The democratic nations of the world were sick of voting for the wrong candidates, sick of the whole pointlessly painful political process and especially sick of watching the ass & elephant circus devour patience and prosperity. A single, unelected, infallible and godlike imperator-dictator would solve all their problems and be much more affordable than any democratic government. So, on the day before Christmas, in the year xxx, billions of Amerikans signed a petition telling President Angel and his cast of one million lesser angels to leave their government posts and let Chuck Bollocks teach the world how to enjoy life—the Amerikan way of life.
President Angel heard the news and raged in bed, “Damn traitors and numbskulls! The world has never been happier! Under my leadership, our economy has thrived! Thanks to me, the military is fighting for profits and everyone has learned to that anyone can make money! And who created universal healthcare with anti-depressant bread, chemo clouds and chlorinated rivers? Thanks to me, no one forgets to take their meds! So why do they want Chuck Bollocks? That clown will lead this country to eternal shame! Penelope, tell me how great I am!”
His wife grabbed a pillow and beat the president until feathers flew in all directions. When Angel asked for an explanation, she cried, “I love Chuck Bollocks! I want him to be my president!”
“I am your president until death do as apart!”
“But the entire GDP is being used to pay off the all-sucking debt!”
Crazy. So, he figured she wasn’t taking her medicine. But have no fear, for he was taking his, so nothing could make him cry and stop fighting for old Amerika, the greatest country in the world, the country that he would save from the abyss if he could just find a few million citizens willing fight the endless waves of recessions and depressions and willing to provide the country a long-delayed economic orgasm!
In short, Angel would never voluntarily step down from power, so the Illuminati had to take care of business. A dozen of these powerful and almost mythological fireflies flew to the White House and sang the Masonic code, “Trick or Treat, Give Me Someone Good to Cheat!”
First Lady Penelope flung open a second floor window and cried in four foreign languages, “HELP! HELP! FIRE! FIRE!”
The Illuminati leaped into action. Climbing onto one another’s shoulders, they formed a human ladder and reached the second floor. One member examined the room, and, finding the First Lady in no immediate danger of anything, they cocked their heads, like confused puppies.
“Well, I’m sorry I shouted ‘Fire’ because I need a little fire and you have none to offer!” the First Lady blathered, pouting and playing with her lingerie.
The luminaries shook their befuddled heads. Meanwhile, the First Lady lifted the bedsheet and revealed her naked husband.
“He sometimes makes love to the Constitution and the dead, but with me all he wants is anal sex, so I haven’t had any fun in years. So, which one of you gentlemen wants the honor?” she inquired. The good men sang lullabies to put the First Lady to sleep, but Penelope didn’t listen. Instead she bewitched them by smiling, frowning and scowling in that seductive way all women learn from the devil! And when the men were quite spellbound, the panther pounced and her guests surrendered kisses and winked at her with their luminous eyes, giving the First Lady unbelievable pleasure. But she was a greedy one, so when she demanded more and more, they levitated right up to the ceiling.
“You cowards!” First Lady Penelope cried. “Now I’ll have to call Lord FreeLuv again!–”
“Damn the devil!” growled a familiar voice.
As one body, everyone turned to see President Angel still lying in bed but swinging a loaded rifle at them. He was morbidly drunk. He hit everything except his targets, and when his ammo was spent, he threw his weapon aside, laughed, fell face first on his pillow, hiccupped and grumpily greeted the gentlemen through his pillow: “Nice firefly costumes. I hope Penelope let you lick her candy and drink her sweet poison.”
“But, we swear we did not sleep with her,” they cried from the ceiling.
“Maybe not, but that’s disappointing. Now she’ll never let me sleep! Won’t you come down and protect me?”
The warily descended and stood before the presidential bed. “Angel,” they began as one, “if we may address a matter of importance. God sent us here to inform you that Chuck Bollocks will be the next president.”
The president was convulsed with laughter just as Chuck Bollocks danced into the room and asked what joke he’d missed.
Angel sat up. “These clowns just informed me that you will be the next president of the United States of the World! Isn’t that funny?”
The Illuminati assured him that they were not joking. “Angel, if you do not resign from office, why don’t you admit it? As president you idled your time away sewing and un-sewing your woolen underwear while the voters waited in anticipation of the big show you promised!”
