Ch. 2, Pure Bollocks

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 The neighbors should have taken the hint and removed them all, but those idiots said vandalism was protected by some outdated constitution!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:


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[1], 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.


God’s Job

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[2] 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.


Destiny’s Child

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:

Yes I Can!

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.


Moses and the Bullies

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:


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.




  1. 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.
  2. God gave Amerikans bosses and rulers to obey, so if you don’t like this arrangement, you can go to Hell.
  3. 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.
  4. 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.
  5. You will be screwed by the laws and by the courts, and you will learn to love it.
  6. 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.
  7. 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.
  8. 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.
  9. If life’s getting you down, you can always go to Hell.
  10. 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.


The Madhouse

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.


Another Bad Performance

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.”

“Thanks, Dad!”

“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:

A Divine Serenade

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.


The Failed Second Coming

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.


The End


[1] Parents were very creative in those days.

[2] 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.

Ch. 3, Our Hero Gets a Second Chance

When Chuck knew he was alive again, he vowed to commit irreversible suicide, but before he could overdose on organic fruit, a shining drone swooped down from Heaven, smashed a second hole in the church roof, upset the roosting pigeons and cracked on the floor. Out rolled the Sunday edition of the Washington Wisdom. Chuck was supposed to read it and find God’s message in the classified section; but, he wasn’t very good at interpreting divine signs, so he simply took the paper to the bathroom and wiped his ass with each one of its 100 pages!

Well, I’m not a quitter. A second inter-continental drone smashed through a stained window and dropped five copies of the Washington Wisdom on Chuck’s head. The coincidence of two drones striking 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 stupid roof. This one beat Chuck over the head with the Washington Wisdom before releasing the paper on his lap. He grabbed it and 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 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 and commented, “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 ask for a prophet of 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 and cried, “I knew it! I knew I had a purpose in this universe! I am the Prophet of Love! My destiny is calling me to bring the message of love to Washington!”

“And when are you going to give me the message of love?” cried Jenny, his needy, nagging girlfriend sitting naked on the padded altar.

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “You have my promise that I will marry you when I become president of the country!”

She asked with a fiendish smile, “Will you ask for my consent before you marry me?”

“Only if your boyfriends approve.”

“You mean my father.”

“Same thing.”

Sometimes the truth hurts. So, the vengeful bitch 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. When I think of how put me to sleep with your vows and boasts I want to sleep again. Washington doesn’t know what’s coming!” Then she grabbed him and kissed him so hard that he felt his soul fly away[1].


The Pilgrimage to Washington

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, and even before he could ask for shelter, millions of people said, “Be my guest!” He didn’t rebuff this display of Amerikan hospitality. During his journey, hundreds kind supporters gave him their microwaved meals, their home movies, their nagging wives and their inflatable beds. In true Amerikan spirit, everyone treated him like family and called him bro, pops, dude, buddy, and so on. And he was the perfect guest, for he even kept the custom of the land and did not pollute the hosts’ toilet. He always relieved himself elsewhere, usually in public libraries and bookstores.

Of course, he didn’t accept every invitation. There were simply too many. And the invitations he received from millions of homosexuals genuinely frightened him, so, by way of compromise he allowed them to touch him in the streets and thanked God that those did not carry him off to their caves.

Between marches, in the parks, Lord FreeLuv shone like the Sun and loved to sing a Serenade to God and more of 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 Amerika great again.”

Of course, he did much more than toss kind words to his fans. On one occasion, he rubbed the Statue of Liberty with the organ of his love. This bold display of affection caused the statue to come to life and to throw off her robes and sing, “MY CHAINS CANNOT HOLD ME! OH LORD, YOUR love MAKES ME FEEL ALIVE!” Then, in a fit of excitement, Lady Liberty plunged into the ocean, and as she tried to swim back home, to France, she sank straight to Hell because that’s where all her kind belong forever and ever.

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.

Well, a few exceptions existed. A least one jealous investigative reporter dared to ask, “Who the Hell are you and where the Hell do you think you’re going?”

Untroubled by this rudeness, the lord 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 handing him a map with directions to Hollywood. Luckily, it didn’t matter. Halfway across the country, the lord was interviewed by the producers of the popular television show, Amerika’s Got Love. They liked his style so much, they put him on stage and let him sing Amerika’s favorite political song by the Christian rockers, The Piper’s Dues:

The Word of God

Baby, if you ain’t got no credit

Relax! I’m gonna be our president,

With my love, I’ll make flowers grow

In the hearts of every enemy

Hiding in the deserts of the Congo, Mexico,

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 military occupations,

From consumer bets and nasty debts.

Yeah, when I be our president,

I’ll turn the nation’s depression

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 the wondered why God didn’t arrange to make him president forever and ever and ever.


A Cold Reception

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 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, so 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.”

Olyshit trembled and cried, “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.”

Then, by the grace of God, Olyshit relaxed, believed and beamed with delight. Then, he rushed back to deliver the good news to President Angel.


A Political Musical

According to reliable reports, Lord FreeLuv travelled uninvited to Washington D.C., where President Angel had a few signs altered so that the lord would go to the Capitol instead of the White House. The trick worked, and knowing that it would, he filled the Capitol with poor farmers suffering from dementia and unlikely to vote for anyone new. Lord FreeLuv hardly noticed and calmly waited as the president, who was quite drunk, stumbled through what was supposed to be a deeply moving and perfectly logical speech:

“My fellow time travelers and cosmic twins, thank you for not forgetting to make time for this important time and for locating your chairs in a timely manner. First, please be aware that we have a strict policy against audible farts and other senseless sounds. Thirdly, I wish to inform you that I had a wonderful breakfast last night and nearly choked on my sausage when I saw the president’s yacht, Wet Dream, sinking like a ship in quicksand. ‘Something has to be done,’ I told my wife over wine. She said I was over-reacting, that our government will save the world, for it is brimming with parental love for all. Indeed, like my own father, our noble leader in political Heaven, otherwise known as Washington, which has an excellent football club, whose captain, I think you know his name, continues to provide all our needs, giving us water to swim in, booze to drink, air to blow and yakety yak. I will never let any of my sailors drown unless they have been convicted of witchcraft, economic treason, or excessive greed. Greed is anti-Amerikan! Greedy, acquisitive spirits are like swimmers laden with gold, stone mansions, racks of clothes and towers of useless knowledge. They will upset their ships and drown. But don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean that your president is a perfect captain, but the economic storms we enjoy on account of him have brought us closer together. Our crises have produced heartwarming rallies and invigorating riots, not to mention some very memorable scuffles, fisticuffs and hiccups. As we are a sport-loving nation, let’s unite our or forces, draw our pencils and weapons and fight the black hole of debt until it slinks away in terror!”

As he finished this slightly misguided speech to a snoring audience, a brilliant light approached. It was FreeLuv was striding towards him to deliver the shining truths that all Amerikans hungered for. Taking the stand before the drowsy but waking congregation, he began: “My dear friends, please pay no attention to this teller of nursery rhymes and lullabies. President Angel is an awful clown. For the last twenty years, he has turned Amerika into a joke and secretly done everything in his power to turn this great country into an amusement park, which shouldn’t surprise us, after all, his real name is Walt Disney! Yes, I swear to God, I have seen him talk to animals and pray to his fairy godmother!”

These little white lies won the audience’s attention, so Lord FreeLuv seized the moment and resumed:

“The honorable Mr President can talk until Doomsday about economic progress, but it’s all angel shit. We cannot afford to be a coast-to-coast Disney-nation! President Angel is flushing Amerika down the proverbial toilet of bottomless debt and shame, but I am here to clog that toilet forever!”

Everyone laughed. Even the president and his father laughed—but they laughed at him.

“My friends, God has heard your curses and expressly sent me to save our country with a new currency, the currency of love!”

The crowd had lost interest and didn’t respond, but the president politely demanded a demonstration of the lord’s love powers. So the lord amazed everyone as he dropped strings of divinely inspired words like jewels in a pool of crystalline water:

An Economic Love Song

The economy sucks,

That’s what your mamma always said!

And it’s true, the economy sucks,

But don’t cry,

Your tears are worthless.

Try a little harder,

Bend over, be a better worker,

Then you’ll see,

Eventually you’ll receive

All the love you can dream of,

Trust me.

These inspirational lines drove the crowd crazy. No one had ever heard such meaningful words before, so everyone begged for a second verse, and they challenged him to sing like a rapper. Luckily, God was feeling patient and generous, so he pulled the lord’s strings and made him rap these jewels of truth around the necks of his 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.

I swear, you hear,

I’ll save you from financial drought,

From the funeral director,

And the debt collector.

I’ll be the sweetest sugar daddy,

Just wait and see.

Trust me.

Seated beside Damn Bollocks, was the reclusive Professor Zacharin. He was the lord’s long-lost brother, but he did not know that, so he wondered why the lord was so ugly and yet so familiar.

Everyone else in the Capitol enjoyed the lord’s singing. The old goats fell from their seats and hollered for even more exciting displays of wisdom. Eager not to disappoint, Lord FreeLuv replied, “The hour of love is near! If I succeed, Amerika WILL KISS MY ASS—WITH GRATITUDE!”

His fans cheered, blew kisses and almost had orgasms. They had never heard such exquisite words and rousing sentences.


The Poop of Luv

Damn Bollocks shouted above the crowd, “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 smiled and quietly replied, “I will now give you the economic miracle and the love you deserve, but you must promise to share the bounty of my love.”

“We will give the poor as much as they deserve,” said the elders of Washington, and the lord believed that they meant well. Then, at last, he gave the world the greatest gift it had ever received. He closed his eyes. He squatted and hummed. He alternately relaxed and strained like a man giving birth to Heaven. Then his magic booty trembled with waves of electrifying, uncontrollable and unheard of luv energy until … until he exploded with luv and 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 generous Fed’s digits and with 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.

Not one dullard bothered to read. Everyone fought like a greedy kid on Christmas morning, grabbing as much luv as possible, stuffing it into pockets and mouths while Lord FreeLuv’s limp body was rushed away on a trolley.

Then the show took an unexpected turn. A rope came snaking through the blue-domed roof and down came President Angel disguised as Lord FreeLuv! From the floor, he gestured majestically, laughing, “Ho, ho, ho, how does Amerika like its loan?”

Moolah Bro Zacharin was simply ecstatic: “Lord FreeLuv, with this, we can do anything!”

He nodded, saying, “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 your names or put your fingerprints here,” he kindly explained as he handed them a contract outlining the excellent terms of their new relationship. “If you dullards don’t sign this social contract, no one will accept your credit, President Angel will not take you to Heaven and your bodies will return to the dust they were created from.”

So, everyone happily signed with their own blood and got what they deserved. Honestly, it really was the most amazing Christmas ever.

[1] Another example of premature soul ejection, a phenomenon that has absolutely nothing in common with premature ejaculation. Fortunately, the lost soul was located and returned to its owner.

[2] Luv, the global currency of choice.

Ch. 4, Life after Lord Dreamy

President Angel used his money to build a luxurious Luv Mansion for Chuck Bollocks as well as to pay for some secret interior renovations for the White House. The old-fashioned walls were replaced by the open-concept style so that anyone inside the building could always see the president from any point. All was well until, after yet another late-night celebration in the Executive Bedroom, while everyone was asleep, Olyshit shattered the night, screaming, “The end is near! The end is here! Someone flushed Amerika down the Burning Bunny Hole while God stood by, laughing at us because all the luv in the world cannot save us!

