If memory serves me correctly, Chuck was raised in a church in Troytown, U.S.A. The Bollocks family had occupied the condemned, ramshackle building for a century, and they committed more sins there than I care to count. From an early age, Chuck warned them about the terrible things God can do when he’s angry, but they did not change their ways. So, one Halloween eve, I came to their door and shouted that I had come to save Chuck from the horrors within and that they should hand him over. Chuck’s unshaven and shirtless uncle, Damn, appeared at the door, handed me a lemon and an avocado and went back inside.
“DAMN,” I raged, throwing the garbage aside, “if you know what’s good for you, say your prayers!”
I thought I was a good communicator, but this family made me doubt myself. They didn’t call the police; instead, their evil daughter emerged on to give me a carrot, a knob of garlic, a head of lettuce and a flask of mineral water.
“If you’re trying to bribe Me, forget it! YOUR GIFTS ONLY infuriate me!”
Next a witch appeared in the door. She said, “You seem to be stressed out about something. Would you like to come inside and join me for a little fun?”
That was the limit! I pushed her back and shut her door for her. Then I graffiteed these words on that accursed church: “THE DEVIL LIVES HERE!” The neighbors should have taken the hint and removed them all, but those idiots said vandalism was protected by some outdated constitution!
My wrath brought Heaven to a boil. I wanted vengeance, so when the nation prayed for Christmas snow, I rained thick, black, crude oil on their heads. The country was ruined. It was hilarious. It was better than tarring and feathering. I was sure the country would understand and apologize, but everyone just prayed for more free oil!
I’m not a quitter! A million failures can’t stop me! I remained determined to protect Chuck from his wicked family, so, on December 24, my trusty megaphone, the popular news source USBS, broadcast the nation’s first declaration of war on all domestic sinners.
Well, that should have scared the cockroaches out of my church. But, somehow I forgot that Bollocks never listen to the news. Too bad for them, right? That’s what I thought. So, the next day thousands of heavily armed Blue Angels accompanied me back to the Bollocks residence, and together we sang like a choir:
“MERRY CHRISTMAS, BOLLOCKS! 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, the moaning of a woman having multiple orgasms! I was about to make Hell swallow up that damned church when the family pet bunny stepped out of the door. I stood my ground, but the impertinent creature attempted to make love to my leather boot. I retreated and shouted,
“DAMN BOLLOCKS! come out and face me like a man, you coward!”
A naked, unshaven horror, danced staggeringly out the door holding a shotgun by the barrel as if it was his dancing partner. I swear, that idiot was using his firearm as a marijuana pipe! Inhaling deeply and barely keeping his balance, the caveman 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 for smoking it!”
He cradled his smoking gun and droned, “’Cause I’m your super man, baby, yeah, and I got super love for you…”
“Damn Bollocks,” my voice continued deep inside his thick skull, “you’re pissing me off with your hippie crap! Put down the gun and come peacefully to prison!”
“No way! I quit Amerika! I’m joining Satan and flying to Mexico!”
“Damn, where’s your permit to smoke a firearm?”
“Oh, God, can’t we just have a peaceful divorce? I’m too old for marriage. Can’t we just be friends?”
“Shut up, Damn!”
“Please,” he continued, “let me introduce you to my family.” Before I could decline, three shotguns smashed through a window. Deadly marijuana smoke curled up from each muzzle. The rebels were polluting my good Amerikan air! God damn, I should have blown up that God-forsaken church! Oh, how I wanted to, how I dreamed of it, but I couldn’t because Chuck was there.
Meet the Family
Wanna know the truth? Chuck Bollocks is the only life I’ll ever admit to creating, and I can’t understand how he’s related to his parents.
Chuck’s mother, Penny Bollocks, was an outsider who actually loved being outside. Sinning was her hobby. Her vices included being vegetarian, making more than one man happy, never shopping, never in any way participating in the economy and burning marijuana in my holy censers. I had an awful time protecting Chuck from her evil designs.
The boy had many possible fathers, so for the sake of accuracy we’ll call the well-named Damn Bollocks the boy’s impotent uncle or stepdad or whatever. Damn 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 penis.
And B*tch, Chuck’s older 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 stay in her evil home would be her doom.