“I just need more time!” Angel protested. “What can he do that I can’t do twice as good?”
“Tell him!” Penelope told the lord.
“I have plenty of rare talents,” he bragged. “For one thing, with my influence in Heaven, I can reverse the damage Angel’s administration brought upon this fallen country. I’ll raise Amerika up and make it great again! I’ll perform miracles! I’ll bring all our lost natural resources back! Our oil wells and mines will be full again, our oceans and rivers will teem with fish again, our skies will teem with birds again, our forests will tower with giants again, and our banks will flow with God’s luv!”
The Illuminati wet themselves with glee
President Angel wasn’t impressed, so Chuck continued, “And for the people I launch a public transportation system powered by hurricanes, tornados, typhoons and other renewable sources of energy!”
The Illuminati wet themselves again, the First Lady masturbated and Angel tried to eat his pillow. Undisturbed by these disturbing behaviors, Chuck continued, “And if the people do not like me, I’ll sell them the White House and privatize the entire government! We’ll make and save thrillions!”
The illuminated guests drooled on themselves while the First Lady cast an evil spell on the man she wanted for herself, the man destined to do some really amazing shit.
In the morning, President Angel sat down with his understudy for a heart-to-heart: “Okay, Chuck, I know the future looks exciting to you, and honestly I don’t want to scare you, but I gotta be honest. Being president sucks. No, really, it does! During my twenty years in the Light House, I haven’t slept a wink. Conscience forbade it! So long as there’s one child crying for love or one citizen who’s hungry, sick, suffering or otherwise unhappy, my soul cries out with them, and I feel personally responsible. That’s the kind of suffering that awaits you. So say good bye to sleep. In fact, you can say goodbye to every pleasure and every moment of leisure. And say goodbye to your health, too. The stress of being president will give you hives, aneurisms, cancer, and paralysis.”
“But no headaches?” Chuck asked, hopefully.
“No, but you’ll have brain explosions.”
That sounded like too much excitement. Chuck had experienced more than enough brain explosions during his life. So, he was robbed of his enthusiasm for politics and accepted the First Lady’s invitation to elope. She knew he didn’t really love her and that he would blame his irresponsibility on her seductive smiles, but she liked his sense of humor too much to care. Of course, God had other plans for Chuck, so while they thought they were sailing to Mexico—a land from which no one returns, their captain—who was an undercover agent of GOD{7}, discreetly took them into the heart of a wild world of snow and ice.
Perhaps a week later, when President Angel noticed that his wife was absent, he casually alerted the FBI (the Federal Bunch of Idiots), and they organized teams of trained rabbits, dogs and lots of caribou. On the shores of Hudson’s Bay, they found a suspicious pair of footprints in deep snow and followed them to Canada’s only hotel. Dry ice or real smoke billowed out of the front door, which was missing. Inside the investigators found two lovers keeping warm around a makeshift fire.
“Mr Woodchuck?” the officer asked.
“What kind of name is that? You insulting me?”
“I’m sorry. I thought …”
“We might be in Canada, but you can still be polite. Now, do me a favor and take a hike.”
The officer noticed Chuck’s shoes and laughed.
“Mister Woodchuck, I know it’s you. You’re the only grown man I know who can’t tie his own shoes.”
Chuck blushed crimson.
“Sir, the president sent for you and Penelope. Your destiny cannot be delayed. You are scheduled to become president of the world.”
Chuck threw his shoes into the fire and bitterly protested, “My destiny! My destiny! Well, I don’t want it! Would you want all that power and responsibility? Think about it! You’d abuse all that power, wouldn’t you? You’d find ways to cheat the public, frolic with whores, screw everyone—and not just the women—right? Wouldn’t all that power turn you into a monster?”
“Sir, what if we want to be ruled by a monster?”
“And what if I’m a huge disappointment?” Chuck wailed. Penelope petted his head. “What if I can’t screw the world? What if Satan remotely controls my brain and forces me to turn Amerika green or something equally boring? Have you ever thought of that? Have you?”
“No I haven’t, at least not until now. Sir, I admit it, the global economy is a terrifying creature that does not always respond as presidents intend. But don’t underestimate your powers, and please don’t worry, people really don’t expect much anymore.”
