If memory serves me correctly, Chuck was raised in the nation’s headquarters of sin, a church in Troytown, U.S.A. The Bollocks family had occupied the condemned, ramshackle building for a century. The town had shut off the supply of municipal electricity and water; eviction notices had been ignored, and intelligence reports proved that weapons of mass destruction were hidden in the baptismal tub and under the altar. Local authorities threatened to bulldoze the place flat, and my budding angel, young Chuck Bollocks, personally told his parents to change their evil ways or suffer a terrible punishment. They thought he was quite a comedian.
One Halloween, while Chuck’s parents dressed their boy in his birthday suit, I took pity on my child, came to his door and shouted at his parents, “LET FREEDOM REIGN, YOU EVIL DICTATORS!”
I waited politely. I waited until Chuck’s unshaven and shirtless uncle, Damn, stepped out, admired my costume, said I looked too thin and gave Me a handful of worms, maggots, fungi and composted humanure. “Here, for your health,” he added before quickly disappearing.
“I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR INSULTS! SAY YOUR PRAYERS OR GOD WILL BLOW THIS PLACE SKY-HIGH!”
Honestly, I always thought I was a good communicator, but this family made me doubt my talent. They didn’t answer and they didn’t call the police; instead, their evil daughter stepped out, complimented the ghost costume she imagined I was wearing, and said as she handed out these awful treats:
“Here’s a handful of Kava. It helps alleviate phobic, panic and obsessive-compulsive disorders. Here’s some Cannabis to help calm your nerves, and some Mulunga bark to help calm your nerves, and some Purslane and St. John’s Wort to help cure your upcoming depression, some Chamomile to help you relax, and Catnip to help cure your runaway schizophrenia.”
In all of eternity, I’ve never been so insulted. I was so angry, lightning shot out of my head and wind roared out of my body. I thought they would understand that I was not trick or treating, but they didn’t! Another, even more evil witch appeared in the doorway and sang, “Honey, I think you need some loving. Come in. Don’t be shy.”
That was the limit! I skedaddled and my prophet, Chuck, graffiteed these words on that accursed church, his home: “BEWARE! THE DEVIL LIVES HERE!”
The neighbors should have expelled those devils from their midst, instead they laughed and said my “graffiti” was had artistic merit! Well, since they couldn’t understand plain English, when they prayed for Christmas snow I deliberately rained thick, black, crude oil on their stupid heads. It was hilarious. I was sure everyone would understand that an oil storm is a sign that God is making them pay for harboring devils in their midst, but the damned nation just prayed for more free oil!
I’m not a quitter. I’m not! A million failures can’t stop me! I remained determined to protect the nation from Chuck’s wicked family. On December 24, my trusty megaphone, the popular news source USBS, broadcast the nation’s first declaration of war on all domestic sinners.
That should have scared the cockroaches out of my church. But, somehow I forgot Bollocks never listen to the news. Too bad for them. The next day thousands of heavily armed Blue Angels accompanied Me back to the Bollocks residence and there they sang like a perfect choir:
“MERRY CHRISTMAS, YOU SHAMELESS DEVILS AND WITCHES! YOUR HOME LOOKS LIKE HELL AND ALL YOUR NEIGHBORS WANT TO KILL YOU! GET OUT! THIS LAND IS SLATED TO BECOME WORLD RABBIT RESERVE A-21!”
This was followed by silence and, if I’m not mistaken, by the moaning of a woman having multiple orgasms! I was about to make Hell swallow up that damned church when the family pet bunny hopped through the doorway. I stood my ground, but the impertinent creature attempted to make love to my leather boot.
“DAMN BOLLOCKS! COME OUT AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN, YOU COWARD!”
A naked, unshaven horror danced from the church holding a shotgun as if it were his dancing partner, with the muzzle in his mouth! That idiot was using it as a marijuana pipe! Inhaling deeply, barely keeping his balance, the colossal fool smiled and crooned, “Oh, I wanna make love to youuuuuuu….”
