a long time ago. If He could see this country now, He’d understand that Amerika is Hell. We’re overrun with Hispanics, Ethiopian Jews and Asians of both sexes, and they’ll seduce your white-assed men and women and turn you all into fat-assed Mongrels with lumps in your breasts. Even if you wear condoms, you’d still have to hide in your synagogues seven days a week not to be corrupted by our epidemic of atheism, anarchy, skepticism, comedy, and death worship. Even the hearts of angels are broken here or simply rot from the inside out.”
Gasping for air, Jacob lied, “With God’s help, we’ll manage.”
“You might believe that now, but you haven’t heard the worst of it. Yesterday God was so furious with Amerika trending towards atheism that he made all fast food carcinogenic! And, to further punish us, yesterday the president passed legislation permitting children without homes to use any federal, state or city park as their toilet!”
With two impotent little fists, Prime Mufti Rabi Jacob cried, “That’s fine! I will not be afraid! I know—I know Amerika still has the most peaceful streets, the best schools, the best cancer rates, and the best hygiene on Earth!”
Ambassador Bollocks sighed. “If we’re so peaceful, why do we think about death every day? As for education, ha! We can’t afford schools. We’re back to teaching under the trees. We don’t have even one professional doctor. Everyone’s using cheap disgusting home remedies. Jacob, honestly, Amerika is so broke we’re living without shampoo, shitting on our back lawns and eating our front lawns.”
This was too much. Jacob tried to stifle a sob. “Damn, that’s really bad. Very bad. I admit it, but it’s still better than Israel!”
Now Ambassador Bollocks laughed, “Oh, did I remember to tell you that last year we abolished meat, bread, milk, alcohol, religion and marriage.”
This was too much for Jacob. “What? You abolished food and marriage? Why in God’s name would you do that?”
“A dictator rules our country. He decided that marriage is a prison and incompatible with freedom.”
“Holy fiddlesticks! Anything else I should know about?”
“Sure. Our supreme and beloved dictator declared that employment contravenes our constitutional right to freedom, so he abolished employment. Oh, and he declared that importing contravenes our declaration of independence, so he abolished international trade.”
“Abolished trade and employment! Holy philistines! How do you stay alive?”
“It’s a mystery to me. Anyway, I hope you’ve heard enough. Forget Amerika. You should check out life in neighboring Terraristan.”
“Terraristan? But that’s a banana republic!”
“Bananas are good for you, and Terraristani women are so peaceful that –”
Jacob couldn’t believe it. He kissed Ambassador Bollocks and rushed to Terraristan. I didn’t quite expect such enthusiasm. I certainly didn’t expect him to fall in love with Terraristan and divorce Me so that he could worship those idiotic Hahaha.
Ambassador Bollocks had performed such astounding miracles all over the Middle East that ten million citizens, mostly women and homosexuals, marched on Washington shouting, “BOLLOCKS FOR PRESIDENT! BOLLOCKS FOR PRESIDENT!”
Of course, all they really wanted was a younger, more handsome man in the Oval Theater, so Chuck took pity on his country and returned for a tryst with the beleaguered President Angel. They met secretly in the presidential bedroom. Angel trusted God’s protection, so the security cameras were turned off. After shaking hands and exchanging greetings, Chuck jokingly apologized for being popular.
“Amerika wants you real bad,” grumbled the president. “So when can you start playing my role? The public can’t wait. They’re sick of me. They say my acting sucks.”
“I don’t know. I was happy in the Middle East.”
“You’re not seriously declining the presidency?”
Chuck got all dreamy eyed. “You don’t know what life is like in Terraristan. You should come and check it out. The people are beautiful. They won’t judge you for being a horrible president. Honestly, it’s time you gave up on Amerika. Quit your job and go to Africa. Maybe you can build a better Amerika there.”
“You’re crazy! I should have you thrown into a mental hospital!”
Chuck rubbed the president’s shoulder and continued provoking him: “Move to Africa! Don’t worry, no one will notice your absence. Amerikans don’t need Big Daddy anymore. Besides, with your work experience, you could be president anywhere. Lots of countries must be headhunting you right now.”
“Shut up! This country still loves me like Santa Claus.”
“It’s time they grew up and learned to fend for themselves.”
“How do you know? You haven’t been home in ages. You don’t read the news. Listen, Amerika is infested with economic-eco-commie terrorists! They’re turning rural Amerika into a patchwork of … of …”
“Of communes?”
“Worse! They’re turning our best cornfields and factory farms into disorderly forests and naked circuses! They’re turning our parks into refugee camps for homeless Nature lovers, tax evaders, welfare cases, high school dropouts and other sick rabbits. The Constitution explicitly forbids this, but they think the Constitution is just hilarious. Seriously! And now those clowns are seed-bombing our beautiful cities, giving factories away and cutting off our gas, oil, water, electricity and fast food. Amerika is under attack! Our beautiful economy is being sodomized and our civilization is being bushwhacked!”
