With a flourish of his golden wand, God resurrected Chuck Bollocks. The boy was not pleased. He did not want to continue his embarrassing life, so no sooner was he resurrected than he tried to kill himself by overdosing on organic mushrooms. Well, thanks be to God, he failed again, for just as he raised his first spoonful to his lips, God sent a shining drone swooping down from Heaven. It smashed a second hole in the church roof and crumpled in a heap on the floor. Out of its little cargo hold rolled the Sunday edition of the Washington Wisdom. Chuck was supposed to read it. He was supposed to find God’s message in the classified section but he wasn’t very good at interpreting divine signs. He took the paper to the bathroom and wiped his ass with it!
Well, I’m not a quitter. A second drone smashed through a stained window and dropped five copies of the Washington Wisdom on Chuck’s head. The coincidence of two drones delivering papers to his home in one day made him wonder. Perhaps, he thought, God wanted him to spend more time on the toilet. So, he spent the next hour wiping his ass raw.
I’m a relentless optimist, so one more drone smashed through that perforated roof. This one beat Chuck over the head with the Washington Wisdom before dropping it on his lap. Chuck felt an urge to visit the toilet again, but then he wondered, “What if God has another purpose for newspapers?” Before he could burn the paper or toss in into the garbage, his sister grabbed it on her way to the family’s filthy compost toilet, but the headline made her stop and read aloud: “Washington needs Chuck Bollocks to fix Amerika’s love deficit and spread our love to all foreign nations.” She snorted with half-suppressed chuckles. “They only smoke the best dope in Washington.”
Chuck got on his knees.
“Hey, this is weird,” Bitch mused, oblivious to her brother’s desire for justice. “All the Public Notices say, I quote, ‘A Prophet of Love will soon fertilize the deserts of our hearts and rule in Washington.’ And look at this: all the classifieds are promising love. And all the advertisements are selling love, the secrets of love, and,” snickering, she added, “here’s one that says ‘The Prophet of Love is Bollocks.’”
Chuck leapt to his feet. “I knew it! I knew I had a purpose in this universe! I am the Prophet of Love! My destiny is to bring the message of love to Washington!”
“And when are you going to give me the message of love?” cried Jenny, one of his many neglected girlfriends.
“I will marry you when I become president of something, preferably of the whole damn country!”
“Will you ask for my consent before you marry me?”
“Only if your boyfriends approve.”
Sometimes the truth hurts. She replied with her usual sarcasm, “Oh, Chuck, I’m going to miss you while you’re romping in Washington. No one loved me like you did. Washington doesn’t know what’s coming!” Then she grabbed him and kissed him so hard that he felt his soul fly away{1}.
With his uncle’s blessing, Lord FreeLuv began the long pilgrimage to Destiny City, Washington, on foot. The nation quivered with excitement as he tripped down the streets. Everyone offered to tie his shoelaces. Before he could ask for shelter, everyone showed him their doors and said, “Be my guest!” Hundreds kind supporters gave him their microwaved meals, their home movies, their daughters and wives and their beds. Such is the nature of Amerikan hospitality that everyone treated him like family, told him they believed (in) him and treated him like family, for he was the perfect guest. Indeed, he never used their toilets and always relieved himself in public libraries and bookstores, and even there he was praised, for somehow he never used any toilet paper.
Of course, some people were disappointed. There were simply too many invitations for one man to handle. And yes, he did face some criticism for declining invitations from homosexuals, but after he confessed to his allergy they understood and were content to touch him in the streets and alleys.
Between marches, in the parks, Lord FreeLuv shone like the Sun and sang George Washington’s hits. His voice drew huge crowds, from teenagers to the elderly. Sometimes, if he saw an injured veteran, a broke beggar, or just a sick body, he paused, came to them and whispered in their ears, “Have faith, you who suffer, for my love will awaken Washington’s heart and make you great again.”
On one occasion he touched the Idol of Liberty. This bold display of affection towards a statue of a woman caused the statue to come to life. To everyone’s wonder, the living statue threw off its robe and sang, “MY CHAINS CANNOT HOLD ME! OH LORD, YOUR LOVE MAKES ME FEEL ALIVE!” In a fit of excitement, the giant woman plunged into the ocean, and as she tried to swim back home, to France, she sank straight to Hell, where she and all her kind belong.
Anyway, the whole nation was touched by the lord’s songs and feats of love. Lord FreeLuv fever took Amerika by storm, like a tornado that sucks everything into Heaven.
But not everyone was swept away by the Lord FreeLuv phenomenon. One jealous investigative reporter stopped him on the street and inquired, “Who the Hell are you? And where the Hell do you think you’re going?”