“Damn Bollocks! Don’t you know how dangerous that herb is? You’ll go to Hell!”
He cradled his smoking gun and droned, “’Cause I’m your super man, baby, yeah, and I got super love for you…”
“Damn Bollocks! Shut your hippie crap spewing mouth! Put down that gun and follow Me to prison!”
He fled inside shouting, “No way! I quit Amerika! I’m joining Satan and flying to Mexico tomorrow!”
“Mexico is a no-fly zone.”
He fell on his knees. “Oh, God, can’t we just have a peaceful divorce? Can’t we just be friends? Can’t you love me a little? No? How about pity? I deserve it. Just let me introduce you to my so-called family.”
On cue, three shotguns smashed through a window. I though they intended to shoot Me, but more marijuana smoke curled up from each muzzle. I should have blown up that terrorist-infested, God-forsaken church! Oh, how I wanted to, how I dreamed of it, but I couldn’t because Chuck was there.
Wanna know the truth? Chuck Bollocks is the only life I’ll ever admit to creating, but even I can’t understand how he’s related to his parents.
Chuck’s mother, Penny Bollocks, was an outsider who actually loved being outside. She was a dirt-loving economic terrorist and an awful vegetarian-polyamorist who never went shopping, or paid her taxes, or worked for money. I had an awful time protecting my boy from her perniciously evil influence.
In light of Penny’s abominable nature, you shouldn’t be surprised to learn that Chuck had many possible fathers, but for the sake of simplicity let’s call them all Damn Bollocks. And for the sake of accuracy, let’s say this despicable creature started life as an ordinary, four-legged pig and evolved into a two-legged pig. He thought his greatest talent was making women happy, so God put a curse on his inflatable thingamajig.
B*tch{1}, Chuck’s so-called sister, was a freak of nature. As Supreme Author of this Universe, I wash my hands of her. She could have been an angel, but her foolish determination to be raised by her parents would spell her doom.
Now Chuckie baby, he was my boy. My orphan boy miraculously born from God’s ass. Granted, he wasn’t the sharpest toothpick in the box, but he burned brightly for justice and he believed in Me unconditionally. From a distance, he loved watching Me hurl lightning and move mountain tops. Every day, he had wet dreams about himself riding a tornado into Heaven, where he floated beside Me, enjoying virtual nurses in bikinis, prescription beer and Soothing Radiation™. Thanks to his lively imagination, he often prayed that an angel might abduct him and take him home. Well, he was nice enough, but until he earned his stay in Heaven he would have to be satisfied with my late night visitations.
One afternoon, after I endured hours of listening to him beg Me to save him from his evil foster family, I kindly enlightened the good boy with this instant message: “Chuck, I’m flattered that you love me more than your family. But here’s a reality check: no one gets anything from Me until they get a job and earn my love.”
Chuck was stunned. The word “job” throbbed in his brain and produced a dreadful moan. For his whole life he’d shunned his economic destiny. What now? That’s when his iGod received the following text message:
|
WANTED: Adorable presidential apprentice and hero willing to lead the upcoming revolution and make Amerika the super power of love. If you have unconditional love, call 202-456-1117{2} to book an interview today! |
After Bitch read it to him, Chuck shouted, “Yahoo! This is super-awesome! You know what I mean? That job’s totally perfect for me!”
Bitch snorted trying not to laugh.
“What? Ain’t I quantified to lead a levilootion?”
“Didn’t you drop out of elementary school?”
“S’what? ’merika dun ca’e abow edjewkayshun! This the land of equal oppo’tunity, and I’m uncondishin‘l luff incarnate!”
“If unconditional love means you’re in no condition to love, then you’re the dude for this job,” his smartass sister retorted.
Chuck swallowed his candy bar and licked a hunk of grilled cow ass. Then he opened his golden iGod and asked Me to knock his sister’s head off. How could I resist? But hey, these days just about anyone can knock a girl’s head off. Besides, I’m supposed to be civilized on Sundays. So, I just sent a little metal angel through the church roof. I expected fireworks, but it fell harmlessly to the ground like the dud that it was. But Chuck, he had the right perspective. He pointed at the mess and shouted at his sister, “See! Dis is a sign from Gawd, so you better be ca-a-a-areful!!!”