The president was hysterical. He slid under the bedsheets and slowly drifted into a nightmare about a bad restaurant. The food was slow. No one respected his orders. They offered angel soup. He demanded ostrich steak and chicken chops, but the waiters were out to lunch. The poor president screamed for service and tried to out-wait the waiters. Hope and stubborn determination bound him fast to his chair. He grew weaker and weaker and saw vultures and hyenas enter the restaurant and laugh over his bones.
President Angel woke up shaking. For comfort, he snuggled against Chuck’s soft, warm body.
The next morning, the presidential nightmare came true: breakfast was not served. The White House kitchen staff had either quit or gone on strike. So, Chuck put on his bunny gear and went hunting for vittles. Sadly, he found nothing edible on the White House grounds: no cows, pigs, puppies, goats, sheep or rabbits. However, he did locate Angel’s personal poodle, a herd of fat asses and elephants rummaging in the presidential gardens. Chuck executed a fat one gangsta-style and extracted a bloody organ known as the omasum, which he slammed onto the breakfast table, splattering the president with blood and digestive acids.
“Nice catch,” Angel politely remarked. “Where’d you learn to hunt?”
“I studied the true life of George ‘Jesus Christ’ Washington. Did you know that back in his day, he decimated the wild herds of mammoth and pre-historic donkeys roaming about Washington? Thanks to him, Amerikans were finally relieved of those pests. But it looks like they’ve staged a come-back. Not for long, though. With your permission, I’ll hunt them to extinction!”
“Maybe later. I have more important work for you.”
“What? You still think I can work for someone?”
“Can you write legislation?”
“That stuff’s a breeze. Yup, easy peasy lemon squeezy.”
“Good. I’m tired of reading the crap that comes from Congress.”
“No kidding. Well, your legisterration is in good hands. I taught Stephen King and Joan Collins how to write legit novels and I have honorable degrees from Harvard or Yale. Plus, my mental dictionary is super-duper and least and last is the inconvertible fact that my grammatical wahzoo is raging for the elementary reason that henceforth my devotion to concision in diction is so amazing I could pare the old Bible down to a page or two, maybe three. What I’m trying to say is that when I’m done, your laws will contain no unnecessary flaws, and your sentences will stop being prison sentences!”
Though the president didn’t laugh, he put Chuck between towers of paper and said, “My life depends on your ability to turn this crap into something that won’t give me indigestion.”
Once the door was shut, Chuck fell down and prayed, “Oh God, please send me the angel Rumpelstiltskin to help me with my work! Please, I can’t even spell the alphabet! Oh, God, I’m sorry! I should have paid more attention and studied folklore harder in school. Please, forgive me and give my arm the power to write lines of pure gold!”
Now, in most countries God does not talk back to the faithful, but Amerika is uniquely exceptional, so a voice whispered in Chuck’s head: “Relax, my little apprentice. I will teach you everything you need to know about writing if you promise to improve only the wording of the laws and leave the gist unchanged.”
“Whatever you say. Can I add a few religious laws?”
“Good idea! You may compose a law or two requiring all Amerikans to kiss God’s ass 35 times a week.”
Chuck agreed to these wonderful terms, but before God could teach him anything, Satan appeared in her alluring form, stole his conscience, and thanks to her evil meddling, Chuck wrote completely new laws and acts like the True Love Law, which read, “No Amerikan may love pets, gods and any other stuff. Everyone shall learn to love another or be content with hating one another.” He also wrote the National Buy the Fucking Farm Authorization Act (NBFFAA) and the Satan Rules the World Act (SRWA). The latter law required all citizens, corporations and government bodies to surrender all their land to Satan Mining, a non-profit company whose ludicrous operations never even reached bedrock. This company never made a profit because it only used biodegradable, solar-powered machines that extracted miniscule amounts of mostly useless minerals like sulfur, nitrogen, phosphate, iron, hydrogen, magnesium, water, carbon, oxygen and so on. Satan Mining was also unprofitable because God’s rodents began devouring the company’s organic machines!
Additionally, Satan’s evil secretary threatened civilization by prohibiting marriage and by making unprotected inter-racial fucking mandatory! And even that was not enough. So, he wrote the Forget Your Boss Now Act and the Men Must Give Women Pleasure Act and the Mysterious Act for Clowns, Idiots and Asses (MA4CIA). Then, the final joke was the infamous Security Amendment, which declared clothing a national security threat because clothes can be used to hide dangerous objects. This evil amendment authorized the police to strip citizens and burn civilian clothes. If put into effect, it could have destroyed the textile and fashion industries and undermined the very foundation of civilization!