When they realized it was a dream, President Angel demanded an interpretation from the esteemed professor and White House resident, Moolah Bro Zacharin.

Zach cautiously 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 that with the good lord in our control we have nothing to fear.”

Liar! Through the fires of the BBH, entropy will consume the material world unless the lord gives us more, more, more luv!” cried Olyshit in a fresh attack of hysteria.

Grand Doofus Arrears added, “Forget it! We owe our creditors a billion trillion zillion and they say our luv is worthless crap. Now they’re demanding our flesh and blood instead!”

“They are bluffing! No one can resist our luv!” declared President Angel as he poked Olyshit’s wounded ass and added, “Isn’t that right, Alack-amad?”

Alack-amad Olyshit whimpered.

The Grand Doofus disagreed with the president: “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 Lord FreeLuv to serve him some wild bunny meat.

“Shame on you, Zach!” the president cried. “Stop thinking with your stomach! We’re immortals and don’t need food! We cows, inhale oceans and devour planets for fun, and our factories are manufacturing new flavors and textures every hour of the day. Would you like to try my deep fried angel cake?”

Zach felt nauseous and discreetly 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 cannot come to us, we will bring our luv to them, even to the most remote ship, even to the foolish ones who are sailing away because of some bad luck like a gash in their hull as they tried to dock in our harbor, or a smoldering deck because they were struck by lightning from one of our clouds.”

The Grand Doofus dreamily murmured, “I think we should leave all the aliens alone unless they ask for it.”

“What about their women?” asked Zacharin. “You know they’re so much better for us than Amerikan women.”

Zacharin! You traitor! I’ll have you thrown into one of our women’s prisons for that vicious lie!”

“Mister President, I didn’t mean to include your bitch! She’s awesome!” cried Zacharin before he begged forgiveness on his knees.

“Hey,” said the Grand Doofus, “let’s build the first color peekaboo satellite so Angel can save all the money he’s wasting on black-and-white porn!”

The president snorted but Chief Economist Alack-amad Olyshit laughed so hard the bed squeaked and Vice Doofus Broke feared another crash and cried, “We need infrastructure repairs! This bed is about to break!”

President Angel acknowledged the urgency of their predicament and admitted that a crash was imminent. He roundly declared, “The time has come to focus on the home front! Let’s invest in bedroom and general home development. We’ll turn every Amerikan town and city into the promised Disneyland!”

Zacharin was so happy he kissed him.

The Grand Doofus Arrears mused, “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 nearly died fearing another divine judgement.


Hate Poetry

Although almost anything could be done with luv, those who possessed it did nothing with it, tucked it away under their beds and forgot it existed, so the economy continued struggling and ordinary, luvless Amerikans got so impatient they began wasting their creative talents on composing hate poems about the greatest prophet to ever grace Amerika. Here’s an example of their vicious hatred:

A Political Protest

What kind of hero was that jerk?

Jesus Christ, he never did one minute’s work!

His job, he thought it was to rob!

That corrupt, inhuman fraud!

He was a dud, and worse,

That giant parasite taxed our blood,

Made us build a lovely Hell

From which he profited far too well!

For for our sweat he gave us shit,

For which his ass should be kicked!

Another vile pile of rhymes was composed by an evil and very rich seven-year-old girl who ruled Amerika’s entertainment industry. Her soul was hijacked by a perfectly diabolical spirit that inspired him to write the most offensive lyrics ever conceived. With great concern for your defenseless souls, I have reproduced the daughter of Satan’s lyrics for you 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,

Having sex

With the birds and the bees.

Thank God, Amerikans rarely understand what their singers, actors and authors say. They mostly interpret everything in the way that most pleases them, so they never notice my bad spells and misplaced comas. In fact, they are sooo good at ignoring the lines that whenever someone insults them those idiots think God is joking or testing their ability to read between the lines. They don’t even consider mistakes evidence of idiocy; instead, they interpret them as reasons to try harder at being idiots. And why not? After all, they are the chosen people—the people chosen to make God rich and sore from laughing.


A Lack of Luv

Lord FreeLuv had given his luv to all who deserved it, but millions of lazy citizens didn’t understand that. They thought they deserved the same as the honorable men of Capitol, so when the poor mob got nothing, a nasty faction began refusing to pay taxes, mortgages and rents. They even threatened to never pay a cent until they were happy with the services their governments, banks and landlords provided.

In a televised court case, their infamous leader, the evil professoress of bull crap, Pipi Deweydink, published a manifesto calling on all Amerikans to “Fuck the Constitution! Stop living like battery-powered slaves and start living like the wild and free animals that you are!”

The nation’s foremost judges condemned P.D.’s writings to Hell and issued public mental health warnings against reading them. However, this only drew more attention to them. The Devil’s readership grew and many Amerikans began seeking forbidden knowledge and investigating their roots. Some even learned to insult God and his dear wife by believing they were created when God’s wife, who they call Almighty Bitch, had sexual intercourse with a bald, bulbous-nosed ape.

Unfortunately, this story inspired the so-called Amerikan Renaissance—a movement to revive satanic ape traditions. They abandoned their marvelous cars and pretty homes and bounced in the dirt and wherever their stupid hearts desired. I bawled my eyes out. Oh, how I wept to see all the gifts and benefits of God’s civilization forgotten, cast away like a soggy handkerchief.


Washington Gets a Facelift

While Amerika’s economy went south, every Sunday faithful Democrats and Republicans prayed for Lord FreeLuv to give them a second luv transfusion. But some prayed for more handsome heroes, and Moolah Bro Zacharin remarked in frustration, “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 to our country?”

“I think,” began White House clown, Damn Bollocks, “Midas turned Amerika into a land made of money. Now, Apple, Fox, Shit, Word, Amazon, and DiCk are not what they should be, so yesterday I saw my son trying to order some shit from the Amazon and afterwards he tried to eat his iGod.”

Then the White House poet said, “In Amerika, nothing is real! D.C. is a desert of mirages and all politicians are illusions whose words are gusts of wind. Boohoo! I fear no one will ever think of saving us.”

Chief Economist Olyshit disagreed: “No one will come, not even our lord, not unless we overcome our homophobic fears and learn to love the lord.”

President Angel dismissed all their worries and assured them that Amerika was better off without Lord FreeLuv. But his guests didn’t even hear him. They were listening to the Petite Devils, a terrifying Middle Eastern band that sang the following lyrics:

Oh, Amerika, you let me down,

And by “me” I mean

The whole damn world!

Amerika, your army of love

Was supposed to conquer the world!

You told all the girls on Earth

You possess the very best

The warmest and nicest

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 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.

President Angel finally felt so desperate that he asked Moolah Bro Zacharin if he could bring Lord FreeLuv back to Washington, but that moron didn’t hear him either, for he was listening to some country-bimbo singing the following blues verses:

Oh, my heart aches so

For the president of my soul.

Where is he?

Did the president of my heart

Vaporize like a fart?

Where did he go? Where did my love go?

My heart is oh, oh, oh,

So lost without its sugar loaf!

Lord FreeLuv! Your love

Is my big fat welfare check!

I can’t live without your meatloaf!

Without your luv I can’t afford to feed my tummy.

Your edible money is beyond yummy,

Without it, I wanted to die.

But before I could set myself on fire,

And finally be bright, finally dead,

The voice of reason said,

“Forget FreeLuv!

Get a facelift, a titlift, an asslift,

And better boys will run!”

Chief Economist Alack-amad Olyshit saw the president contemplating these deep meaning hidden in these lyrics and opined: “What nonsense! We don’t have money for lifts! Praying’s all we can afford. But, 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 nodded, “Indeed, and I could use a few good men like them here. However, Zach has a point. Washington is so ugly it couldn’t interest an old dog. If we want fresh talent, we need to transform this old whore into a princess.”

Everyone enthusiastically agreed. So, Washington went deeper into debt giving itself a makeover. Its boulevards were paved with chocolate, lined with sweet grasses and sugar canes and were punctuated with fountains of champagne and roasting biomeat. The streets thronged with sheep, cows, pigs and chickens all of which offered rides, fresh eggs, milk, meat and feathers. Thus, Washington was transformed into a real princess.

But the 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, and if they had asked, they might have learned that God wanted them to turn the Capitol building into a church.


The Lord Succors the Poor

While Washington’s leaders looked for solutions, Lord FreeLuv, so, feeling ignored and unappreciated, retreated to an 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, a beast snuck into the Luv Mansion and tiptoed into the master’s room, and without warning she tore his underwear off with her teeth and screamed, “YOU LAZY BUM! WHY DIDN’T I GET ANY LUV?”

Desperately covering his privates and shifting to the edge of the bed, the lord replied, “I’m sorry! Maybe you didn’t earn my luv! Have you ever thought of that?”

“Earn? Earn your luv? Why should I earn what others received for nothing?”

“That’s not true. Everyone in that crowd was carefully chosen by God for being beautiful and for their love of sharing.”

The beast laughed, “The elderly in Amerika? They’re beautiful?” Then the vicious beast grabbed his leg and tried to pull him nearer while her mouth continued savaging the truth: “Amerika’s elderly are monstrous and very long in the tooth!” Then she bit his milky-white calf and while he shrieked and bleated in terror she continued, “And the older they are the greedier they are! My ancient father didn’t give me a dime! But I don’t care! I don’t want his second-hand luv! I want the lord’s fresh luv!”

Lord FreeLuv grabbed an armful of blankets, buried his head in the pile and gave a muffled scream, “Go away! I’m all luved out!”

But the demon would not take no for an answer. She ripped the blankets from his arms and pressed her sweaty body against his backside and drooled in his ears, “You’re the prophet of luv and the president of our hearts—that’s what they say in all the women’s magazines. They say your luv will save all women from slaving and sweating over our hellish stoves and ovens!”

Chuck mumbled, “But my luv is the worst kind of heat.”

“No, it’s a nice kind of heat,” the monstrous beast teased and chuckled. “I can feel the heat of your luv. It’s the good kind of heat that can spread and that you could also extinguish, couldn’t you, my little fireman?” She coaxed him mercilessly. What could the lord do against such tactics? The devil did not play fair and easily overcame the lord’s angelic nature and got her free luv—although it wasn’t quite free, since FreeLuv literally didn’t lift a finger.

Who on Earth was that beast? Oh, I don’t want to heap more fuel on the flaming scandal, but I think her name was Jenny. Her surname I don’t recall, but she was very good in bed. Could sleep for hours with anyone … literally.


The Forbidden Passage

After the lord was defiled and befouled by the Devil’s slave, more devils came, and the lord exhausted himself and finally longed to escape. Death seemed like the quickest solution, but he was pretty sure God would kick his ass right back to life. “Well, if I can’t manage to stay dead in Heaven,” he thought, “at least I can hail a ship and go abroad. Plenty of foreigners are begging for an Amerikan hero to help them have more luv than they’ve had in their wildest dreams.” So, the traitor abandoned his country. He packed his bag and brought the religion of Luv abroad, to the poor, ugly and frankly undeserving foreigners of the world.

Ch. 5, The Gift of Luv

Shopping for Luv

On the night before Muhammadmas[1], Amerikans learned that Lord FreeLuv had been kidnapped by the evil Osama Bin Laden. Strangely, except for tens of millions of homosexuals, most Amerikans didn’t shed a tear. One notable exception was a group of silly female interns known inside political circles as the Bunnies. When they learned of the lord’s kidnapping, they invited Osama to discuss the lord’s release over lunch. But Osama politely declined and texted, “I need him more than you do. You see, the lord and I are busy building the most loving foreign relationship the world has ever seen!!!”