“Right, it’s a sign that God needs navigation lessons,” she quipped while nibbling like a rabbit on a handful of green shit.
Chuck saw the new hole, then stared at the ruined drone and mumbled dreamily, “Wow. This is a sign that the job is mine. One angel falls and another rises.”
“What the Hell? Where did this crap come from?” Chuck’s mother spat in annoyance.
“God’s ass,” Bitch swore.
“In that case, he needs less fiber. We can’t even compost this stupid shit!”
Chuck was shocked and appalled. The level of disrespect for all things divine in his house was astounding. Once again, he asked Me to blow his family up. I was tempted, but I told him he was too deep in debt to afford it. So he asked me to strike his family with a violent illness instead. I told him it wasn’t my style, but he kept praying and begging so sweetly. He even offered his family jewels to cover the cost. What was I to do? Fortunately, I had biological weapons in my possession: plagues and more plagues. Well, them chronic sinners should have fallen ill and vomited a rainbow over their house, but only Chuck fell ill. To make him feel better, I said he was the cutest boy in the whole world, and for good measure I swore his evil family would go to Hell.
When Chuck’s ego was fully inflated, he boldly dialed the number of his economic destiny and was kindly told where to go if he wanted the biggest job in the world. You can imagine how he felt. He whooped and ran for the door.
“Don’t forget to take your father’s madicine!” his mother hollered as he left home. She meant take medicine to him, not take his medicine. But it was medicine, so the kid chugged half a gallon of moonshine, licked his chops and felt amazing.
Now the only trouble was getting to the interview. Public transportation wasn’t cool, his legs weren’t very good, and since his pothead mother poured good alcohol into the gas tank—the family car was dead. So, Chuck did the only thing he could do: he borrowed the neighbor’s car and drove straight through the east wall of the local church. Thereafter he continued due north-east and drove through east wall of the local school, and finally that car died in the abandoned front office of the local police department.
Chuck somehow survived, prayed to God for forgiveness, then got his first driving lessons from another neighbor who happily loaned him his car. Well, poor Chuck was so excited he drove the good Samaritan’s car straight through the pillars fronting city hall, terrifying a dozen politicians. Again, he somehow survived, borrowed a third car and drove into the nearest mall.
After stealing a decent pair of shoes, Chuck’s slow march to Washington became the stuff of legend. You see, in those days walking between cities was almost unheard of in Amerika, and people were mightily impressed to see Amerika’s savior wearing out his shoes tramping towards Destiny City. Beggars whistled, athletes inspired him, bullies egged him on, and vendors and home owners offered him whatever he needed, even alcohol, drugs, prayers, and—in one neighborhood—he was offered an electric pony.
Well, as you all know, some Amerikans are way too generous. So it happened that a cashier named Calypso slept with him. He could have slept with her forever and never fulfilled his destiny, but I made him impotent, so on the sixth day she sent him to a doctor—but, as was his habit, he got sidetracked and stumbled into one of those damned nudity shops! On the sixth day a squad of Blue Angels dragged him to his economic destiny.
Thank God, even though Chuck was a few days late, his job interview went amazingly. The interviewer began with this question, “Do you realize that without a job you will soon die of starvation, exposure, sickness or chronic and debilitating shame?”
“I did not know that.”
“Didn’t you complete high school?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Chuck, why do you want to work?”
Chuck proudly declared, “Because I love Amerika! I love it so much I would work for free to make this country even greater!”
“What qualifies you for the role of saving Amerika?”
Brimming with confidence, Chuck sang this divinely inspired song:
Buddy, I was born in a sewer,
But I never lost hope.
I failed every grade,
’Cause my mom smokes dope,
My experience sucks,
But I never lose hope
Because Amerika loves me,
And sooner or later,
By the power of God,
I’ll get this job,
U wait and see,
Sooner or later,
An interviewer
Will take pity on me!
