President Angel spent his money on golf courses, literacy courses, drugs, battle ships, hybrid prison-hospitals and great political parties. The public praised him. Everything was hunky-dory until everything went to Hell. During another late-night celebration in the Executive Bedroom, shortly after everyone fell asleep, Olyshit screamed like a girl, “The end is near! The end is here! Someone flushed Amerika down the Burning Bunny Hole!”
Snapping awake, President Angel demanded an interpretation from the esteemed professor and White House resident, Moolah Bro Zacharin.
Zach cogitated before answering, “The Burning Bunny Hole represents the Middle East and Mexico, the two doors to Hell.”
The president laughed, “You zany idiot, the Burning Bunny Hole represents our imaginary debts. Thank goodness we have nothing to fear while the good lord is in control.”
“Liar!” cried Olyshit in a fresh attack of hysteria. “The BBH will consume all of time and space unless the lord gives us more, more, more sweet luv!”
Grand Doofus Arrears added, “Forget it! We owe our creditors a billion trillion zillion! Plus, now they’re saying our Amerikan luv is crap. They’re demanding our flesh and blood instead!”
“They bluff! No one can resist our luv!” declared President Angel as, with infinite certainty, he poked Olyshit’s wounded ass and added, “Isn’t that right, Alack-amad?”
Alack-amad Olyshit whimpered while the Grand Doofus opined, “Our luv cannot hold off the vultures and hyenas! Foreign creditors smell our rotting flesh and are gathering overhead, on our borders, on our shores!”
“I say we throw an extravagant funeral for ourselves. Maybe they’ll think Amerika is dead and leave us alone,” said the hopeless Vice Doofus Broke.
Everyone liked that idea and played dead in bed. Everyone except Moolah Bro Zacharin. He prayed for lunch.
“Shame on you, Zach!” the president cried. “We immortals and don’t need food! Would you like to try my deep fried angel cake?”
Zach-the-nutcase vomited in his shirt pocket and wiped himself with his fluffy silk tie.
The president continued, “We must stop being pessimistic. Amerika is the lighthouse of the world, a beacon to all ships tossed by political and economic storms! Our fire burns brightly, and all our debts and deficits will never consume us, for we are loaded with luv! And if our storm-tossed brothers and slaves don’t want to work and sell for our luv, they can go to Hell. That’s perfectly constitutional!”
The Grand Doofus dreamily murmured, “I think we should make budget cuts.”
“Good idea. Let’s stop wasting money on Amerikan women,” said Zacharin. “They’re too expensive. Foreign women are better cooks and more affordable.”
“Zacharin! You traitor! I’ll have you thrown into one of our women’s prisons for that vicious lie!”
“Of course, your wife is awesome!” cried Zacharin in his defense. Silence followed before he begged forgiveness on his knees.
“Hey,” said the Grand Doofus, “let’s use NASA to build the first color peekaboo satellite. We’ll drive the black-and-white porn industry out of business and make orgasms of money!”
The president snorted and Chief Economist Alack-amad Olyshit laughed so hard the bed squeaked and groaned. Vice Doofus Broke feared a crash and cried, “We need infrastructure repairs! This bed is about to break!”
President Angel acknowledged the urgency of their predicament and admitted a crash was imminent. He roundly declared, “The time has come to focus on the home front! No more foreign adventures! Let’s invest in bedroom and general home development. We’ll turn every Amerikan town and shitty [sic] into the promised Disneyland!”
Zacharin’s tummy grumbled.
The Grand Doofus Arrears mused, “We can’t afford to make more movies. Why don’t we ever invest in poetry?”
“Yeah! Poetry is Amerika’s original pastime! George Washington’s verses ruled the land and put wealth in our purses. Poetry is the gold mine and the central bank of the Amerikan spirit, especially if you read between the fucking lines!” shouted VD Broke with a little too much enthusiasm.
The Grand Doofus eagerly concurred, “My grandmother grew fabulously rich reading the racy white stuff between the black squiggles.”
This terrible joke won guffaws all around and sent the bed crashing so hard to the ground that the whole party feared divine judgement.
Although almost anything could be done with luv, those who possessed it did nothing with it, tucked it in their pants and forgot it existed. Afterwards, luvless Amerikans got so impatient they began wasting their incomparable creative talents on composing hate poems about the greatest prophet to ever grace Amerika. Here’s an example of their bile:
What kind of hero was that jerk?
Jesus Christ, he never did one minute’s work!
His only job was to shit and rob!
That con and fraud!