Now Chuck, he was my boy. He was a Libra, and he did not hate me for orphaning him, for he knew I had a world to attend to. Perhaps he wasn’t the sharpest toothpick in the box, but he burned brightly for he loved justice and he believed in Me unconditionally. From a distance, he loved to watch Me hurl lightning and move mountain tops. Every day, he dreamed of riding a tornado into Heaven, where he imagined himself floating beside Me, enjoying virtual nurses in bikinis, prescription beer and Soothing Radiation™. Thanks to his faith and his lively imagination, he often prayed that an angel might abduct him and take him home. Well, he was nice enough, so until he earned his stay in Heaven he would have to be content 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, I really am, 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 before it came out in a dreadful moan. For his whole life he’d shunned his economic destiny, but I’d lost patience and that’s when his iGod received the following text:
|WANTED: Adorable politician who can lead the upcoming revolution and make Amerika the super power of love. If you have unconditional love and a nice butt, call 202-456-1117 to book an interview today!|
Bitch read it to him. Chuck was beyond excited. “Sis, that’s amazing! That job’s perfect for me!”
She snorted and tried in vain not to laugh.
“What? Don’t you agree? Ain’t I qualified to lead a revolution?”
“No offense, but didn’t you drop out of elementary school?”
“So what? Amerika don’t care about education! This be the land of equal oppo’tunity, and I be full of unconditional love!”
“Right, if unconditional love means you’re in no condition to love, then you’re the dude for this job,” his smartass sister retorted.
Chuck didn’t respond to the insult. He swallowed his candy bar and bit into a hunk of grilled cow ass. When he felt fully energized, he opened his golden iGod and asked Me to knock his sister’s head off. I could hardly resist doing the favor, 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 missile through the church roof. Unfortunately it fell, a crumpled dud, beside Penny.
Chuck shouted at his sister, “See! This is an omen from God. You’d better be more careful!!!”
“Oh, nonsense!” she replied. “It’s just a sign that someone needs navigation lessons,” she quipped while nibbling like a rabbit on green shit.
Chuck ignored her insult. “Maybe God is telling me that the job is mine!”
“Or maybe God just crapped on us,” commented his mother.
“Then it looks like God needs less fiber,” Bitch added.
Chuck was appalled. The level of disrespect for all things divine in his house was astounding. So, 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. That was more in his budget, but I told him that wasn’t my style. He didn’t listen, though. He kept praying and begging so sweetly and offered his family jewels to cover the cost. So what was I to do? I did my best with the few biological weapons in my possession. They should have fallen ill and vomited a rainbow over their house, but only Chuck fell ill. Well, I couldn’t bear to see him cry, so I said he was my favorite, and the handsomest 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 applied for that big job and was kindly told where to go. He whooped and kissed his iGod. Then he emptied his whiskey bottle and took his anti-depressants with a healthy cup of Satan’s Cocktail™ made of industrial milk, sugar, carbonated caffeine and other secret ingredients.
“Don’t forget to take your father’s madicine!” his mother hollered as he left the church. She meant take Damn’s medicine to him, not take his medicine. Bad choice of words. But it was medicine, so he was healthier for it.
Now the only trouble was transportation. How would he get to the interview? The family car was dead. His pothead mother had recently stuffed rotting meat, bread and milk in the tank because she thought it would produce biofuel. The poor man of destiny didn’t even have money for a city bus. But he would not be thwarted. With the resolute determination of a warrior, he hit the road with his feet.
Fortunately, a day before his interview, he started marching to Washington with nothing but his clothes, for he was in Amerika, the land of hosts. Hundreds of vendors and home owners offered him whatever he needed—food, shoes, even a car. When he entered a convenience store to ask for water, the cashier gave him a case of beer and got drunk with him, let him rifle through her register and distracted him with a million free temptations. He could have married her and eaten there for the rest of his life, but our hero escaped through the back door—only to stumble into a lingerie shop where several bewitching saleswomen manipulated him into helping them test their products well after store hours. He tried to resist, but the foxes outnumbered and overpowered him. Satan’s foxes would have destroyed his destiny if God had not commanded a squad of Blue Angels to save Chuck’s ass. They tracked him down, put his pants back on and dragged him to his economic destiny.