The interviewer, who was also the CEO, was so impressed by this incredible display of musical talent that he awarded Chuck the revolutionary new title of “Lord FreeLuv Incorporated” and told him he could start doing the work of luv very soon, indeed, frighteningly soon.
Chuck raced home shouting, “I DID IT! MOM! DAD! B****! I GOT THE BEST JOB IN THE WORLD!” Penny and Walter woke under the altar. “The best thing is,” Chuck continued oblivious, “they gave me a title! From now on, I’m Lord FreeLuv Incorporated! Can you believe it? I’m finally a corporation!”
They weren’t surprised. Nothing was impossible in modern-day U.S.A.; miracles were the norm.
Damn praised him. “Kid, I’m dreadfully envious of you. Hey, if you work hard, maybe you can pay off the family’s two and half centuries of back taxes.”
“I’ll do a lot more than that. They said if I stick to their diet and impress the Boss, they’ll promote me to President of the United States of the World!”
“Congratulations!”
“Guys,” Penny interrupted, “hasn’t this fairytale gone on long enough? Damn, tell the poor kid the truth!”
Chuck stared in bewilderment.
“Damn, tell him,” Penny continued, “tell him you know about this job. Tell him what to expect.”
Damn sighed and grumbled, “Fine. I guess I should. Okay, listen to me, kid, your job is gonna be a safari picnic! You’ll do very little work except socialize with thousands of babes who will absolutely fall for your good looks.”
“Dad, tell me the truth or I’ll pray for divine vengeance!”
That was no empty threat.
“All right! Take it easy, kiddo. I admit, life was different in 48. As I remember, no one worked, everyone could afford a new home with just a few weeks of work, and everyone was wearing custom-made suits and crapping gold bricks. Money was growing on trees—I mean, people actually accepted leaves as money. They did. And the government was so rich it gave land away. And octogenarians were having amazing sex and –”
Chuck had heard enough lies. He started praying like the Devil. The women screamed and Damn was on his knees, begging for mercy, “Kid! Don’t be so impatient! I was just about to get to the juicy part!”
Chuck took a deep breath and let the old windbag continue.
“Years ago … well, okay, decades ago, I swear that same ad was in the papers. In those days, the Boss Above was a paragon of patience. He loved Amerika, but Amerikans refused to pay their bills. He warned us. He messaged us that Amerika was not the land of the free and that we must pay for everything: water, sunlight, air, mud, eyesight, everything. When we refused to pay, the country experienced 250 years of economic depression and –”
“Dad, shut up and tell me about the job!”
“Son, I was just about to do that. About a century ago, the Boss decided to give Amerika another chance to stop the depression and earn the love that makes nations happy. He said if anyone could teach him to love Amerika, salvation would be ours. So I took the job. For two bucks per hour, I became his personal love guru. Honestly, it was the worst job. He said if I failed, he’d curse me with a fool for a son.”
“Are you making this shit up?”
“Listen kid, lying is a lost freedom. The Boss’s got omniscience technology.”
“No kidding. So, did you make him love us?”
“I tried. I started with the same love lines I used on your mother. ‘Your eyes are like the moon and sun sailing through the face of darkness. Your nose is like an icy, craggy mountain –’”
“Wow, you were a great poet. God must have worshipped you.”
Damn paused. “Well, not exactly.”
“What do you mean? Was it a lukewarm relationship?”
“Not quite. Actually, I was fired on my first day. Yup, fired straight into Hell!”
“Holy shit!” Chuck cried and half fainted.
“Hey, don’t worry! You have more potential than I ever did.”
Chuck’s sister laughed. Irked, he rallied his energies to retort, “It’s true! I’m full of love! Thanks to a decade spent refining my love-making powers, I’m God’s gift to the world!”
The women roared with laughter.
“Don’t laugh at what you don’t know! My love isn’t ordinary love! My love is special. It’s spelled l-u-v. Ever hear of it?”
“Sure, B**** replied. “It’s the name of a brand of diapers, isn’t it?”