Of course, all those laws were plenty awful, but Chuck’s ultimate offense was tacking this article to the Constitution:
The one and only Chuck Bollocks shall be loved by all citizens, regardless of age, and he shall be made president, and all gods, dolls, puppets, cartoons and children shall be made in his handsome image, and schools shall study his body, his teeth, his guts, his sexy organs, his pure blood and semen, his extraordinary bone, and his inflatable lungs. All Amerikans shall read nothing but the life of Chuck, and all songs shall praise him, and all actors and actresses shall always re-enact the heroic deeds of the true president of Amerika.
Well, thank God most Amerikans are too smart to read their laws.
One day, after many arguments with Congress, President Angel made this excellent joke, “Chuck, I admit it, I’ve been wrong about you all this time. You know exactly what the common rabbit wants, and you’re so funny that you truly deserve to be president.”
“You mean it? Oh, really? It’s my dream come true! When can I start?”
“Hold on! There’s a little problem we need to take care of.”
“Shit! I knew it! I’m too ugly, right?”
“Don’t be silly. Amerikans don’t judge appearances—not unless you don’t look healthy. I mean, if your skin turned black or red, or if you had a blonde afro, then maybe they’d have second thoughts. But I’m talking about something else. You see, there’s this thing called the economy and it’s so much fun that everyone wants to participate, but to participate they need jobs. So, voters want you to give them jobs and bosses.”
“Wow, that’s true! This country loves work! It can’t eat unless it’s working, and without work we go to Hell. As God used to tell me, ‘Chuck, where there is no work, Satan sows the seeds of our discontent and we reap revolting weeds like motherwort, milkweed, parsley, ugh, arugula and a weed that could make your brain catch fire.’”
“God told you that, eh?”
“You can’t disprove it!”
“No, but I can laugh. Anyway, what’s your solution to our dying economy, Pastor Chuck?”
“I’ll invent jobs! I’ll send a billion unemployed Americans into the Egyptian desert on a tree and weed planting mission and I’ll pay them in the form of fresh daily salads.”
“That’s a great idea. And you could also pay them all our welfare cases to fight climate change by sucking carbon out of the atmosphere!”
“Yeah! I’ll make them so busy they’ll be huffing and puffing in bed!”
“Brilliant! Wait, there’s just one teeny-weeny problem.”
“What now?”
“You don’t exist.”
“What? I don’t?”
“Well, not in public, and people can’t vote for someone they never saw on television.”
“I could email my resume to voters.”
“No one reads anymore and no one really believes that you were the Amerikan Messiah and that you saved us from the Terrarists, the swamp creature and that hairy gang, just like no one remembers that I freed Iran, Cuba, Germany, Vietnam, Japan, Panama, Iraq and other countries.”
“So what do I do? Write my autobiography?”
“You? I’ve seen your writing. It’s horrifying. No, what you need is a reality show.”
“You think I’m reality show material?”
“Sure, and I already have the script. God wrote it. All you have to do is act like yourself and I promise, within three episodes, Amerikans will see you’re perfect for the White House. Come, the studio isn’t far away.”
Chuck rushed after the president. Well, to give him credit, he half suspect a plot to ruin his good reputation, but he thought God was on his side, and who can blame him?
Sister None desperately needed the lord’s supernatural powers, so, at President Angel’s behest, he and the lord paid her a visit in Pittsburg. They arrived just as a doctor left Sister None’s residence. His smock was in tatters. He was covered in scratches and blood and, seeing Lord Chuck approach with his godlike confidence, he laughed like a madman and prophesied doom.
Well, that could have scared off the mighty Muhammad, but Lord Chuck refused to fear a woman and bravely followed Angel into a candlelit interior. On a crooked mattress, they found the woman tilted, her head near the floor and her naked legs rudely parted in the air.
Lord Chuck nearly fainted
“Chuck!” President Angel hissed. “You’re her only hope! She’s been trying to clean her sewer for three whole days, but the kid exit. Did you bring a plunger?”
“A plunger? Angel, this isn’t a plumbing job! That woman’s pregnant and having contractions!”
President Angel removed a plunger from his handbag and gave it to Chuck. “Stick this on the kid’s head and pull!”
“You’re nuts! That thing will pull its brains out! Listen, the kid won’t come out until someone assures him he’ll find a world of love on the outside.”
The lord pushed the president aside, knelt between the patient’s legs and—instead of praying—he bent close to the stubborn, unborn monster and politely inquired, “Hey, what’s the holdup in there? Do you know what you’re missing?”
The kid did not answer, so Angel gave the lord a box of sweets and said, “Stuff these in the kid’s mouth. That way he’ll know what he’s missing out here.”
Chuck grabbed them and ate them himself. Then he leaned closer to the unborn monster and said with a full mouth, “Okay, kid, I don’t know what your mamma is feeding you in there, but I’m sure it all tastes the same. Wouldn’t you like to choose what you eat?”
No answer.