Surprisingly, although he was a day late and looked he’d been to Hell and back, the interview went amazingly. When he was asked why he wanted to work, Chuck proudly declared, “Because I love Amerika and the Constitution and I would work for nothing to make this country great!”
“That’s the spirit we like around here. But are you qualified for our job?” he asked.
After reflecting on this question, 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,
U wait and see,
Someone out there
Will take pity on me!
The hiring manager was sold. He cut the interview short, gave my boy his revolutionary new title and told him he could start very soon.
Chuck raced home shouting, “I did it! Mom! Dad! LITTLE B****! I got the BEST job IN THE WORLD!” Penny and her latest male victim, Walter, woke under the altar. “The best thing is,” Chuck continued obliviously, “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 our 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!” the two men replied quite differently.
“Guys,” Penny interrupted, “hasn’t this fairytale gone on long enough? 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.”
“Fine. I will. Listen to me, Chuckleberry, your job is gonna be a safari picnic! You’ll do very little work besides socializing with thousands of babes who will absolutely fall for your good looks.”
“Dad, don’t be a windbag! Tell me the truth or I’ll pray for divine vengeance!”
That was no empty threat. “All right! Take it easy. I admit it, life was different in 48. As I remember, no one worked, every home had these little ovens full of pot, and everyone was wearing custom-made suits and tossing Frisbees made of gold. Plus, every city had its own Olympic games every year. The global economy was booming and roaring like a giant bonfire. The government was so rich it gave land away. Fourteen-year-old kids were building their own homes, leasing ponies and throwing their dollars away as if it were worthless manure and –”
Chuck started praying like the Devil. The women screamed. Damn was on his knees, begging for mercy, “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 told us Amerika was not the land of the free and that we must pay for everything, even for sunlight, rain, 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. Towards the end of that depression, the Boss decided to give Amerika another chance to earn his love, so he hired me to be his personal love guru. Honestly, it was the worst job. He said if I didn’t teach Him how to love Amerika, he’d curse me with a rabbit for a son.”
Chuck was skeptical. “Are you making this shit up?”
“Listen kid, lying is a lost freedom. The Boss’s got omniscience technology.”
“So, how did you make him love us?”
“I started with the same love lines I used on your mother. ‘Your hair is like the golden Sun sailing through the blue air and –’”
“How did that go?”
Damn paused. “Well, Johnny, the important thing is that you have more potential than I ever did. You could be bigger than Kennedy. You certainly have twice the love I ever had.”
His sister laughed.
“It’s true!” Chuck boasted. “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 brand name of a diaper recycler, isn’t it?”
Chuck called out for help, but Damn said he was busy with Penny.
“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. First he convinced us that we’re immortal, and now he laughs his head off as we recklessly destroy and waste our lives. If we’re lucky, when we start to stink and leak, he’ll open our minds and tell us we’re mortals.”
I’m sure she meant morsels, but mortals is funny, too.
The next morning our hero woke with a new constitution and instructions about how to earn his place in the universe. After feasting on crispy cereals and bubbly pop, his neighbor gave him an old school bus. The lord thanked him and drove it through Paradise Estates while repeatedly shouting at the window he thought was open:
“THE FREE BUS TO HEAVEN IS NOW ACCEPTING PASSENGERS! GET ON ALL YOU JOBLESS BUMS AND HOBOES!”
A dozen residents boarded FreeLuv’s bus and had a blast until they ran out of biofuel in Baltimore. There the famously generous locals gave them their bicycles, so the journey continued until they reached Disneyworld. Lord FreeLuv climbed atop Magic Candy Mountain, and from its summit he shouted, “My friends, I’m in Heaven! I can feel God’s presence in this peaceful and harmonious world! Look around! The animals, princesses and fairies are our friends, and we can buy whatever we want!”
They thought he was mad. They could see security coming towards them and they had no tickets.
“Now,” the lord continued, “I can hear God speaking to me! He’s going to reveal the true constitution to us! Quiet!”
The crowd fell silent as powerful electromagnetic waves descended from Heaven, burnt his hair and communicated to his little brain the most beautiful constitution known to mankind. He faithfully recited it to his faithful followers.
OF THE UNITED ESTATES OF AMERIKA
- Amerika is a land of governments and corporations that you, the people, shall love, trust and support with your money and blood, for they have the natural tendency and the natural right to enslave, exploit, abuse, rape, rob, injure, poison and kill you.