Chuck called out for help, but Damn was busy with Peggy.
“Chuck,” his sister began with all the gentleness she could summon, “don’t you realize it’s all a joke? The Boss created us for his entertainment. He doesn’t care about us or the economy. He’ll laugh his head off as he marches us all into such abysmal poverty that we will want to move to Africa, eat grubs, grow veggies and make our homes of sticks and mud.”
Poor Chuck had a seizure and feverishly prayed to prevent that awful prophecy.
The next morning our hero woke with fresh ideas about how to earn his place in Heaven. After feasting on crispy cereals and bubbly pop, the man who ran the scrap yard next door donated an old school bus to the lord’s noble cause. Thanks to good old fashioned Amerikan generosity, the lord began his new mission. Before he could kill anyone, God remotely drove the lord’s bus through the unpaved, bumpy and winding streets of Paradise Estates while the lord, with one foot on the steering wheel, projected his head through the side window and shouted at the streets:
“THE FREE BUS TO HEAVEN IS NOW ACCEPTING PASSENGERS! GET ON ALL YOU JOBLESS BUMS AND HOBOES!”
A dozen residents boarded FreeLuv’s bus. They had a blast until they ran out of biofuel in Baltimore. There the famously generous locals gave the young Amerikan revolutionaries their bicycles. So, the journey continued in slow motion. Years later, when they reached Disneyworld, Lord FreeLuv climbed to the summit of Magic Candy Mountain and shouted, “My friends, this is God’s shinning city in Heaven! I can feel God’s presence in this harmonious world! Look around! The animals, princesses and fairies are our friends, and everything is so cheap with a little work we can buy whatever we want!”
They saw armed security guards coming to arrest them, but they stopped and listened in wonder.
The lord continued, “God tells me this is the capital of Heaven. His voice is beautiful. I can hear Him speaking to me! He’s going to reveal the true constitution! Everyone, quiet!”
The crowd fell silent as they bore witness to a miracle. Powerful electromagnetic waves descended from Heaven, burnt the lord’s hair and communicated to his lordly brain the most beautiful constitution known to mankind. An hour later, the lord recovered and faithfully recited the beautiful constitution to his faithful followers.
THE CONSTITUTION
OF THE UNITED ESTATES OF AMERIKA
After hearing their lord recite this Amerikan Constitution, they felt cheated and insulted, for that is how the ignorant always respond to the truth. However, thanks be to God, being peaceful Amerikans, the crowd just laughed and told the lord if he wasn’t careful he would end up in a mental hospital. The lord thanked them and prayed, so I struck the unbelievers with syphilis. It was quite a miracle. Don’t ask me how I did it; I don’t share business secrets.
When the local authorities realized Chuck had attempted to start a revolution, they were so impressed they gave him room and board in a palatial, government institution, the kind without stairs and corners so that no one can hurt or kill themselves. Other revolutionaries were already there. They warmly greeted him.
“Hey, brother! Welcome to paradise!”
“This is paradise?”
“Sure! We never work and everything is free!”
That much was true. So, Chuck partied all day and every day, and he partied so hard he forgot his name but not his destiny. His conscience pricked him. With each passing day he felt guiltier about wasting his talents and not doing his job to fulfill his damn destiny. One day, he prayed for forgiveness but I wasn’t in the mood and pretended I did not exist. In despair, Chuck ran to the clown across the hall and begged for help contacting God. Grinning, the clown replied, “Contact God!? The Boss don’t have time for mere mortals like you. You’d have to cry ‘Rape!’ to get his attention.”
Chuck kissed him, tore off his undies and ran down the hall shrieking, “Rape! Rape!”
No one paid much attention, no one except Gordon Miholë. Chuck’s screaming summoned the ancient clown into the hallway with his pink balloon. “Who’s asking to be raped? Bring her to me and I’ll pop my balloon in her colon!”
Chuck fled for his life. Everyone shouted it was just a joke, but Chuck wasn’t laughing. He rushed into the library and asked the librarian for audio books explaining suicide techniques.