Of course, the jealous Bunnies could not tolerate such unfairness and solemnly vowed to fulfill their own dream. They even hired renowned adventurist, Professor MB Zacharin, to help them capture their lord and hero. The professor was very progressive and immediately insisted that the expedition be done seated in a vehicle. After all, really exciting adventures don’t happen on foot. But, sadly, they could only afford a crappy Chinese solar-biofuel-powered Tornado, a biodegradable submarine named the Minnow, or a spherical, organic green and blue minibus. So, on Zach’s advice, the girls opted for the minibus. Everything was looking up until they attempted to pay and the damn salesperson rejected their money!

“Excuse me!” Zacharin flashed a fistful of dough. “This is Amerikan luv! It’s accepted around the world!”

The salesperson laughed, so Zach called LEO (the Luv Enforcement Organism, or police), and in no time they arrived. After a short tussle, the dealership staff—none of whom could speak Amerikan—was arrested and sentenced to a very nice prison in Mexico, where the rates for prison cells were much better. Meanwhile, in return for their emotional abuse, Zach and the Bunnies legally borrowed one of the dealership’s vehicles, a giant minibus fully loaded with air, water, food and beds.

At this point, the Bunnies should have begun their search for Lord FreeLuv, but they didn’t. Being females, they naturally drove their minibus to New Eden[2]. Granted, New Eden is the most amazing shopping center on Earth; its boutiques are heavenly. Anyway, Lord FreeLuv wasn’t dying any time soon. Of course, even women can grow sick of shopping, and so it happened that, after a few weeks, the Bunnies started to feel lonely, bored, dissatisfied and irritable. Zacharin felt even worse. He even prayed for help, and God took pity on him and replied, “Silence their lust with battery-powered replicas of one of their beloved all-Amerikan heroes. You can find them on sale at the nearest sex shop. And hey, you’re in one right now.”

Zach laughed at his luck. A variety of fake heroes were available, but he insisted on a dozen FreeLuv replicas.

“Why him?” asked the clerk.

“I like the color white. Got a problem with that?”

“No, sir, but haven’t you heard the news? FreeLuv betrayed Amerika and is only interested in his own welfare. Nowadays he spends all his time with foreigners. Says Amerika is a circus of psychopaths!”

Zacharin and the Bunnies didn’t believe a word of it. They truly loved Lord FreeLuv. The clerk, not understanding their feelings, said, “Cheer up. Amerikan heroes come and go. Before FreeLuv, there was Luke Soilwalker and George Washtub, and who remembers them now? So stop worrying. Tomorrow, you’ll be happy with someone else. Look, have you ever seen Moolah Bro Z?” he asked, showing them a sexy replica of their leader. Then, with evil twinkling in his eyes, the clerk added, “He vibrates when you call him, and he puts out when you squeeze him.”

The Bunnies were sold. They melted with desire. They bought several sexy Zacharin replicas for a small fortune. But they were greatly disappointed. No matter how lovingly they caressed or squeezed their rubbery replicas, their little lords wouldn’t give them any luv­. So, they stuffed them into a recycling bin. I think they should have bought some batteries before acting so hastily.


Osama’s Credit Cards

Now the Bunnies were broke. Plenty of people offered to feed and shelter them, but they had pride, so they went digging for gold in Yellowstone National Park. I guess they didn’t know that gold was useless and that real money is printed. If they had spent less time adventuring and more time in school, they would have learned that Lord FreeLuv was not buried in Yellowstone but was doing God’s work in Haiti, China, Mexico, and Russia. Millions embraced him and converted to the Amerikan way, but his string of successes ended at the Persian Gulf, where the greedy, hateful Osama Bin Laden flatly refused a direct deposit of luv and demanded all the lord’s credit cards. To this excessive demand, the lord replied, “You don’t want them. Trust me, credit cards are the keys to Hell.”

“Nonsense,” replied Osama.

“All credit cards are from the Devil,” the lord warned.

“That’s scary stuff.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” said the lord, as he reached into his back pocket and extracted two negative-interest-rate credit cards. Giving them, he asked, “What do you plant to buy with them? Guns and bombs?”

“Manual dildos, actually,” said smileless Osama. “And I’ll mail them to every Amerikan woman.”

“Manual dildos? Why?”

“So that Amerikan women will finally enjoy independence, freedom from pregnancy, liberation from bad sex and the destruction of Amerika!”

“Oh my, you certainly are an ambitious and dastardly cunningly and evil mastermind.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, Osama, if you’re not married yet, you could easily use those cards to get yourself some serious luv.”

Osama laughed, “I’m already married to forty Amerikan women! That’s how many I need to be happy. Hey, do these Amerikan credit cards have spending limits?”

“Of course not. Amerika’s luv for you will always be unconditional and infinite.”

Osama thanked him again. Then he threw the lord overboard. The flailing lord threatened to kill himself for leading so many innocent people into debt and temptation. To this, Osama replied, “You yellow idiot! Can I help you remove your lifejacket?”

The lord said he needed no help and skillfully removed his lifejacket. Though this was extremely and even unforgivably undignified behavior, by God’s grace, the lord’s handsome body was found in the Gulf, floating and still breathing.


Art in the White House

When the news spread that Osama had killed Lord FreeLuv, Zach and the Bunnies cried and were invited to receive condolences at the White House. However, upon their arrival, no one seemed to know why they had come, and they themselves had completely forgotten their intention, so bedazzled were they by the excellent art on display in the White House. Noting their interest, resident White House art historian Mr Charles Oxenbull gave his visitors the most learned, and incredible descriptions of the most famous pieces.

First, Oxenbull took the visitors to a painting by former President Washington. It was known as “That Damned Revolution Nearly Killed Me.” It portrayed a Buddhist, a Muslim, a Hindu, a Christian, a Sikh, a Jewish and a Chinese immigrant fighting a headless, thousand-armed monster who wanted to stop Amerika’s destiny to become rich. All the fighters were armed with books, probably law books, which they threw at their enemies. Another bit of cleverness was that all their faces bore an uncanny resemblance to Washington’s face. Apparently, Washington prophesied a world in which all mortal creatures are equals.

The next masterpiece was an excellent oil painting signed by former President Jackson. It portrayed his favorite philosophers, Plato and Aristotle, sporting crowns and halos and armed with silver crosses that doubled as swords. With these weapons, they joined General Jackson in a battle against the hostile heathen, Wounded Knee, a terrible liar who used his name as an excuse not to kneel before God. After they captured Wounded Knee by simply flashing their swords, they converted him to the civilized Amerikan way by forcing him to read their books. But, Wounded Knee misinterpreted everything. He imagined dark secrets hiding behind Plato’s visions of Amerikan politics and behind Aristotle’s vision of Amerikan science, so to save his soul he poked out his eyes.

A third masterpiece, painted directly on the outer walls, was by President Domenic Lincoln, the great Italian president and graffiti artist. It was called “The Exceptional War” and depicted Julius Caesar coming down from Heaven with no other weapon but his mouth, and what a mouth it was. With it, he fought against ignorance and preached the Amerikan way so that the hungry and unsettled natives would create an economy of such abundance that people would always have more stuff than they needed.

Next, Zach and the Bunnies were given an exhilarating and penetrating understanding of a beautiful painting by President Truman, the first literate and Jewish Amerikan leader. In the words of their interpreter, this painting was an enlargement of the old 100 dollar bill showing how the first Amerikans escaped from Europe, where they were horribly oppressed by bad Christians and sexually abused by naughty priests. These early pioneers settled in the promised land, Amerika, where they suffered plagues of mosquitoes, diseases, murders, wars, and harsh winters because of bad leaders.

Next, they saw President Angel’s prophetic “Triumph of President Chuck.” It portrayed my boy making peace with Death, the bane of Amerika, and leading his people over the millions of women, children and homosexuals who were ruining the country. A pulsating heart and a shining, gold and iron underwear alluded to how he defeated them without violence.

The Bunnies also viewed President Bill Bush’s prophetic mural painted on pages randomly glued to a wall and bearing the bold title, “Beware Amerika!” This stunning masterpiece depicted the little known Anti-God, an amateur blasphemer and spouter of ignorance who sported a beard, an Arabic nose, Chinese teeth, a Russian eye and a loaded pair of shorts. The Anti-God shouted in his word bubble, “Because Amerika reads plotless and pointless comics, magazines and newspapers, all its thoughtful books shall be burned! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” In the background, Amerika’s book stores and libraries already coughed up clouds of inky-black smoke and the president prayed for God to spare the Hollywood Bible, and so it was spared for a time.

The last painting was a triptych by President Walt Disney. It depicted how horrible humans spent their first few million years fighting cruel beasts and dreaming of Disneyland, a world in which all animals are friendly. However, the third panel showed a world overrun with lazy domesticated animals, spoiled princesses, cruel kings and evil stepmothers. Finally, in the middle panel, the artist portrayed Disneyworld, a world so fair that dogs feed themselves, princesses eat and turn into pumpkins and tigers are smaller than God’s ding-a-ling.

Zach and the Bunnies were deeply impressed by the creativity and imagination of Amerika’s leaders. But, they asked so many questions that Charles had to give them a pile of money to go abroad to continue their search for the ultimate soulmate, Lord FreeLuv.


Nymphomania in Hawaii

So they went abroad without realizing the dangers Amerikans face in foreign countries, for foreigners are sneaky, scheming plotters, thieves and murderers! But first, they always try to bribe and corrupt you with so-called gifts and shows of hospitality, and that’s precisely what happened. They were seduced and corrupted by “friendly” Persians, Palestinian Jews, East Koreans, Ruffians, Niggers, Pinatubons, Hellians, Eurasians, Hateans, albino Chimpanzees, Terraristanis and you name it.

After a year of being waylaid by foreign debauchers, they were so fat and satisfied that they forgot about the lord, which is precisely what the foreign scoundrels wanted, for they wanted the lord for themselves!

Fortunately, Zach was incorruptible. He would never forget his lord or abandon the Bunnies in the hands of their enemies. Determined to save their souls, he told them he knew where Lord FreeLuv was hiding, so they joined him on a flight back to Amerika, but bad winds and lack of fuel stranded them on the Devil’s playground, Hawaii. They hid in the island’s only church and trembled in fear and prayed for luv, for angels, and also for a little food and water. During the eight day of their stay in Hell, a fearsome Hawaiian tribal chief busted the door down with his head and uttered this bloodcurdling scream: “Aloha! WELCOME TO HAWAII!”

The Babes gaped at his chocolate-colored body. They were hungry enough to eat it.

“You may call me Wickedick,” he said with false friendliness. “Come, let me take you to one of our ancestral gardens. They’re all bursting with free food.”

The Babes rushed to kiss him, but Zach waved the Constitution in their faces and explained, “What are you doing? Remember the Constitution! Free stuff is death to any economy. We must pay for anything we receive!”

“But we’re broke!” they protested.

“Nonsense.” He showed them an antique gold coin minted with an image of FreeLuv’s ass on one side and an image of his pisser on the other. “This is an extremely valuable and powerful coin. Watch and see,” he said, grinning confidently. Then he gave the coin to Chief Wickedick. The chief thanked him, threw the coin away and said, “My friend, before you eat, you should drink. I’ll take you to a wondrous spring.”