- God gave Amerikans bosses and rulers to obey, so if you don’t like this arrangement, you can go to Hell.
- The government is God’s immortal incarnation on Earth, and the immortal corporations are his angels, and if you don’t like this arrangement, try taking them to court.
- You must buy, lease or rent land to stand on, homes to live in, clothes to wear, and machines or animals that can move your bodies, and you must pay for iGods and angels to do your thinking, and you must buy drugs and menstrual pads and hire doctors, dentists and plastic surgeons to fix your bodies, whatever color or sex they might be, for they are all equally defective. If you don’t like this arrangement, try taking God to court.
- You will be screwed by the laws and by the courts, and you will learn to love it.
- If you cannot afford anything, work harder; if you can’t find enough work or work that pays well enough, you deserve to be in Hell.
- If you don’t want to work, become a politician, a boss, an investor, a priest, or someone else with the right to screw your brothers and sisters.
- The natural rights of powerful predators must be respected, for without them the poor would multiply like rabbits, consume the living planet and create Hell on Earth.
- If life’s getting you down, you can always go to Hell.
- Respect this Constitution and you will earn the right to hear God’s lovely metronome and see God’s lovely ruler.
After hearing their lord recite this true and authentic Amerikan Constitution, his followers considered beating the shit out of him, but being peaceful Amerikans, they just told him he was very funny but if he wasn’t careful he would soon be in a mental hospital. He responded by praying for God’s love upon them, but I thought that was silly and instead struck them all 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 were informed that Chuck had attempted to start a revolution, they tossed him in a mental hospital, the kind without stairs and corners so that no one can get hurt. Other revolutionaries were already there and warmly greeted him.
“Hey, brother! Welcome to paradise!”
“Thanks. Hey, are you sure we’re in paradise?”
“Sure! We never work and everything is free!”
That was true. Can’t deny that. And Chuck took full advantage. He partied all day and every day until God made him feel guilty about wasting his talents and not doing his job to fulfill his destiny. Then Chuck ran to the priest across the hall and begged his help contacting God. The priest snorted, “The Boss doesn’t have time for mere mortals. You’d have to cry ‘Rape!’ to get his attention.”
Chuck kissed him with gratitude, tore off his undies and ran down the hall shrieking, “Rape! Rape!”
Fortunately, no one paid much attention. No one except Gordon Miholë, the genius living down the hall in the so-called “penthouse.” His door had not opened in many years, but now it thundered open and an enormous, grey-bearded man with translucent skin emerged carrying a limp pink balloon. “Who’s asking to be raped?” he shouted. “Bring her to me and her prayer shall be answered!”
Chuck fled. The priest shouted it was just a joke, but Chuck wasn’t laughing. He rushed to the library to hear audio books explaining suicide techniques and found Penny in the 200s. There she lay, face down on the chief psychiatrist so she could get an early leave. Poor Chuck touched her shoulder and exclaimed, “Mom, I want to kill myself!”
Freeing her tongue from the man’s lips, she answered, “Why? Did you wet your bed again?”
“Mom! I want a face-to-face talk with God! He’s ignored me long enough! Do you think you or your doctor can help me die?”
“Try overdosing on some weed, son. That always works for me,” said the lecherous shrink.
“That’s good advice,” said Penny.
Chuck thanked them, went home and cooked up a cauldron of marijuana. He flew higher than the sky, but he did not see God. He was pretty pissed off for having wasted an entire day, so he consulted his sister. She offered this sage advice: “Brother, if you want to go to Heaven, just visit the mall and shout that Jesus is a commie bastard who sucked tits and says Heaven looks like Disneyland, and tell them that Muhammad was a feminist and that Martin Luther King said Santa will never bring gifts to black or Jewish kids!”
“Wow! Thanks, Bitch!”
Chuck flew to the mall and did his best to offend the crowd, but the results were disappointing. Bitch had underestimated Amerika’s love and understanding, especially during the Christmas season. When crowds of shoppers heard Chuck repeat his sister’s curses, insults and blasphemies, they politely laughed and clapped and 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 in the hope that he would be mauled to death by a cougar or a rabid beaver. Sadly, the following morning he woke on a cold doorstep because a resident child thoughtlessly cried, “Mommy, look what Santa brought! Can I have him? Can I?”