“I’m sorry, son, but we only have books full of shit.”
Chuck suddenly felt lucky he didn’t know how to read anyway. But, just out of curiosity, he wandered down an aisle with his nose pinched and stumbled over his mother, naked and hexing with the chief psychiatrist and the librarian.
“Mom, what luck! Maybe you can help me. Do you know anything about suicide?”
“You don’t need any help. Civilization is a suicide cult.”
He blushed. “I know, but we’re dying too slowly! I want to have a face-to-face talk with God today! Now!”
The chief shrink offered this brilliant suggestion, “Kid, why don’t you overdose on some weed.”
“Good advice!” Penny exclaimed.
Chuck thanked them both, went home and cooked up a cauldron of marijuana. He soon flew higher than the sky, but he did not see God. He was pretty pissed off about it. Then his sister offered this sage advice: “Brother, if you want to go to Heaven, visit the mall and shout, ‘Jesus is a commie who sucks tits, Heaven looks like a Mexican outhouse, Muhammad smoked pot and Santa won’t ever bring gifts to black or Jewish kids!”
“Thanks, Bitch!”
Chuck flew to the mall and did his damned best to offend the crowd, but the results were disappointing. Bitch had underestimated Amerika’s love and understanding. When crowds of shoppers heard Chuck repeat his sister’s curses, they politely praised him for exercising his right to freedom of speech. Others, in the true Christmas spirit, gave him medicine.
After a horrible night of disappointments, Chuck fell asleep outdoors and woke on a cold doorstep when a resident child thoughtlessly cried, “MOMMY, SANTA BROUGHT ME A PUPPY, PUPPY, PUPPY!”
A woman who was not the child’s mother appeared. She took one look at the bearded man and yanked her child away, bolted the door and called the cops. Chuck quickly dragged his ass home. Despairing of life, he climbed onto the altar and waited for the end. Hours later, Penny inquired, “Have you found God yet?”
“Eat me, mother!”
Penny softened her voice, “I can tell you where he lives.”
Chuck shot into sitting position. “Really? You know where God lives?”
She laughed, “Well, of course. I once dated him.”
His jaw fell.
“No, don’t envy me. I never met anyone so bossy in my life. ‘Do this!’ and ‘Stop that!’ That’s all I ever heard.”
“Well, he is the Boss.”
“No, Chuck, he’s your boss, not mine. I wouldn’t work for an egomaniac. Chuck, on our first night we dressed in sheep’s clothing and frolicked on a meadow in Boonieville. Then, as we rolled in the grass, I got so discombobulated that I didn’t know which one of dozens of sheepy-looking creatures was him, so when one of them snuggled beside me and said he wanted to make the most amazing baby lamb in the universe, I told him point blank, ‘I’m sorry, but I have no intention of bringing a child into this crazy world.’ I even gave him a condom. Oh, was he ever offended! He insulted my I.Q., my D.N.A. and my ass.”
Chuck was pretty sure his mother was pulling his leg. He looked across the room for confirmation.
“Don’t pay any attention to her, boy,” Damn began. “She’s always making awful jokes. I’ll take you to Boston. That’s where the Boss lives. It’s the town of boss. I cracked that code long ago. The name gives it away. Anyway, let’s start tomorrow. I can hardly wait. I just know you’ll convince the Boss Above to love Amerika again.”
Penny chortled, “Since the Boss couldn’t even love me, how’s he gonna love my country?”
“Kid, show yer mamma how yer gonna convince the Boss to love Amerika!”
Chuck beamed. Chuck was ready. Chuck didn’t quite know what to do, but after a deep breath—to his own surprise—he sang such a sweet prayer even God got a toothache and taste of diabetes, so please read it in moderation:
Oh Father of Creation,
Creator of our in-car-nation,
You up among the stars above,
How can you love your kids
When we don’t appreciate,
We just depreciate,
We don’t appreciate
You gave us appendixes,
Tailbones and bellybuttons,
Dicks, cunts, and assholes too,
And letters, numbers in our he