He was a dud, and worse,
He taxed our blood,
And made us work like devils,
To build a shiny Hell
In which we burn too well!
Enough of all this shit,
His fat ass shall be kicked!
Another vile pile of rhymes was composed by an evil and very rich seven-year-old broad who ruled Amerika’s popular entertainment industry. Her soul was hijacked by a perfectly diabolical spirit that inspired her to write the most offensive lyrics ever conceived. Against my better judgement, and with great hesitation and concern for my reader’s defenseless souls, I have printed her lyrics below.
Fuck Your Wealth
I used to love my money,
I used to love my house,
I used to love my honey,
My clothes and all my jewelry,
And gadgetry, fine wines, big books,
Musical recordings, paintings and perfumes,
Mirrors and my hair,
But now I just don’t care
A bit about that shit!
I just wanna be a cavegirl
Eating bark from the trees,
Making love
With the birds and the bees.
Thank God Amerikans rarely understand what they say. Instead, they mostly focus on rhythm and tone, so they never notice my bad spells and crooked comas. In fact, they are sooo good at ignoring words that whenever God insults them they think it’s just a joke or they think a compliment is hidden between the lines. Well, “Why not?” After all, Amerikans are the chosen people—that is, they are the people chosen to make God rich and busting with laughter.
Lord FreeLuv had given his luv to all who deserved it, but millions of lazy-asses and terrorists didn’t understand that. One nasty faction began refusing to pay taxes, mortgages and rents. They even issued this threat: We will never pay until we are happy with the services their governments, banks and landlords provided. They probably imagined they were comedians.
In a televised court case, the infamous leader of these economic terrorists, the compulsive liar, Professoress Pipi Deweydink, published a manifesto calling on all Amerikans to “Fuck the Constitution! Stop living like slaves of Death and Delusion! Live like the wild and free animals that you are!”
The nation’s foremost judges condemned P.D.’s writings to Hell. Additionally, they issued public mental health warnings against reading them. However, this only increased public curiosity about how humans should live. After they discovered the bones of their first ancestors in an African jungle-bungle-garden, some nut started a movement to revive ape traditions. Soon, more nuts from coast to coast were rejecting all forms of technology and tried to live with only human energy. Many immigrated back to their so-called “home,” back to Africa! Once there—you know what they did? They made a mockery of themselves! They spent many days trying to teach their hairy relatives how to grow food, raise roofs, live without alpha males and to use their little brains for maximum evil!
I bawled my eyes out. Oh, how I wept to see the benefits of civilization cast away like a soggy handkerchief. Oh, how I hated P. Deweydink! Luckily, I remembered Satan’s advice to fight fire with fire, or water with water, or something like that.
While Amerika’s hyper-economical culture went south, faithful Democrats and Republicans prayed for Lord FreeLuv to give them a second luv transfusion, and when he didn’t come lickety-split, Moolah Bro Zacharin protested, “I know why the lord abandoned God’s country! Look at this desert! There’s nothing good to eat here. Once upon a time, this country was a smorgasbord full of fresh, organic meat, apple trees and coconuts. What happened?”
“I think,” began White House clown, Moolah Bro Zacharin, “Midas turned Amerika into a land made of fakery and money. Now, nothing is real. Apple, Fox, Word, Amazon, and DiCk are not what they should be. Have you ever tried eating an apple computer?”
“It’s very bad for your teeth?” asked President Angel.
White House poet Albert Einstein said, “In Amerika, nothing is real! Every plant uses solar power, no, uses the nuclear power of the sun—but our nuclear power plants are flowers of insanity! And where is the lord? Why didn’t he go to Nagasaki, Chernobyl, Fukushima and the others?”
Chief Economist Olyshit explained: “The lord will not come until we overcome our homophobic fears of the lord’s luv.”
President Angel dismissed all their worries and assured them that Amerika was better off without Lord FreeLuv, and he asked them to turn down the “f-ing music!” I don’t blame him. His normally dignified guests were bobbing their heads and twitching to the rhythms of the Petite Devils, a terrifying Middle Eastern band that sang horrific lyrics and had somehow infiltrated the White House. In case you want to know what they sounded like, you can now enjoy my free sample of their vomit for yourself:
Arms of love soft as doves!
So we waited long, with bated breath,
For General Love, oh Lord FreeLuv!
We were so sure,
Your secret weapon
Would save our frozen asses!
We sent private invites,
But your superhero of romances
Was all withered and exhausted
From his little domestic performance.
Oh, Amerika—your lord lacks wit,
And honestly, he’s full of shit!