Then the liar led the way to an evil spring. Seeing its sparkling water, Zach forgot the Constitution and attempted to drink the water, but the moment he approached, the spring stopped flowing.

Chief Wickedick laugh, “I thought you knew better! If you want a mountain spring to flow, you should always caress her rocks and make a joke or two,” he said, smiling.

Zach touched the mountain as best as he could and whispered how beautiful it was, and by Satan’s magic, the damned spring flowed again! But God made sure the water tasted like menstrual blood.

After Zach recovered from a bout of gagging, the evil chief convinced his guest to try a vegetable from his forbidden garden of unpackaged, uncooked and unprocessed foods. Zach knew the danger, but the devil in his stomach was a powerful devil, so he spoke to that evil plant, and he caressed its stem, and he licked the disgusting bulbous melon and then, as God forewarned, he metamorphosed into a bearded sex demon! The terrified Babes had to tie him up and drag him back to their little spaceship.


The Indian Job

After witnessing their struggle to survive without money, I agreed to help Zach and the Bunnies by offering them work making luv in Satan’s little empire in India. They bravely accepted the offer and received twelve days of training in luv marketing and sales. Their task was to sell high end luv paraphernalia that even the most miserly priest would be unable to resist.

Zach and the Bunnies were dressed for success, but to their surprise, Indians showed no interest in Amerikan luv, so they decided to package all their products in boxes covered with pictures of Lord FreeLuv’s smiling face. That made a world of difference. Suddenly, billions of Indian women abandoned their husbands and swore they wanted the real thing. In response, Satan’s deputy in India, Supreme Dictator Mahatma Nymphomania Gandhi, declared a national mental health emergency and advised all Indians to “desist from purchasing or using any luv product or service.”

When Indians continued pursuing luv, Mahatma invited Moolah Bro Zacharin to dinner. He was an excellent host until Zacharin attempted to pay for his meal. Mahatma flung the money away and screamed:

Don’t insult me with your paper garbage!

“You prefer digital luv? I could pay with my iGod, if you like.”

Mahatma grabbed Zach’s head with two hands and shook it as he pleaded incomprehensively, “Stop tempting India, Zach! We know your secret plan! We know you want to turn us into sexless slaves of the bugaboo god and his fairies! but you will fail! I will protect India’s sacred sexual energies from American corruption!

Zach squirmed free and gently replied, “Well, you’re obviously in bed with Satan. I know, she charges no one, but how many sexual diseases do you want?”

Mahatma laughed, “A dozen! That’s a nice number, don’t you agree?”

“Mahatma, didn’t your mother tell you about AIDS? You have to protect yourself, and luv is the best protection. Everything must done with luv. Every human exchange must be done through the medium of luv.”

“Does bullshit always fall from your mouth?”

“If you want God’s luv and if you want Him to bless India with real material and real spiritual progress, then you must accept his luv, earn his luv and buy his luv.”

Well, truer words were never spoken. Mahatma cried and said, “Fine! But India will only accept you luv from the hand of Lord FreeLuv!”

“You know that’s not reasonable. The lord cannot be the personal luv servant of a billion Indians!”

“So be it! Then India does not want your luv! Get out and take all your luv pushers with you!”

“I’m sorry, but I’m Amerikan and as an Amerikan I do not respect anyone’s borders. All Amerikans treat the world as if it we were a great big commune full of brothers and sisters. We don’t exclude or discriminate, and our borders really don’t exist. Nowadays, if you come without permission, we welcome you and give you chance to earn our luv by giving you job in agriculture, construction, prostitution or Hollywood. So, when we come here with our luv and with our own jobs, why shouldn’t we expect hospitality from you?”

“You want hospitality? I’ll show you hospitality! Come to my bedroom!”

Zach left without another word, but he left his wallet behind. Mahatma took the money and sent it to the National Mint, where the world’s best counterfeiters created a cheaper, generic version of luv called luv. It was indistinguishable in all ways except for this: its side-effects included callousness, blindness, erectile dysfunction, autism and sociopathy—all excellent punishments for counterfeiting.

Zach and the Bunnies earned enormous profits in India and sent much of their money home, first and foremost to provide food and shelter for their children and their parents, and later to provide them get the medical help they needed to fight several horrible diseases that originated in Asia.


Shopping for Love

By chance, the Bunnies were informed by USBS and GodsNewsNow (GNN) and the Big Bull Corporation (BBC) that Lord FreeLuv had been rescued and was now safe in Amerika, where he was hosting puritan parties at a Texan church. Desperate to meet their hero, the Bunnies rode 10,000 strong Indian men out of India, and they soon arrived in Pakistan, which they mistook for Texas, so they gave their human taxis generous tips.

In Karachi they somehow found a brand new Holy Crap!, Amerika’s favorite superstore. The clerks didn’t speak God’s English, but they read their desire from their faces and directed them to the Holy Idols aisle. So, there they went, and there they found four heroes-in-a-box. The first box had a tag that read,

Siddheārtha Guatamo, the Buddha of the Seven Crooked Penises, Wild Lover of Women. Tantricks Inc. O299.00

Breathless with excitement, they lifted the lid to have a closer look. No pornographic Buddha lay inside. But, they did find a dog turd. Shrieks of horror rang in my ears as the lid slammed shut. After catching their breath, the fools approached the next box. The tag read,

The Hero of the Harem, Abū al-Qāsim Muammad Ali. Romantrics Inc. O199.99

 The customers warily peeked inside and saw a jar labelled “Muhammad’s soul.” Beside it lay a book containing the five sonnets Muhammad sent to his secret lover, Halla. The Bunnies were tempted, but they wanted something more and proceeded to the next pretty box, which read,

The Long-Eared Superstud, Jesus Christ. Genetic Lottery Corp. O199.98

This sounded promising. Hope beat a song in their hearts. But when they lifted the lid, hope fluttered and died. The box only contained an old tube of genital lubricant. In disgust, the relentless fools rushed to the last box. The tag read,

Lord FreeLuv. Blow his ass and he makes breathtaking music. Clone Corp. O-499.99

The Bunnies were outraged. “What?! A negative price? They’re selling our lord for less than nothing? That’s an insult!”

The salesclerk was very understanding and raised the price several-fold. The Bunnies happily paid far too much and, once they were home, they tore the box open. There he was in all his glory! A life-sized replica faithful to every detail. It was their dream come true! But, something was wrong! Their hero was non-responsive! He needed batteries! The poor Bunnies couldn’t afford them, so they cursed God and donated their hero to a garbage collector.


The Chin Job

Amerika has a long history of helping the people of Chinna produce more and better luv, but no one worked harder at helping them than President Angel, who had always pitied the Chinnese because their enormous chins impede their ability to talk and make luv. He had personally sold them many medicines and contraptions to boost their luv-making powers, but all in vain.

Then, one day, the president discovered Lord FreeLuv and his astounding luv production capacity. It was a revelation. The world needed thousands and possibly millions of Lord FreeLuvs. In a clandestine operation, Amerikan female agents stole the lord’s genetic material from his penis and, in their secret laboratories, they manufactured millions of high-tech clones of the magnificent Lord FreeLuv.

These clones were known as luv factories and they ranged in size from no larger than an infant boy to dimensions larger that the White House. Each factory used biofuels such as hot-pressed olive oil and raw materials such as sugar, alcohol, cereals and rotten tomatoes. With simple inputs such as these, a Lord FreeLuv factory could produce the highest quality luv.

Chinna was the biggest market for LFL factories. The Chinnese, due to their enormous chins, had always struggled to produce enough luv for their own survival, so Amerika exported its best and biggest luv factories to them. Unfortunately, the Chinnese lacked the skills needed to operate large luv production facilities, and the Chinnese economy continued to stink.

Now, around this time that Zach and the bunnies heard rumors that Lord FreeLuv was in Chinna. So, they hired 10,000 Pakistani men to carry them to Chinna. Upon their arrival, they bade their taxis farewell and began looking for Lord FreeLuv in the country’s great cities. After days of fruitless searching, they spoke to the local women and were first laughed at, then pitied, and finally the Chinnese said, “Dear Amerikan friends, we’ll give each one of you your own Lord FreeLuv, but only after you show us how to make luv.”

“Why do you think we are experts?”

“We know all about your Amerikan education system, so we know you are all luv experts.”

Well, they couldn’t deny that. So, they went to Chinna’s idle luv factories and began sharing their knowledge and luv making skills. After a few intense weeks of training, with hard work and determination, they turned a shy and fearful country into one that produced more luv than any other on Earth.

Although the Chinnese became rich in luv, you know how greedy foreigners are. They wanted more and more profits from their manufacturing industries, so they started replacing human luv workers with robots that didn’t know anything about luv. Chinny factory owners also replaced quality materials with crap, lied about it and sold their crappy luv products to unsuspecting consumers around the world.

Amerikan consumers noticed nothing evil until President Angel appeared on a widely viewed television show and announced: “My friends, faithful consumers everywhere, if you haven’t already noticed, Chinnese-made goods stink because Chinnese are using pig shit, monkey shit, rat shit and all sorts of modified, fortified, and condensed shit. We trusted them to make good luv products for our consumption, but they are betraying us and they are injuring the global economy!”

Just how smelly was the shituation? Very smelly. In the end, a shirt manufactured in Chinna was actually made of 50% reused shit, and iGods and other high-tech devices were made of 100% reconstituted shit. Most scandalously, Chinnese foods were made of recycled shit. In short, everything from Chinna was made of shit, and Amerikans ate it, wore it and flaunted it all.

Amerikans are so tolerant and kind-hearted that they weren’t even angry when the truth became public. A war would have been justified, but President Angel declined to fight—not because the budget was broken and a major tax revolt was underway, but because he was an Amerikan, a representative of a higher moral order and an angel to boot.

[1] Formerly known as “Christmas.”

[2] Known as “New York” before Osama persuaded Europe and Amerika to try Islam. What did New Eden look like? Use your imagination. Seriously. Try it. Imagine rustic boughs of flowers, clouds dripping with coconuts and breadfruit, and kids cavorting with rabbits. Isn’t that nice? Well, that’s not it.

Ch. 6, Invest Your Luv!

After spending a year immersed in Chinese shit, the Bunnies needed Lord FreeLuv more than ever before, and the one person who could help them was their friend and retired professor of luv, Moolah Bro Zacharin. They found him in a vegan commune somewhere in Mexico, hugged and kissed him and begged him to lead another great adventure in search of Lord FreeLuv. He did everything he could to discourage them, but the Bunnies would not take no for an answer. Finally he sighed, “I suppose I’m not too old to help you look for FreeLuv one more time. But I am old, so this time you must support me. Give me all the money you earned in Asia. I’ll invest it and our monthly profits will fund the greatest adventure ever.”

He could be such a sweet talker. The Bunnies loved a man who knew what he wanted, so they gave him all their luv.


The Rapturous Revellation

Moolah Bro Zacharin sprinted down the road, approached the Church of the Celestial Booty at breakneck-speed, leapt over the waist-high bushes and assaulted the holy doors with his tongue (that’s a poetic way of saying he shouted in order to be let through the doors). Sadly, his oral assaults went ignored. Indeed, no one even bothered to laugh, not until Chief Economist Olyshit opened the door, revealing a bloody nose.