“That’s good to know.”
“But the world is expecting something new. They’re tired of the old political order. Everyone is deadly bored of the status quo.”
“That’s true,” the Second Lady agreed in a tone meant to cheer Chuck up. “Everyone I know is looking forward to being ruled by the world’s first mentally disturbed president because that’s about the only kind of president we haven’t tried yet.”
This raised Chuck’s spirits. He looked at Penelope with immense gratitude.
“But,” interjected the FBI agent, “you will have responsibilities, so you must receive emergency training. President Angel is prepared to personally coach you for a day or two.”
“Wow! I get to learn from the best!”
And so it happened. Chuck agreed to fulfill his destiny and follow God’s plan to become his “puppy” (according to the CIA, puppy is code-talk for “Puppet President of the United Peoples of Planet Earth,” which in code for something I don’t know). Unfortunately, the two day course was very intensive and Chuck needed considerably more time to master the basic skills of good leadership. Maintaining good appearances were of foremost importance. He had to be fit, slim and agile enough to convince the public that he wasn’t spending all his time sitting, eating and blabbing. Angel also trained him to rigorously polish his nose, wear combinations of primary colors, wear lose or revealing clothing, and use cosmetics to paint the following: a grand frown on his mouth for dignity, stars on his forehead for patriotism, and a tear below one eye—so people would know he cared about them. Finally, the good president taught the ambitious dreamer the art of political rhetoric, which, as you know, consists of mispronouncing key words for emphasis and talking from your mid-hole or asshole whenever you want attention.
After our hero mastered these skills, he still felt inadequate, so he quickly changed his name to something funnier than Chuck Bollocks, and he also dyed his skin a deep shade of brown because he knew white wasn’t very popular in Amerika.
At last, after all these preparation, Angel called the first election in a hundred years.
Elections were a serious matter in Amerika. Voters studied how to recognize lies and liars and studied their candidates for years, sometimes for a lifetime. And that’s not all! Measures were taken to ensure that a bozo never became president of the United States of the World. For instance, candidates were rigorously tested. Below is a copy of the four-part test Chuck Bollocks simply aced.
The Moderator: Tonight we will give Mr C. Bollocks an opportunity to prove he has the luv we need. But first, a word from our sponsor, President Ange–”
Mr C. Bollocks interrupts: Screw luv! This year I’m gonna give the world nothing but pure, sparkling hope!
The Moderator: Please don’t speak out of turn. It’s rude. Ladies and gentlemen, we are also joined by the current president of Amerika, Walt Disney. Gentlemen, if you are ready, let us begin on the subject of unemployment. How would you help lazy, unemployed foreigners work so that Amerika won’t have to continue carrying the global economy on its shoulders?
Mr C. Bollocks farts and starts: I’ve never heard so much nonsense! Progress should mean less work, not more work! So, mark my words, I’m gonna be the first president to fight employment! Maybe I’ll genetically engineer trees that grow money!!!
President Angel: Are you on drugs?
Mr C. Bollocks: My imagination has only begun to astound you! Listen to what else I’ll do as the most fiscally responsible president of the world: to save money, I’ll privatize politics! I’ll outsource every government service to India! And I’ll send criminals to Hell because Satan never charges a cent. Next, I’ll make world peace by discontinuing the supply of uniforms to the military and by moving every national border around so much no one will know where they live!
The Moderator: Mr Bollocks, are you on drugs?
Mr C. Bollocks: If God is a drug, then I am a drug! He jumps out of his chair and runs around the stage in slow motion, somehow, miraculously, expelling a fart with each step.
President Angel: Excuse me, but you do know the world is watching this, don’t you?
Mr C. Bollocks waves to the world: I love you! I love you all!
The Moderator: Mr Bollocks, are you a clown?
Mr C. Bollocks: How dare you insult me? Where did you learn to be so courageous? Look at me! I am a pretty phallic fruit tree crying for a little fertilizer, if you know what I mean.
The Moderator stares in amazement and cries: I’m astounded! How did you learn so much about gardening?