The lord calmly replied, “I am the Prophet of Love, and I am going to the White House to awaken the heart of Amerika. Is this not the way?”
“No, it’s that way! Here are the directions,” said the cruel mischief-maker and handed him a map with directions to Hollywood. The lord trusted him, but it didn’t matter. Halfway across the country, while riding an exhausted ass through Oklahoma, he caught Hollywood’s attention. Studio executives made a scene by riding some fast elephants after him, and when they caught up they interviewed him for the starring role the popular television show, Amerika’s Got Love. They liked him so much they let him spend a whole show singing Economic Hit Man, Amerika’s favorite political song by the Christian rockers Piper’s Dues. Here’s a free copy of its excellent lyrics:
Baby, if you ain’t got no credit
Relax! I’m gonna be our president,
I’ll make enough money for us all,
And with my love I’ll make flowers grow
In the hearts of every enemy
Hiding in the deserts of the Congo, Canada,
Alabama, Russia, China and Iran,
As well as in Belgium and Vietnam.
I’m gonna rescue US
With a higher love, oh yeah!
I’ll set us free from the scary enemy,
Our inefficient, prodigal military,
From stupid projects and nasty debts!
Yeah, when I be our president,
I’ll turn the depression of the nation
Into a clearance sale of happiness!
I’ll make freedom affordable,
And reinvent democrazy;
I’ll renovate equality,
And make zero equal twenty!
The judges loved it. The nation thought FreeLuv was a genius and wondered why God wasn’t jealous and didn’t kidnap him.
Washington was afraid. Washington was very afraid. Of course, Washington treasured the lord’s love and Washington wanted all the lord’s love, but it feared that the lord was too powerful and yes, possibly dangerous. So, Washington tried to stop the lord from rising and Washington angrily denied that God had destined the lord for a successful political career. Consequently, when the lord came knocking at the White House, no one answered until the lord prayed to the star spangled darkness of outer space. Then, by a power greater than coincidence, the gates squeaked slightly open. No gentle smiles greeted the lord; instead, a pudgy, bearded face leered from the breach. It was none other than White House advisor and Chief Economist Alack-amad Olyshit.
“Get lost, FreeLuv!” he shrieked. “It’s past midnight!”
The lord replied, “Gatekeeper of Amerika’s central nervous system! I come bearing the gift of love.”
Alack-amad hated poetry. He tried to escape, but FreeLuv held his hand firmly, kissed it and whispered, “Alack-amad, why do you fear what is good for you? I’ve come to give this tired nation its overdue love transfusion.”
Trembling, Olyshit blustered, “Liar! You’ve come to pollute and steal our blood, our energy, our guns, and our souls!”
The lord laughed, “I am only authorized to do wonderful things.”
By the grace of God, Olyshit relaxed, believed and beamed with delight. Then, he rushed back to deliver the good news to President Angel.
According to reliable reports, the story of the lord’s journey was slightly different. Apparently, where President Angel took safety precautions. He had a few signs altered so that the lord went to the Capitol instead of the White House. And, the Capitol was filled with crude, uneducated farmers who had no patience for talk of love and fine feelings.
FreeLuv entered the Capitol as the president gave a hilarious speech to his humorless audience:
“Fellow time travelers and rural hicks, thank you for growing the nation’s corn flakes, Wheaties and burgers, and thank you for whatever else you do. Now, before I cultivate your minds with a little speech, please have a little respect and turn off your assholes, for we have strict policy against farting during my speeches. Next, let me see. Right, we have a national emergency. My yacht, Wet Dream, is sinking. Something has to be done, but my dear wife says I’m overreacting, that our politicos and soldiers can save anything. Well, I’m not so sure, but I’ll give our troops a shot. I’m really too busy in Washington providing our nation with all its needs: credit cards, mortgages, armed troops, junk food and agricultural warriors like yourselves who wage war on hunger, claw food out of the rocky ground and resist this evil new movement to make disgusting ‘love’ with the soil and your neighbors. You rightly do not wish to be convicted of witchcraft and sharing. Competition is good. Throughout our star-spangled history, we’ve had some very memorable scuffles, fisticuffs and hiccups, and too be honest, we’re all better for having survived our famines, Dust Bowls, bankruptcies and battles with competitive pests.”
As he finished, a brilliant light approached from beyond the audience. It was the lord striding towards the lectern to deliver the shining truths Amerikans were hungering for. President Angel introduced him with a sneer and slipped into the shadows.