“Olyshit! Has there been another fight?”

You’re too late, Zach! The lord has already come and gone!

That was a blatant lie. The rapture had hardly started. Zach stood guiltily and nervously in the doorway. Preston, the preacher, saw the look in his eye and teased, “Come in, Zach. I know you’re looking for the lord our God. Maybe I can help.”

“Could you really?” he asked like a child.

Suddenly the great buffoon, the Grand Doofus Arrears, laughed as he stepped past them saying, “The lord gave us what we wanted and then left us like a girl all banged up and pregnant. How many millions bear the burden of debt because of his luv?”

Zacharin followed him into the garden, aghast. “You faithless unbeliever! I saw the lord in action. His ass is our only hope! Without it, we’d be broke. Now, if we invest wisely, we could be on the right side of the Boss’s accounting ledgers on Judgment Day!”

The Grand Doofus snorted, “The lord’s ass is generous to a fault! It gave us so much luv that none of our friends want it, so now it can’t even buy us a pumpkin, a sugar plum, a dumpling or even an itsy-bitsy sweat-pea.”

Moolah Bro Zacharin didn’t hear him. He was distracted by the tasty herbs and shapely blossoms in the church garden. He was so hungry he tried to eat a few while the Grand Doofus Arrears reasoned, “Luv must be earned! It’s in the Constitution! Everything must be paid for! I say we crucify Lord FreeLuv for giving luv to millions of lazy, subprime citizens like ourselves. We wasted all our luv on gold diggers and luvless prostitutes!”

Preston began to sermonize, “As it is written, ‘Once upon a time the world’s most generous man gave bags full of sugar to the hungry, and each new year he gave them more, until after seven years his sugar company was broke.’ Thus God warns us against reckless generosity.”

While the congregation clapped and cheered to hear such wisdom, Zacharin bitterly complained, “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard! Luv and sugar have nothing in common! Luv makes me strong. Did you see me run like the wind? I leapt right over that hedge,” he boasted, pointing at an ankle-high row of flowers before doing a handstand, a backflip and a cartwheel while everyone was so ashamed at this display that they covered their eyes with their wigs.

“Zach, what have you been sniffing?” the preached asked. “That load of luv he dumped on the world is a cheap substitute more harmful than heroin. FreeLuv will give us the genuine love we yearn for when we earn it,” the preacher explained.

“That’s right. The luv he gave us is crap!” added the Grand Doofus Arrears.

Zach tried to make sense of these shocking statements and finally replied, “You can call it crap, but I know that crap is manure, and manure is God’s fertilizer. It makes flowers bloom beautifully, and so it has made Amerika’s economy bloom!”


A Theophunny

President Angel came to church in a heliocopter[1] and was welcomed with a cacophony of bells and whistles as he shimmied up the pulpit.

“Mister President!” Zacharin shouted over the hubbub. “Please tell me where I should invest my luv if I want it to grow and bear fruit.”

“Zacharin, are you drunk on poetry again?”

“Is it illegal?”

“It should be! Poetry is a stinking weed! Now, any other questions?”

“Mister President,” Zach continued, “please tell me whether I should fertilize the government by buying bonds or fertilize a corporation by buying shares.”

The president grumbled. He knew Zach would not be ignored, so he answered, “Buy peaches and squash, Zach. The future is in peaches and squash.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather invest in some hot babes. Hot babes are in demand!”

“Zach, I think you should invest in me,” Preston suggested with a wicked wink. “I’ve applied to be a corporation and I’ll soon sell shares on the market.”

“You vile wench! You need help. I’ll advise you privately when I’m done here,” Angel solemnly remarked without any doublespeak before launching into the following prepared mini-sermon:

“My friends, I’ve come here today to remind you that Amerika has a manifest destiny to become great again. As your president, I work day and night to save your asses from economic winter. The lord has abandoned us, but have faith in me, your democratically elected president, for I have nearly mastered the art of producing luv in quantities large enough to get our economic engine roaring again!”

That was good news. But, as everyone hopped out of the church, the president continued, “I’m not finished! Let me show you what I can do! Come back and see how much luv I can give you! Look, by an act of will, I can now turn all the good feelings in my heart into physical luv! Watch! Hey! Zach!? Preston!

His cries went unheeded. The church was empty. The stupid congregation had hopped outdoors to begin its much anticipated church picnic.


The Evil Picnic

Although Alkyda Arrears had been warned, he chomped into a raw, unwashed African pear and immediately turned into a monkey who could barely speak English, “Wow! Dee-e-lish! Try one, Zach!”

Zacharin was already feeling intoxicated by the poisonous fragrances wafting from the garden and made little effort to hide the fact that he had his perverted finger in a zucchini blossom and was busy stirring the stigma and squeezing the ovary.

“Zacharin! Are you raping flowers now?” asked Preston.

Zacharin guiltily withdrew his finger. “Sorry. Flowers and gardens always remind me of FreeLuv. Arrears,” he said, addressing his boss, “Where should I invest my luv?”

“Zach, invest in your government. We’ll take care of you.”

“I think I’d rather invest in a pig.”

“I suppose you mean Lord FreeLuv. Well, you’ll have to find him first, and you’ll never find him if you don’t appeal to his weakness,” said Arrears with a wink.

“The lord’s belly loves big doughnuts!” Olyshit yelled as he bit into a ginger root and sweat burst from his eyes.

Zacharin was horrified. A big-bellied doughnut destroyer? He always imagined his savior peacefully snacking on tree leaves, munching evergreen needles and resembling a long-haired panda or koala.


The Psychological War

After the picnic, President Angel and his buddies met in the church to discuss the ridiculous possibility that Lord FreeLuv betrayed them for foreign friends and would never bail them out with a fresh cash infusion and that—consequently—the government would perish in a calamitous bankruptcy from which it would never ever recover. They shuddered with dread at the thought of living without a government.

“That would be the end of the world,” said the president. “The Amerikan government is God’s puppet on Earth. We do what He commands, like a shadow government, while He remains safely out of sight, for if He didn’t, his brilliance would burn our eyes. I … what point was I trying to make?”

“That we should wear sunglasses in Church!” some stupid kid quipped.

“Now I remember. Citizens are like sheep, no, like children. Right. And children cannot raise themselves. They’d eat each other alive without us.”

Penelope Hayyew, the First Lady, had rarely seen her husband so animated and now trembled with excitement as her perverted mind flashed graphics of her husband orally stimulating her buttery bunny hole. That’s a woman for you. Thank goodness men understood the world beyond the flesh. They appreciated the urgency with which the government had to be saved from the Big Bottomless Bunny Hole that profits no one but the giant bunny that rules the world. No man on Earth knows how to plug that hole, and Chief Economist Olyshit only offered this piece of insanity: “If the lord doesn’t come to our rescue, we’ll need to declare war against someone, anyone we can blame for our problems.”

President Angel agreed. “We’ll declare war against poetry—especially foul, mind-rotting poetry!!!!”

This was a popular choice, but Chief Economist warned that such a war would not be profitable and advised the following, “Let’s fight the fat cats who are consuming the country!”

President Angel twitched. He loved his fat cat. As he nervously touched his flabby breast, he frowned and remarked, “I think you’re forgetting something important, dear Alack-amad.”

“You’re right! Our women are fat cats who devour our incomes. Their breasts are nothing but fat. And their padded asses are very fat, at least, compared to our humble asses.”

Olyshit’s remark about fat cats had General Sitting Duck quite worried. You see, Amerika’s zoos and schools had always encouraged him to love animals of all sizes, even the largest tits, peckers, boobies, rats, pussies, beavers and asses.

The long-eared preacher shifted his impressive ass and warned, “No-no-no-no! God never disapproved of fat asses or fat breasts. Indeed, he is their proud creator.”

Everyone was quite satisfied with this. But, satisfaction quickly gave way to fresh worries about how to raise money and avoid death by the BBBH. After hours of brainstorming, the president’s evil chief psychologist, Odeus Retard, suggested that the government should wage war against the multitude of ghosts haunting Amerika. Initially, everyone nodded their full support. But, gradually the insanity of this idea dawned on them.

General Zulu mused, “Do we really have ghosts in Amerika?”

“Lots!” said the mad psychologist. “Haven’t you noticed? George Washington’s ghost is everywhere. We can’t stop seeing his body in books and in our minds. And we are still thinking about dead and decayed Lincoln, and—no offense to President Angel—but we’re seeing angels and talking to God, Winnie the Pooh, Donald Duck and Jesus Ben Muhammad as if they’re here and listening. Why won’t Amerika let the dead rest? Why? Why this fascination with the dead? The dead are worm meat and ashes! The Amerikan Psychiatric Association warned a century ago that our obsession with the dead must be limited to Halloween.”

President Angel ruffled his feathers in frustration and looked older than ever. Everyone avoided looking at him until General Zulu posed this stupid question: “Excuse me, but how can we fight ghosts? Aren’t they already dead?”

The chief psychologist replied, “Elementary, my dear Zulu. To defeat an animate enemy, killing is necessary; to defeat an inanimate enemy, the opposite is necessary. Am I understood?”

He was not. Everyone was dumbfounded.

The madman sighed, “Fine, let me explain. The opposite of killing is making life.”

Still no one understood.

“The opposite of killingin plain English,” he added while awkwardly twerking on his chair, “the ghosts must be loved and given life! Yippee yahoo!”

This display of talentless idiocy was followed by stunned silence and hesitant clapping.

The president said, “Odeus, would you be so kind as to demonstrate how you would fuck a ghost? If your demonstration impresses me, I’ll put you in charge of training all Amerikan soldiers.”

I leave the rest to your imagination. Everyone is free to choose whether they will go to Hell or to Heaven.


Warr Street Does the Bunnies

Unfortunately, despite an all-out frontal assault on Amerika’s holy ghosts, the infamous Ghost War did not profit the arms dealers, the legs dealers or even the vital organ dealers. So God advised Zach and the Bunnies to invest their savings with a Las Vegas investment firm called Honest Profits. Its chief investment wizard, Mr Hannibal Leitch, invited them to his home, treated them to dinner and let them ride his bull in the yard. Afterwards he suavely asked, “So, how much luv do you want to give me?”

“Just a few trillion,” Zach proudly replied.

“With your consent,” answered Mr Leitch, “I’ll invest everything you have in Chuck Bollocks’ No Shit Company. Ever hear of it?”

They hadn’t, but they loved the idea of giving Chuck their luv.

“Now, wait a moment, girls. I’m a little surprised. Mr Leitch, I hope this company doesn’t produce a lot of crap, but I’m a little worried. So what does this company produce?” Zach asked, full of faithless doubt.

“Certainly nothing like crap. I’m shocked you think I would even consider investing in the crap market. No, true to its name, the No Shit Company does not produce cheap generic shit, or if you like, crap. The No Shit Company produces only the highest quality black, deep-pile biological outdoor carpets, biodegradable vehicles, and organic biobots. All trendy, homemade eco-shit. So we expect astronomical sales ’cause you know ’merikans are crazy about locally-produced eco-shit.”

The Bunnies were crazy about green shit, but Zach was skeptical. “All that stuff you mentioned is so yesterday. Does this No Shit company have anything marketable?”

“Sure. It sells a high-tech green machine that transforms household crap, vomit, piss, dirt and even putrid flesh into digestible packages called vruggies.”

“I don’t know,” said Zach. “The Chinese have the shit-into-food market cornered. Anything else?”