The single mother ran to the door and realized her daughter was not petting a puppy but a bearded man. She yanked her child away, bolted the door and called the cops. Feeling rejected, Chuck dragged his heels back to the derelict church and climbed onto the altar. Penny sarcastically inquired whether or not he had found God.
“Eat me, mother!” Chuck snapped.
Penny softened her voice, “Dear, it was just a joke. But if you’re really set on finding God, 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.”
“He’s your boss, not mine. I wouldn’t work for an egomaniac. Chuck, on our first night he drove me in a rusty Ford Mustang to an old barn in Boonieville. He said he needed my uterus because he wanted to make the most amazing baby in the history of the universe. I was still too young to know what a uterus was but I was damn sure I didn’t want his baby, so I gave him a condom and then he insulted my I.Q., my D.N.A. and my ass. Anyway, that’s why I’m here, living with the Devil in God’s house, I guess.”
Chuck looked across the room.
“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. The name gives it away. We can start tomorrow.”
“Don’t mention it. 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?”
“Well, maybe you didn’t have the right stuff!” Damn bravely argued. Then he turned to my boy, “Kid, show yer mamma how yer gonna convince the Boss to love Amerika, Afros, Commies, Unionists, Squints, Feminists, Sheits and every member of the Devil’s brood!”
Chuck beamed. Chuck was ready. Chuck didn’t quite know what to do, but after he took a deep breath—to his own surprise—he exhaled the most lyrical prayer ever sung on Earth:
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 heads,
And for this they never pay a cent!
Oh, they really don’t appreciate,
They just depreciate,
They don’t appreciate,
Your effort and your overhead.
But please relax, don’t fret,
I’ll pay the nation’s debts.
My love will warm your soul
And reignite your inner coal,
And in the desert of your loneliness,
I will fertilize your heart’s emptiness,
And you shall reap rows of lettuce,
The lettuce of love,
The lettuce of blahblahblah…11
His sister clapped and cried, “The Boss is gonna love you! That song could make a woman menstruate.”
Well, I do declare, that is the only true thing she ever said. Clearly, Chuck needed thousands of hours of singing lessons and a few operations, but I didn’t have the time, so Chuck mysteriously died on the operating table.
Much to my surprise, even without Chuck’s singing, Amerika gave me a splitting headache. Too many greedy mouths complained that the immortals were growing mightier and richer while the masses grew weaker and poorer. The Devil was undermining the Constitution. She was sneaking around, telling Amerika that everyone has the right to live in Heaven on Earth. So, they rioted on the streets and threatened to quit my churches and malls unless I returned their hero.
Desperate to avoid another economic crisis, President Angel contacted Damn and told him to talk Penny into quickly creating a new and improved Chuck.
“Good idea,” he whispered into his iGod. “But not now. Penny’s got a terrible vaginal infection.”
Angel corrected him, “It’s only the common cold. Some women get it down there.”
Damn blessed Me and quickly woke Penny with his little love organ. She groaned, sleepily pushed him away and muttered with her eyes shut, “You old pig! Put that thing away! You got me pregnant twice—that’s one time more than I wanted, and Charles [Chuck?] was our punishment! Don’t you dare infect me again!”
“Penny, Chuck isn’t a disease!” he protested.
“Oh no? For nine months I was sick with him. And, he made the milk in my breasts curdle!”
“Honey, I swear, your next—I mean our next boy will be better.”
“He couldn’t be any worse.”
“Don’t give up so quickly. You have the power to create heroes and saviors! Oh, Penny, you mustn’t waste God’s gift to the world.”
With those words he could have seduced an angel, but Penny wasn’t buying his hotdog.
“Go to the next village and ask the women there to help you make a second Frankenstein.”
“Can I at least suck your nipples?”
Obviously, that conversation was going nowhere. So, I decided to give the original Chuck a second chance, so against my better judgement, a trillion angels reassembled every atom of Chuck’s body, inserted his soul in the appropriate hole, and carried him home.
 Parents were very creative in those days.
 This phone number connects to the CIA. Please do not call and ask for an interview, not unless you really want one.
11 My apologies. “Blahblahblah” is a sloppy quotation by any standard, but the editors did not want to further embarrass their hero.