Lord FreeLuv began: “My dear friends, President Angel—or shall I call him Walt Disney?—or shall I call him Mister Rockerfeller? Well, I don’t know, but whatever we call him, he is an awful clown. I have seen him talk to animals and pray to his fairy godmother! And, thanks to all the straw between his ears, Amerika is a joke and this great country is the most deadly amusement park on Earth. All our politicians are mascots and puppets, our cars go nowhere fast, and our shooting galleries have no attendants. We need change, not pennies and quarters but real change, and that is what I am offering. The honorable Mister President can talk until Kaboomsday about economic progress, but it’s all angel manure!” the lord exclaimed as his tone become more strident, more impassioned, and louder. He continued, “That’s right! I said it! Angel manure! And that would not be so bad if he respected human manure! But he doesn’t! He makes your shit illegal and only accepts his own shit! In other words, President Angel is flushing ordinary Amerikans down the proverbial toilet of sickness and debt. But I swear, I will smash that toilet—for it is an evil, life-sucking toilet!”
Everyone laughed. “My friends, God expressly sent me to save our country with a new currency, the life-creating currency of love!”
The crowd went wild. The crowd brought down the so-called house. But the president gestured for silence and requested a demonstration of the lord’s love powers. The lord was not afraid. He simply and calmly dropped these divinely inspired words into the silent room like jewels in a puddle of mud:
The economy sucks,
For all your labor,
You’ve earned a bowl of dust
And a table without water.
The economy sucks
Everything dry,
But don’t cry,
Tomorrow comes the flood—
For by the power God vested in me
I shall summon the clouds
And unleash such a rainstorm of love
That you’ll never even pray
For an even better day.
These inspirational lines drove the crowd wild. No one had ever heard such meaningful words before. Everyone begged for a second verse. They challenged him to sing like a rapper. He did his best and blew these seeds of wisdom upon his stones-for-brains listeners:
I’m your economic messiah,
Not a trickster or a liar.
I got the love
That trickles down from above
And fills the hole in the soul.
My love, with my luv
I’ll save you from financial drought,
And the funeral director,
And the debt collector.
I’ll be the sweetest sugar daddy,
For my luv is sweeter than sugar,
Sweeter than God,
But so healthy, I think
It has zero calories,
Though it bears more fruit
Than the corner grocery.
Hey, if you don’t believe me,
Taste the green pea of luv
When it drops from above.
The old goats in the Capitol enjoyed the lord’s song and dance and hollered for even more exciting displays of wisdom. Truth is, they had never heard such flattering words and exciting promises.
Damn Bollocks had dressed up as a farmer. Now he rose to his feet and shouted, “Lord FreeLuv, stop holding us in suspense! Your tongue and your lips stirred our souls, but we need real love, a love we can see and touch. Please, put our doubts to rest!!!”
The lord beamed with confidence and shouted for the crowd, “I will now perform an economic miracle. Prepare to receive all the love you deserve.”
Lord FreeLuv closed his eyes, squatted and went into deep meditation so that he could give birth to Heaven. The world around him ceased to exist (so he did not notice that his rustic audience had quietly left the building). The lord had made contact with God. His magic booty trembled with waves of electrifying, uncontrollable and unheard of luv energy and exploded with luv. I am not joking! The air was filled with miraculous money! It rained down like autumn confetti! Each little perfect paper rectangle of pure luv{2} was stamped with the Fed’s digits and an image of Lord F’s heart-shaped ass expelling a bubble marked with the number O1,000,000. The bottom of each bill read, Printed on God’s Luv Press. The back of each bill was illustrated with a heart and the words: First and Only Global Currency Fully Authorized and Backed by Real Luvers©. Thanks for trusting me.
Who received this incredible gift? You guessed it. But not even they bothered to read what they fought for like greedy kids on Christmas morning while Lord FreeLuv’s limp body was rushed away on a trolley.
A rope came snaking through the blue-domed roof and down came President Angel wearing an oxygen mask and disguised as Lord FreeLuv! From the floor, he gestured majestically, lifted his mask and quickly laughed, “Ho, ho, ho, how does Amerika like its loan?”
Moolah Bro Zacharin was positively ecstatic: “Lord FreeLuv, with this, we can do ANYTHING!”
The president lifted his mask again and quickly explained, “Money is God. With money, whatever you want done can be done. Therefore be thankful to your president, for he gave me the power to help you. Now, before I go for good, please sign this band new social contract or put your bloody fingerprints here,” he added as he handed out a contract to the puzzled crowd.
“Don’t look so confused. Just do as I say or you will surely die.”
The fools pierced themselves and signed the contract with their blood and celebrated their incredible good fortune.