“Well, the company started an effort to save government money by shipping prisoners, welfare cases, terrorists and other parasites to Africa and Australia, where they will live on huge reserves without any luxuries like politicians. These reserves will generate profits as human safaris and as material for perpetual reality shows. Our government is tired of printing money and taxing people, so this innovative solution looks very attractive. What do you think?”

Zach and the Bunnies had always dreamed of settling somewhere warm. So, they invested half of their hard-earned life savings and danced home. The next day, their stocks crashed because it turned out that Amerika didn’t have any criminals, terrorists and welfare cases to send away. By way of apology, the company sent every investor a box of vruggies.


And Does Them Again

“Boohoohoo, boohoohoo!” the Bunnies wept, for they hated vruggies, but after crying a river they felt better and their belief in Amerika was strong again. A fool’s hope never dies. And never learns. So it happened that once again, without consulting God, Zach and the Bunnies took their remaining savings to Skruyu Financial Trust. This was an excellent Wall Street financial firm, but not even they knew more about the future than God knows. The company’s chief broker, Mrs Angela Fox, treated her clients a free lunch before it was time to get down to doing the deed.

“Before we proceed,” Zach began, “Please swear that Skruyu Financial you won’t screw us.”

Mrs Fox kindly swore, though she swore with a smile, for she was shrewd enough to know that her customers secretly did want to be screwed again, for everyone always does. Of course, the Bunnies made quite a show of not wanting to be screwed, so Angela Fox assured them that she doesn’t even screw her husband. That won a roomful of laughter and made everyone comfortable enough to trust her.

Zach placed a bagful of luv before her. “Here’s half of our life savings. Please make it bear fruit … regular dividends. No more vruggies.”

“You have my word, no vruggies. You’ll only earn a lot of steamy hot luv with us. Now, don’t you feel better?”

“I do. But I’m curious, what will you invest our money in?” Zach asked.

“Paradise Enterprise Estates.”

“One company? Isn’t that reckless?”

“PEE is no ordinary company. It is the nation’s only builder of picturesque Disney-inspired eco-housing projects. It’s owned and operated by another Chuck Bollocks.”

“That’s good news,” they said, relieved. “We love everything he does.”

Zach interjected, “Excuse me, but is anyone buying these eco-homes?”

“Sure. They’re extremely popular in the south, where the company recently built a million affordable housing units for homeless bums, poor gangsters, unemployed teens, divorced women and high school dropouts.”

“How can it make money building homes for jobless people?”

“Easy! It only works for the government, which is desperate to stop years of anti-poverty protests by putting people into affordable homes. Of course, the government couldn’t afford to give real homes to all those millions of bums, so PEE builds open-concept eco-homes without any internal walls, plumbing, gas lines and electrical wiring. They also build with volunteers and free materials—any junk they can find. So, their operating costs are zero.”

“So PEE puts a roof on four walls and calls it a home?”

“Actually they put a roof on one circular wall and call it a home,” said Angela laughing. “And they cut corners so well that the roof is really just the wall caving in on itself.”

“That’s amazing!” Zach exclaimed.

“But why would anyone would want such a home?”

“Good question!” Zach lied.

“Well, let me explain. People want PEE homes because each one is unique, and they’re mortgage free and very easy to maintain. Plus, residents will become famous. You see, our government intends to promote PEE settlements as tourist attractions where people can visit and see how lucky they are to live in proper homes and cities. Plus, residents have a chance to win fame by simply surviving.”

Now the Bunnies were totally impressed, for they had always wanted a chance to become famous. So, they invested half of their remaining savings. That was too bad, for if they had done their due diligence they might have learned that PEE had no seed money with which to start its first project. But, by way of consolation, they sent all their investors a box of vruggies.

Well, thought the Bunnies, at least our money went to a good cause. Getting screwed never felt so good.


And Again

Let’s be honest: even semi-intelligent rabbits would have quit the investing business, but I guess you had to hand it to the Bunnies—they weren’t quitters. Despite their losses in the lottery of life, the Bunnies did not lose hope in the land of opportunity. In fact, they were more intent than ever on becoming successful investors.

Faith in Amerika is one damn powerful religion.

Luckily, this time they found Swin & Del Securities, the most profitable investment firm anywhere. Its CEO, Mr Angelo Peterson, patiently listened to Zach brag about surviving two previous investors. When the retelling of the double tragedy ended, Mr Peterson kindly explained, “Relax, Zach. I’m not like those swindlers. I actually hate money, your money especially.”

“That’s a relief,” said Zach and the Bunnies nodded. “We hate our money, too. It’s far too much trouble to get it and far too easy to lose it.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place if you want making luv to be easy. At Swin & Del, profiting is as easy as sleeping and making music. We simply invest everything in the revolutionary Big Shit Corporation and let you have all the profits.”

The Bunny-babes liked the sound of that. They loved anything prefaced with the word “revolutionary.” But, as usual, Zach was a lee-e-e-e-ttle skeptical. “I hope this revolutionary corporation isn’t into vruggies or dung-shaped homes,” he worried out loud.

“BS grows children, not vruggies, and it develops children, not land,” Mr Peterson explained in his reassuring tone.

“That’s mighty interesting. Does it buy the cheap ones, cut their hair and nails and put meat on their bones before selling them to wealthy child prospectors? Or does it fund college studies and collect a percentage of earned income once its products are gainfully employed?”

Mr Peterson laughed, “BS is run by scientists. It uses scientific breeding and parenting techniques on secluded, environmental laboratories complete with state-of-the-art housing specially designed to create kids that are so intelligent that the whole world will pay just to watch them!”

“Wow. I wish I had used BS. Who’s using this amazing service?”

“President Angel. All his kids are BS kids.”

Zach and the Bunnies were blown away. They emptied their wallets on Mr Angelo’s lap and went to the nearest shelter for the homeless to wait for good news. The next day they somewhat expected bad news, so they were not entirely surprised when the company shipped them a hundred BS infants from India, China, and elsewhere. An accompanying letter explained that they needed mothers to breastfeed them until they were old enough to eat vruggies.

Zach and the Bunnies were bamboozled not once, not twice, but three times. Oh, I’ve never laughed so hard in my life!


God’s Consolation Prize

When it was quite obvious to everyone that all their luv had been stolen, Zacharin and the Bunnies begged God to send Lord FreeLuv to save them with a luv transfusion, but the lord was engaged in other business, so God gave the beggars a beautiful a gold-trimmed consolation certificate that my editors have faithfully reproduced below:


Dear Luvers,

I wish I could live with you and help everyone in need, but my body has limits. Therefore I have written this luv letter and holy note to console all who seek my luv. Do not feel slighted or cheated. This note is the sperm of the spirit of luv and represents the full and equivalent value of the physical Lord FreeLuv (2,000+ ounces). Moreover, it is superior to the physical lord, for it is cleaner and it requires less maintenance and it will give you many years of pleasure if your imagination is fertile and if you do not question or mock it. Give it all the attention it deserves and it will reward you. The meaning of this note is the luving spirit of the lord, for he wrote it for you so that the living spirit of his luv might be in your thick skulls.

Happy reading,

Lord FreeLuv

Zach and the Bunnies thought it was a work of art. They loved it so much they read it backwards and in circles and put it to music. It was like a piece of God’s magic chewy gum: no matter how much they chewed, the taste just improved. And this goes to prove, no matter how unfair life seems to be, there’s always a happy ending for anyone with a little imagination.

[1] Heliocopters provided Amerikans with the cleanest and most affordable means of transportation. Heliocopters harnessed the forces of evaporation and condensation to move objects up and down.

PUSSIE and the Messiah Go to Hollywood

The Iranian Circus

Good news was delivered on Christmas Eve as news outlets blared, “Lord FreeLuv lives!” and, in a softer tone, they added, “An anonymous government source has revealed that the lord has been kidnapped by the murderous carnivore, the Lion of Baghdad! Why? The world wants to know! Luckily, we have just read an intelligence report that the uncivilized foreign lion rejects American fast food and insists that its country will never eat animals that are too stupid to defend themselves.

In the past, President Angel had tried to do business with the Lion, but now the public wanted to end relations with Baghdad. President Angel felt this was too drastic and announced that studies were necessary to determine if lions were really unfriendly or not.

The studies did not go as hoped. The scientists quickly published a report that concluded with as follows, “We regret to report that our research demonstrates that not only lions but all wild animals are lazy opportunists and the most wicked thieves and murderers.”

The Disney nation was scandalized. Zoos were closed forever. Walt Disney’s cutesy children fell out of fashion and billions of Amerikan soldiers were commanded to rid God’s country of bunnies, fawns, raccoons, rats and other pests that stole our crops and lawlessly murdered our children[1].

Meanwhile, the World Canine Control Organization released drawings proving beyond a doubt that the Lion of Baghdad possessed canines and claws whose measurements exceeded international limits. Now President Angel could no longer dither. Due to public pressure, he vowed to rescue every last Iranian and sent the Bunnies to Iran.

They landed beside a village. They could have asked for accommodations, but they were typical, shy Amerikans, so they prayed for water while vultures circled above them. They kept praying and praying until, on the verge of death, some camels appeared. They chased the sluggish beasts down, slaughtered them, drank their water right out of their humps and were sick all night.

But luck had not entirely abandoned them. As they lay dying, they were visited by the notorious Serpent of Baghdad. He asked them what the hell they were doing in the middle of a desert.

“We came to rescue all Iranians from the great lion who rules this holy land.”

“Last I saw him he was with Lord FreeLuv.”

“Where was that?”

“In the capital. How do you plan to defeat him?”

Zach showed off his ridiculous dentistry kit. The Serpent of Baghdad laughed.

“What are you laughing about?” Zach demanded. “You’ve obviously never been to a dentist!”

“You’re right, and I’m very sorry. Come, I will take you to a place where the great lion goes to pee at night. You’ll catch him there, and when you’re done, I would be honored if you filled my cavity.”

Even then those fools suspected nothing. They blithely followed the cunning, deceptive snake into a barren gully, kissed him goodnight and watched him slither up a tree.

In the darkness, thunder raged like a beast in the mountains. Rain flooded the streams, roared down the slopes and washed out the gullies. In the morning, half of the Amerikan rescue team lay downstream, swinging from tree branches and lapping up fresh water while the less fortunate were at sea, riding on and inside sharks.


A Divine Promotion

Meanwhile, back in awesome Amerika, a gang of extremely vicious characters known as the Black Poodles (not to be confused with the equally fearsome Black Panthers and Terrible Terriers) was growing more powerful, spreading fear and hatred and pushing hard working cows, sheep and rabbits to the brink of extinction. What could the president and all his fellow politicos do? Naturally, they did what they do best, they prayed for help. When this made no difference, President Angel impatiently texted God, asking, “What the Hell are you waiting for, Armageddon? Send the fucking messiah and tell him to save our asses from the Black Poodle gang!

God sent the president this instant response: “LFL just returned from Baghdad, Arizona, where he starred in a movie called Dancing with Lions. He’s the bravest man I know. Call him asap!

Angel reluctantly dialed seven zeros and got the lord and told him to get his ass to Chicago, New York, and wherever else the Black Poodles were terrorizing Amerikans.

“Forget it,” Lord replied. “I will not stoop to giving my luv to poodles. Besides, “I’m all dried up and empty!”

“Chuckie boy, we’re in dire straits. Amerika needs a messiah, and you’re the best man for the job. What do you think?”