These emotional and manipulative lyrics actually provoked President Angel to pity the lord and to ask Moolah Bro Zacharin to bring Lord FreeLuv back to Washington. But this command was ignored, for the moron couldn’t hear anything over the Country Bimbos and Clowns as they screamed these lovely lyrics:
Oh, my heart ached so
For the one who won,
The presidency of my soul.
Where did he go?
Did the president of my heart
Vaporize like a fart?
Where did he go? My favorite oaf?
Oh, oh, oh, where is my sugar loaf!
What the heck, your love was
My life and welfare check!
Without it I can’t afford my tummy,
And nothing else is yummy.
Without it, I wanted to be dead,
Until the voice of reason said,
“Stuff FreeLuv! Don’t play the nun!
Get a facelift, a titlift, an asslift,
And better boys will run!”
Chief Economist Alack-amad Olyshit saw how these lyrics made the president cry, so he took pity on him and said, “Mister President, don’t worry, you don’t need any kind of lift. Besides, we don’t have money for lifts. Praying’s all we can afford. But take heart, for if we pray hard enough, maybe Jesus, Allah or the Buddha will come and balance our budget. I’m telling you, they were pretty good politicians back in their day.”
President Angel wiped his eyes and blubbered, “I could use a few good men like them. But they have a point. Washington is so ugly it couldn’t interest a rabid dog. If we want fresh talent, we need to transform this old strumpet into a princess!”
Olyshit enthusiastically agreed. So, Washington went deeper into debt giving itself a makeover. Its buildings were made of gingerbread, its boulevards were paved with chocolate, its streetlamps were sugar canes and its fountains flowed with champagne and no pets were allowed except for the edible kind that produced eggs, milk or meat. Thus, Washington was transformed into an edible princess.
Unfortunately, her prince did not come. Neither Lord FreeLuv nor a single good politician came to Washington. Why? What was missing? Obviously God was not yet on their side. If they had asked, they might have learned that God wanted them to turn the White House, the Senate and the Capitol building into a church.
While Washington’s leaders looked for solutions, Lord FreeLuv, feeling ignored and unappreciated, retreated to a rustic old jailhouse to wait in solitude for someone, anyone, to call him, appreciate him, or just remember him. After many days of tears and heartbreak, his prayers were answered as Jenny Kawsthchild rang the bell at the Luv Mansion. She received no answer, so she snuck in, ate everything in the fridge and cupboards, farted pure methane, but still felt hungry. When she located the snoring lord, kicked his legs and verbally assaulted him, “YOU LAZY BUM! WHY DIDN’T I GET ANY LUV?”
Blinking awake, he wrinkled his nose and asked, “What’s that smell?”
“Shut up and give me some luv!”
“You? But, you’re a cow!”
Jenny simply howled, “Give me some fresh loooov now!”
Poor Lord FreeLuv had never dealt with such a rude guest. He realized he could not get rid of her, so he said, “Fine! I’ll try! But only if you give me …” He paused, blushing.
“Sex? Is that what you want?” she asked, holding his hand.
The lord shuddered in disgust.
“Are you gay?”
“I love everyone equally,” he answered and added, without trying to hurt her feelings, “It’s just that you smell like a cow.”
“Of course I do! My parents raised me on dairy and beef, so now, inside me lives the soul of a cow. Now I’m a cow in a girl’s body! Millions of us are. One day, moooooo…. One day, all people will embrace their animal natures!”
“Wow, you are quite the comedian.”
“Shut up! You’ll see!” she continued with embarrassing determination, “Thousands of years ago no one admitted they were gay or black; one day the beasts will also come out of their closets and mooooo, yap, bark and cockledoodledo the truth, that we deserve to be loooooved as mooooch as yooooo.”
The lord was so impressed, he offered to pay Jenny for her cow imitation, but she refused, so he let graze in his backyard in return for milk and a final payment. She agreed. But her appetite was voracious. She had teeth made of iron! She ate all the trees growing on the forested parkland and gave not a drop of milk until she was loved, if you know what I mean.
When news spread about the lord’s generosity, more possessed women and children came to him for help, until his flower gardens were fields of rock and dust and his guests accused him of letting them go hungry. Exile seemed like the best solution. Plenty of foreigners were begging for an Amerikan hero to give them the luv they deserved. So, the lord betrayed and abandoned his country. He packed his bag and vowed to bring Amerika’s patented religion of Luv to all the ugly foreign savages inhabiting every god-forsaken corner of the whole damn world.