Thousands of years of hardship had taught the world to demand that their leaders care about them, so Washington’s scientists devised a test to measure a man’s capacity for sympathy. Candidates read a novel about Amerika being flushed down the proverbial toilet in the near future. If the reader wept, the volume of tears was measured and their quality was analyzed. As Mr C. Bollocks listened to a kindergartner read the first sentence to him, he was suddenly and completely convulsed with grief and unable to hear another word. So, Amerikans around the world rightly felt assured that Chuck Bollocks was the leader they deserved.
Many centuries ago, some cynical Amerikan citizens lost patience with the absolute nitwits working in their political circuses, so they created a third test to check whether aspiring politicians were intelligent enough to answer questions. For your enlightenment, a copy of the test completed by Mr C. Bollocks is reproduced below.
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USW Presidential Candidate Test©
How would you balance the budget? F. Abolish numbers. Where is the capital of the world? A. Where It Belongs, U.S.W. What is the right attitude towards failure? H. My enemy’s failure is my success. Your mark: 0/7
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Despite having some trouble understanding the questions and answers, Mr C. Bollocks received divine guidance and a perfect score.
Every good politician must give lip service to the public, therefore Mr C. Bollocks did not disappoint. He delivered an excellent oral presentation in fulfilment of the fourth and final test. It was heard by an intoxicated crowd of 90,000,000 assembled in the National Mall. I think you’ll agree it’s the best speech ever spoken in God’s English. It’s full of all that empathy, imagination, passion, vision and other shit that voters go for. So brace yourself, because here we go:
“I have a dream, a wonderful dreamy dream in which hearts will start beating in Washington and Washington will make sweet luv to every Amerikan, to the world and to the whole sweet universe!”
The crowd roars with laughter and cheers. He burps loudly, slaps himself, apologizes to himself, and somehow continues to radiate confidence.
“Rabbits, are you ready to be luved by a real president whose luv knows no limits?”
The crowd makes rabbitty noises and twitchy noses.
“My luv is a revolutionary power! I will drop luv bombs on those who need them, and if there’s widespread demand for it, I will radiate my pure luv on everyone! But only if you ask for it.”
An incredible explosion of laughter and demands for more.
“My efforts to create world peace will not cease until everyone rests in peace!”
A few chuckles and calls for explanations.
“Instead of guns everyone shall carry seedless bananas, and instead of laws we shall have luv songs!”
The crowd cheers, and this wave of positive emotion provokes an erection. Chuck blushes, apologizes and struggles, in vain, to hide the insurgent member. Fortunately, a wave of audience laughter deflates the thing and Chuck quickly composes himself and continues.
“Thank you for bearing with me and remembering that I am mentally challenged due to the overabundance of luv in my brain. That said, if you consent to make me your supreme luver, I swear I’ll introduce the Gross Domestic Luv Index and make luv the one and only world religion!”
Muted chuckles and snickers.
“But that’s not all! I will do even more amazing things! For I have a dream, a green economy dream in which everyone lives in treehouses on blueberry fields. In my dream our Mother Earth does not destroy our homes with earthquakes, floods, fires, landslides and termites. In my dream our mother loves us again!”
Amazement.
“But to protect our mother, we must give her everything and embrace poverty, not technology, and we must thank the super-rich for keeping us poor and thank Jesus and Muhammad for teaching us to live without iGods, telegods, car gods, pet gods, stone flush gods and refrigerated gods.”
Someone rightly shouts that he’s crazy.
“Every day I thank God for making me seem crazy, because psychologists are good friends to have. I recommend them to everyone.”
“Didn’t your family live in an insane asylum?”
“Which family? I have many and they are all one to me. My mothers loved me more than I can say, my fathers never use toilets, and one of my sisters taught me not to tell anyone about what she did with my ding-a-ling and my belly-bonger.”
Snickers and giggles and cries for a translation.
“You don’t believe me? Hook me up to a lie detecting machine! I have nothing to hide! My life is an open book. Look, I come to you wearing transparent pants!”
Unanimous laughter.
“Finally, if you don’t vote for me today, God will condemn you all to that infernal, God-forsaken oven men call Mexico. There you will sweat incessantly, be forced to marry howler monkeys and suffer hearing birds laugh raucously at you.”
Applause. Calls for an encore are politely rewarded Chuck’s hisses and boos.