“Sorry, but I’m pooped out and on my way to Iran for a vacation. The women there are so much hotter.”

“You damn traitor! Get your ass over here!”

“All right, let me check my schedule.” Silence. “Oh, look at that. We’re in luck. I have time in the year 3000.”

A note of desperation crept into Angel’s voice: “Chuck, you heartless bastard! Do you know how many citizens have been ruined by those long-toothed Black Poodles? I need citizens to pay my taxes and buy my shit … I mean,” he corrects himself, “my products?

“Well, if no one’s buying your food I could eat it. I need huge meals to fuel my luv engine so I can keep my fans happy.”

“Our enemies are eating us and you have an appetite? Be serious a moment! I need a messiah willing to kill poodles in battle!”

“Gee, I guess I could try. You know, I used to squash beetles between my teeth, and a lot of women are dying for me. But, what’s in this dangerous mission for me, Mister P-r-e-s-i-d-e-n-t?”

“You’ll be the messiah! What more do you want?”

Chuck laughed the president to scorn.

“Fine. If you succeed, I’ll also make you the president of a–”

“YAHOO!” Chuck cheered. Somehow, the fool needed no further encouragement to take on the intimidating job of the Amerikan Messiah.


The Messiah versus the Black Poodles

The following morning, Messiah Bollocks was debriefed about the notorious Black Poodles. Police reports revealed that they crapped voluminous quantities on all the streets and that they stole bones from the cemeteries and attacked pet shops. Sometimes, in lean years, they savaged and ravaged citizens and such fear swept the nation that the economy pissed and pooped voluminous quantities. Finally, in a widely watched court case, the Black Poodle leader, Poop Dog, told the presiding judge, “Why do you persecute us? We are dogs, and dogs must eat meat.”

After the judge determined that the Black Poodles were not dogs but were actually Amerikan citizens, he accused them of cannibalism. Poop Dog countered with this clever argument: “So what? Nature is cannibalistic. We are all breathing and eating the atoms that were once part of the body of George ‘Jesus Christ’ Washington.”

“That is true,” the judge admitted, “but we must draw a distinction between eating inanimate atoms and eating animate citizens. Only corporations and governments have the special cannibal status required to lawfully prey on citizens. They are godlike immortals serving to control your numbers, for the Earth can only carry a finite number of souls. However, although the immortals hunt and devour mere mortals, they are always careful to leave a healthy population for their children, for until robots replace them, mortals are needed to support the immortals by working, paying taxes and shopping.”

The judge spoke from the heart of the Constitution, but before he could sentence the Black Poodles to a pit of lions, the Black Poodles ate him and the prosecution and all its witnesses. Then, even the police patrolled their cities in terror.

President Angel did not tolerate defeat. He put the entire military, militia and militant police force at the messiah’s disposal. But, Messiah Bollocks sent them all home and went postal, for the mail is mightier than the machine gun, and in fact Amerika has always preferred to solve problems peacefully. So, the messiah dictating a letter to his lovely secretary instead of shooting bullets at his enemies. This letter read,

Dear Black Poodles, please stop eating the government’s cash cows. Healthy, hard-working and hard-shopping Amerikan citizens have the right to continue working and shopping. Please respect the Constitution and learn to earn luv with legitimate work.

Despite many brave attempts to hand-deliver these letters, thousands of mailmen were murdered and cooked by Black Poodles who had no interest in reading letters. Their bones were left in mailboxes and on doorsteps as warnings.

To save the nation’s postal service from extinction, President Angel commanded Messiah Bollocks to use the internet, but the messiah was not tech-savvy. But, after a slew of mailmen died delivering a friendlier letter, the messiah paid a personal visit to the chief of the Black Poodles, Poop Dog. He threw him a cooked rabbit carcass and watched Poop Dog eat it with a fork and knife before he commented, “No offense intended, Poop, but you’re not a real carnivore. A real carnivore would bite my arm, tear off the meat and swallow it without cooking or chewing. Can you do that?”

Poop Dog growled, then lunged at the messiah with his teeth and tried to bite off a strip of flesh from his ass. The effort was mercifully short-lived, for fresh, living white meat is reserved for God. So, Poop Dog returned to devouring his extra-large lamb deep fried in sugar and cheese.

Messiah Bollocks tried to stop him: “Poop! What are you doing? That’s not proper dog food! Amerikan meat is carcinogenic and too fat for your health. If you keep eating that shit you’ll die before you’re 33.”

“Then you can call me a martyr, ’cause the more ’merikans meat we eat, the less pollution we breathe and the fewer bombs fall on our heads. We’re saving Mamma Nature, so we’re saving your ass, too.”

The messiah did a double-take. Poop Dog’s logic was good, but it was not unpoopable. “You’ve spoken well,” he conceded. “But even Black Poodles are mortals without souls and no Heaven to visit, so what good is martyrdom? So take care of your health. Eat fruit and vegetables, and if you must eat meat, eat organic eat, not this toxic Amerikan meat that only immortals can stomach.”

This ridiculous argument stunned Poop Dog. In an instant, it completely changed his mind about everything. So, that day he told all his fellow gangsters to improve their lives by changing their diets. Some went vegetarian but most moved into forests. There they chased healthy, wild meat, but whether they chased their prey on two feet or on four feet, they could not catch a mouse and perished in the dust.

Meanwhile, ordinary, defenseless, peace-loving Amerikans were overjoyed to be liberated from the Black Poodle plague. Millions of grateful souls asked Angel to promote Messiah Bollocks to the presidency. Angel thought that was premature, so instead he promoted Chuck, making him the President of the United Simpletons and Stagers of Idiotic Entertainments so that he would be known acronymically as Amerika’s PUSSIE.


The Hollywood Bible

As you probably guessed, those vicious Black Poodles represented only a fraction of Amerika’s murderous outlaws and they all went to Hell because they were stupid. The smartest carnivores obey God’s laws and serve to prevent others from the sins associated with wealth. Modest levels of poverty protect the soul from pride, and poverty prevents people from consuming the environment. This is important, because ultimately an environment of some sort is necessary for business. Now, do you understand the wisdom of keeping most people poor? Now, do you appreciate why the super-rich are universally admired for keeping everyone else poor?

God’s logic is quite simple, and students easily mastered it after years of studying the Constitution, the prophets and the divine economy. But, thanks to Satan’s stinking books and scandalous movies, all those school hours invested in keeping children’s minds clean and washed were wasted. Don’t ask Me what was in those books. Okay, since you insist, I’ll tell you. They were full of lies, libel, conspiracy theories and outright fictions! On their account, a stupid generation began protesting against poverty, as if it were evil, as if Jesus and Muhammad needed telephones, cars, toilets and refrigerators.

Those books were horrible, but Amerika might have survived if they had not been turned into movies and screened for free in theatres. Movie reviewers warned that they inflicted headaches, but moviegoers still went to watch them out of curiosity, and those who did always stormed out of the theatres in a terrible mood. Some turned into mad dogs and went straight to prison for accusing corporate and political leaders of being embezzlers, thieves, fraudsters, murderers, pedophiles and worse things. Apparently, they ever interpreted the Constitution. If they had they would have known that theft and murder are illegal for mortals but lawful and required for immortals.

Riots swept across Amerika. In one year there were 10,000 attempts to assassinate the president, or about 30 attempts per day. Fortunately, the ruling class lived in cloud fortresses, like gods, so the frustrated mob turned its anger on easier targets, their pets.

I wish I were kidding, but people actually accused faithful pets of living like thieves, welfare cases and royalty while they, their poor owners, lived like peasants and servants. Angry pet owners even threatened to excommunicate, evict, eat, beat or sell pets who didn’t get jobs or start feeding themselves, and suddenly the streets were full of homeless puppies, cats, rats, hamsters, panda bears and other exotic animals.

Amerika’s reputation was on the line. The president swiftly passed new laws while the streets, lawns and doorsteps around the nation were caked in pet poop. In a rare public service announcement, President Angel reminded everyone of Amerika’s liberal tradition of respecting pets regardless of color, and indeed all animals regardless of color, provided they obey the laws of Nature enshrined in the Constitution.

In defense of Amerika, the president also wrote the Hollywood Bible. In this amazing novel, the president revealed in painstakingly crafted stories that that pets are innocent creatures and that they, like all domestic animals, have earned their leisurely lifestyles for nobly serving God’s country for over ten thousand years.

In the Hollywood Bible, the president also explained that God’s prophets had already rid the world of species of evil animals. In chronological order, Noah and sons devoured the wicked dinosaurs, Abraham and sons defeated the sabre-tooth tigers, Moses and associates exterminated the cobras, Jonas stopped a plague of mice and caterpillars, Jesus starved the cave lions, Muhammad annihilated the head lice, Messiah Bollocks defeated the Black Poodles, and, in the book’s only prophetic story, Saint Pussie and the Green Knights of the Earthen Table converted all the world’s greedy fat cats to veganism, or, in difficult cases, extracted their canines in bloody battles and duels.

The Hollywood Bible created peace between Amerikans and their pets and leaders. It was so popular, people got a national holiday to read it. It was called Bible Day. But, one day wasn’t enough! People couldn’t stop reading it and forgot to watch their damn movie screens, televisions and iGods!


Thanks to the Hollywood Bible, millions of Amerikans who had never heard of Chuck Bollocks praised him for his humanitarian work in pest control. His skill at using words to pacify monsters and nullify violence made him the talk of the nation. Everyone admired and emulated him, everyone except his stepfather. One day, Damn looked deep into his eyes and said, “Kid, I know you’re enjoying your fame, but you listen to me a moment. You’re nothing but a Hollywood pussie.”

“But I was also the messiah, and in the future I will make you proud again.”

Damn stared at the lines on his hand and sighed, “Chuck, the whole country is losing its respect for you. No one’s interested in Hollywood anymore.”

“So what? You want me to buy the farm?”

Damn smiled, “There’s a lot of potential in honest work.”

“I’d rather do a DIY sex show on cable TV.”

Damn laughed, “Don’t bother! Amerikans are having so much great sex that they’ve lost interest in porn. So, what are you going to do with your life?”

“Okay, this is off the record, strictly confidential stuff, but I’m going to tell you anyway. Tomorrow, the CIA and I,” Chuck began, lowering his voice to a whisper, “will fuck Amerika so good that no one will know up from down!?”

Damn got pretty excited. He pleaded for more details.

“Okay, first, we’re gonna blow up the nation’s power plants and electrical substations. Once we have a nation-wide lights-out, we’re gonna blow up all the gas stations and have a nation-wide month-long holiday to make Amerika the best place on Earth. Robots and machines will stop working, and we’ll all get our jobs back.”

Damn tried to smile. Apparently, he enjoyed being unemployed.

“Chuck,” he began full of melancholy, “could you spare an old man some money? I’d like to organize my fun-for-all funeral.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve already planned everything. For many years I’ve had a corner on my estate designated just for you. I’ll even dig your hole with my bare hands. Look, I’ve been practicing!” he exclaimed as he bent over and scratched a hole in the carpet.


PUSSIE Motivates Amerikans

Every day, PUSSIE travelled to his unlit, unheated and generally Spartan Hollywood office and slaved to make Amerika’s economy more exciting and more thrilling. One night, inspired by a dream, PUSSIE invented jobs that were so fun that Amerikans loved working again.

PUSSIE also inspired workers with these amazing lyrics:


Fucking Work!