*
Although millions of other candidates ran for the office of the President of the United States of the World, most fell mysteriously ill. As for the remaining candidates, when it was clear that Chuck had aced his tests, they issued this humble apology:
“Due to the fact that God’s voice informed us that Mr Bollocks is the candidate best qualified to fulfill God’s business plan for the world, we humbly withdraw from the presidential race.”
And, just to make sure they didn’t interfere in the elections, they went to Mexico.
Shortly before he was crowned leader of the world, I made Chuck promise not end his relationship with his mother and sister and not to keep any of his crazy promises. He promised to be faithful to the Brotherhood of God, but the trouble began soon after the coronation. Using his executive privilege, he fired every man in working in a government office, married 10,000 poor colored women in a televised wedding ceremony, gave each of them a piece of the crown and ask them to take care of business!
The liberal press was speechless. Amerika was turning into a joke! No multi-national country can be ruled by women, and the inordinately large number would not help! I commanded the president to cancel his decision, but Chuck denied that he was president and said no man can expect to control 10,000 women. Even I could understand, but something had to be done to avert a global-economical catastrophe!
“Boy, are you completely mentally challenged?” I asked him as politely as possible.
“Of course I am,” he confidently answered. “Why shouldn’t I be? Life is mentally challenging, so I’m mentally challenged. Luckily, mental disabilities are trendy among teens and preteens, so I’ll do fine in an election.”
That was almost funny.
“Chuck, why didn’t you have a proper wedding in a church?”
“Did President Solomon bankrupt the nation by having one thousand weddings for his one thousand wives?”
“He certainly should have! Presidents must live above every law and budget! Aren’t your wives embarrassed to be married to such a cheapskate?”
“They’re absolutely happy. You see, they invested all our savings into making and giving all our military personnel pink uniforms with green bows, and into upgrading all the nation’s ambulances with sirens that sing, ‘Be not afraid! We bring hugs and loving kindness.’”
“Chuck, I’m going to cut your balls off!”
“If you do that, my wives will want a piece of you.”
The 10,000 women who seduced Chuck into making them de facto presidents of the world took full advantage of their evil deed and created the most abominable constitution and bill of rights the world has ever seen.
The president’s 10,000 psychopathic wives ruined Amerika’s once amazing justice system. Prior to the creation of a one-world government, Amerikan-style justice was practiced throughout the civilized world and was based on God’s eye-for-an-eye wisdom. This meant that murderers were murdered, robbers were robbed, rapists were raped, drug peddlers were peddled or paddled, and non-believers were not believed, and so on. It was the most profitable mathematical-logical system on Earth, but those damn presidential impostors destroyed it. In their first trial, the 10,000 presidents, acting as Supreme Judges and Juries, declared every man guilty of every problem on Earth. And, without any deliberations, they unanimously sentenced every man to an indefinite stay at one of Satan’s Gardens of Love. This eliminated any future need for courts, prisons, and police forces, saving the government a hunk of money. While that sounds good, the reality is that it was femalevolent. It was economic terrorism, a crime against the economy, for the justice system had been a very profitable industry for judges and lawyers and was an excellent excuse for collecting taxes.
Washington’s 10,000 economic terrorists didn’t just screw with the justice system, they also banned luv, declared it worthless, and made true love the world’s only currency! What the Hell does that even mean? According to them, now any act of love was acceptable payment for anything. I was disgusted. I vomited so many meteors the angels fled Heaven.
Still not satisfied with their assault on civilization, Satan’s brood of tit-lugging devils passed a law declaring that no one owns any land but the land touching their feet.
This law made Me landless!
Law and order weren’t their only victims. Those menstruating monsters also destroyed any sense of national décor and fashion! Imagine, the Whitewash House was painted all the colors of Noah’s rainbow!
Next, they built an off-grid, hand-crafted retirement home in Guantanamo and forced the real president to be there on a permanent vacation!
Well, when the news became public, good Amerikan men demanded that their president be given his job back, and Ms Catharin Slanderbitch issued this public statement on behalf of the 10,000 little dictators: “Good people of Amerika, you know as well as we do that the sons of God are pure spirits who do not work. Jesus never planted a seed or bent his back, Muhammad never harvested a single date, and Shiva never changed diapers or built a house. Why, then, do you expect one who is much greater, your president, to do physical work? Have you no shame? Please, show a little respect for a man who has served you as your lord, messiah, sain