Hey everybody,

If you wanna be somebody,

Fuck your job and fuck your boss!

Pay attention! Multitask!

Stroke his hair, squeeze him there,

Do his job until he sings:

“Boohoo, I just can’t get enough of you!”


Working, working, working all night long!

The new economy is so much fun!

Don’t take it personally,

If your tummy aches, if your body shakes:

You’ll learn to love the cross,

’Cause everybody, everybody, everyyyybodyyy

Is getting nailed (and screwed) by the boss!


Hey bro, hey sis!

Everybody loves the new economy

Of minimal physical activity!

We tend a fine assembly line,

And shake our ass from nine to ninety-nine!

That’s how we raise the Gross Domestic Penis!

With the rhythm of the fucktory,

We improve our productivity!

Forget your stupid families,

Bosses are the men you need,

Godlike men, high above,

They look down with so much love.


Hey everybody, if you want kids,

Get to fucking work!

Let’s see some productivity!

Children are the spawn of

Government and industry:

All our children are their property,

So you don’t need to worry,

Just feed the all-devouring economy!

Do your jobs and you won’t burn;

Instead, something nice you’ll earn:

Sexy shopping trips,

And INtoxicACTED plastic kids!

Oh, life is perfectly heavenly

In the Fucking Economy!

Ever read such awesome lyrics? God’s supreme poet, wrote those lines, and they are sublime. By jingoism, poetry is the lingo of God, and the rhythm and rhyme of his verses will inspire the whole world enjoy working and shopping ten times harder than usual.


Hollywood Promotes Employment

Next, PUSSIE inspired Hollywood’s best ghostwriters and scriptwriters to write movie scripts designed to inspire lazy-asses to sacrifice their asses for the greater economy. These movies featured true heroes: humble rabbits who loved working and paying debts and bills and generally making the economy grow and bear the fruit of luv.

With the president’s help, Hollywood celebrities produced such inspirational blockbusters as Captain Amerika, an eclectic legend about the legendary Captain Amerika, a heroic CEO whose corporate ship was taking on water due to the weight of its enormous cargo, so the captain had to make difficult decisions to have redundant sailors thrown overboard and, in order to avoid a violent mutiny, he sings songs about God and Heaven to his crew every evening before bed. In a later scene, the Amerikan ship battles numerous other ships, all of them fighting for themselves and flying their own corporate flags. Millions of sailors die of scurvy and drown in the Sea of Debt. The toll is so great that the global shipping industry threatens to collapse, so, in a stroke of genius, the ruthless Captain Amerika forges alliances, creates the secret Global Economic Cooperation Order, and thereby he introduces an era of peace in which battles and wars continue only for sport, entertainment, and the spiritual profit all men gain by staring down the ugly face of Death.

Star Works, another theatrical hit, was a moving tale about how Alexander the Great turned the Greek economy into such an efficient colossus that it conquered markets from Europe to India. His grueling marches inspired the entire ancient world to work harder. Finally, when Alexander retired from marching, he had many visions about how to make books support the economy, so he wrote stories about a hard-working carpenter named Jesus, about a hard-working fisherman named Paul, about a very hard-working tax-collector named Matthew, and about a hard-working conqueror named—you guessed it—Alexander the Great Worker.

Hollywood also produced Saving Caesar, a timeless classic in which a workaholic named Julius Caesar becomes the most popular butcher in Rome and is treated like a hero by millions of Roman meat lovers. But Julius hates his job and his fame. He desperately prays to become a farmer in a small village, so at God’s advice Julius Caesar disguises himself as a monster and is quickly chased out of the city into the countryside, where God grants his wish to be a farmer. Initially Julius is in Heaven, but within just a few months his prosperous farm is invaded by so many goats and sheep that he resorts to slaughtering them. By the grace of God, his true identity remains a secret, but Julius is murdered by a shepherd named Pontius Brutus Pilate.

In Corporate Wars, God promises the secret formula for the perfect beer to his favorite corporation, He-Brew Beers, which is owned and operated by Joshua Rothschild. For a few years the Rothschild family has the secret formula and produces bliss for the world, but when the family business is inherited by the faithless, lazy, non-practicing Jew, Judas Rothschild, the holy formula is lost, He-Brew Beers falls from grace, and the company becomes embroiled in a vicious war for market share. H-BB suffers many defeats to inferior European and Amerikan beer brewers who spike beer with aphrodisiacs, but even then God does not forgive the Jews because Mr Judas Rothschild is an awful sinner. He-Brew Beers goes bankrupt, but the movie ends with hints of the coming of a future savior, a company man named Johnny “Jesus Christ” Rockefeller.

In the sequel, A Thousand Saviors, Amerikan citizen Johnny JC Rockefeller uses determination to rise from joblessness and found Holy Products Incorporated. This company revolutionizes the drug industry by developing a drug derived from the blood of the most energetic and selfless people on Earth, namely black people. His amazing product is called Eureka! It is so popular that traditional medicines don’t stand a chance. Johnny hires twelve marketers to promote Eureka! as a cure for sloth and greed and as a gateway to Heaven. Addicts love it. And Johnny loves it, for whenever workers start getting greedy about compensation and working conditions, he gives them free bottles of Eureka! and presto, workers are competing to make greater sacrifices for the company and the government, asking for lower wages and higher taxes, and sometimes sacrificing themselves for the company, giving kidneys and hearts to their bosses, even asking to be nailed to the cross of unemployment so that others can live and be happy. It was truly the most inspiring movie.

The Book Club is a dystopian movie in which the hero has to save Amerikans from a crippling addiction to reading. Afflicted adults waste all their time and money on books. The government to issue public mental health warnings against reading, but even then most Amerikans can’t control the irresistible urge to read. So a heroic grade-school teacher persuades millions of children to save the economy by sending millions of addicts to book-free, book-aholic rehabilitation centers. When the economy continues going south, the hero writes a book that persuades everyone that all books are full of bullshit, boredom and useless crap, and—in an ironic twist of fate—this book becomes so popular that he commits suicide.

Finally, the epic The Revolutionary Slaves tells the inspirational biography of the Slave family. The movie begins by showing how this incredible family survives Hell in Africa. Then, eager to escape, the Slaves sail across the Atlantic Ocean and discover Heaven in Amerika, where they receive free land. However, years of living in Africa have made them unable or unwilling to work and pay for their necessities. For years they attempt to survive by chasing rabbits, living in trees, drinking alcohol and eating cotton, tobacco and sugar canes. Luckily, they are saved from starvation by hard-working white families who give them jobs making Amerikan luv. The movie ends with the Slave children bringing bags of refined luv back to Africa, where their luv causes an economic miracle as the whole continent turns green with Amerikan money.

Thanks to these and other inspirational films on economic themes, Amerikans once again did their duties and the Amerikan economy boomed like a cannon in wartime. So what if a few actors, actresses, producers and directors committed suicide? Who said Hollywood and an Amerikan PUSSIE can’t do any good?


Presidential Visions

After resurrecting Amerika, PUSSIE casually reminded the useless President Angel about his destiny.

Angel smiled, “Chuck, I’m curious. What would you do for the economy that I haven’t already tried?”

“For starters, I’d revamp our flag! Stars and stripes are out of fashion. Do you see anyone wearing stars and stripes?”

“I suppose your new flag would display banana-shaped guns, anthropocentric trees and arbocentric, and clowns reaching for a god shaped like a ball of brown flesh.”

“You perverted drunkard! I am a spiritual man. In honor of our invisible God, our flag must be white on both sides!”

“That’s racist and suicidal. If we fly white flags, our enemies will say we surrendered and laugh at us.”

“Fine. Then let’s just make a giant luv bill on one side and two workers making luv on the other.”

“You pervert! Got any other brilliant ideas?”

“We’ll, I’ll grant everyone the right to invent money and write laws.”

“You are insane.”

“On the contrary. It’s fair competition.”

President Angel laughed, “You actually believe in fair competition? I’d like to see you make money that anyone would want. Besides, the new money is digital.”

“Really? Digital? Digital? So we can’t hold it in our hands and smell it?”


Chuck shrugged. “Well, so what? I’ll just let the people create their own digital money. If they want they can put porn stars on it, or porn videos, or pretty landscapes or whatever. The nicer their money is, the more it will be worth.”

“Very funny. And what other brilliant plan do you have in mind?”

“I’ll beautify this great nation by making unprotected inter-racial fucking mandatory!”

President Angel reeled in horror. He imagined a future in which everyone was the same color and no one could tell each other apart. I assured him that Chuck was joking, but he didn’t want to take any chances, so he used the CIA to fabricate scandalous stories about Chuck having female friends, being vegan, clowning with Congress, abandoning his children, and pooping on playgrounds in broad daylight. In any other country, such scandals would have discredited God himself, but here—well, let’s just say Angel underestimated Amerika’s tolerance for deviant behaviors.


[1] This refers to all carnivores except the one Walt Disney loved.

Ch. 8, The Missionary Position

President Angel’s effort to smear Chuck with bullshit backfired, so he went to Plan B and promoted him to Ambassador of a Place without Need of Ambassadors (APNA). The place was Terraristan, a place visited by only tourists who were lost. Chuck knew nothing of this. He had only heard stories about the country’s endless beaches, so he gladly accepted the job. Well, imagine his surprise when he arrived in central Terraristan and found the embassy in a sand dune, without electricity, without appliances or running water, and without a parasol in sight. There was plenty of sand, that was true, but he couldn’t see a shoreline anywhere, and, to his great disappointment, sundried corpses littered the beach and thousands of starving creatures were begging him for food.

“What the Hell am I doing here?” he shouted up at the star-spangled night sky. “I only packed a lunch for myself!”

God replied through his iGod, “Don’t be so selfish! Look at how the people of Terraristan suffer, think of Amerika and think of Me! Millions of Terraristanis are seeking food in Amerika and eating the walls and the foundations of Heaven. You must save Amerika by fixing Terraristan’s economy!”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

“Look at all the resources around you! Think land development! Think value added product enhancements! You’ll see, with the power of my luv, you can transform the barren deserts of Terraristani into a great multi-colored buffet!”

“God, I can’t even give life to a woman, so how do you expect me to give life to a desert?”

“Faith, Ambassador Bollocks!” Then the moon came down like a lantern and shone its light under a bush, and God said, “Take off your clothes and climb into that bush, for inside you will find my patented Luv Device, a magical machine that is telescopic, self-replicating and able to transform beaches into peaches and deserts into desserts.”

Chuck undressed and climbed into the bush, for it was a large bush, but he found nothing but bugs. So he shook that bush with all his might. Still nothing but bugs. When I was finished laughing, I sent him a skinny Bedouin boy. He appeared standing a respectful distance from the bush and called in awful English, “Imbassador Blaughs, I bring parcel fer you!”

Chuck scrambled out of the bush, paid the excessive price and said, “Now scram, you little thief!”

“God bless you and your fat Amerikan ass!”

Damn foreigners, though the ambassador as he opened the box. It contained the incredible, unimaginable magic machine. Sure, it looked like an ordinary straight banana, but the User’s Manual told another story:

Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of the Magic Banana Luv Device. To create true wealth and happiness, locate a warm, moist spot, then gently press your Magic Banana Luv Device into it and provide sunlight, water and air. Afterwards, the Magic Banana Luv Device will produce all the wealth that you and your family will ever need.

Ambassador Bollocks whooped, “Praise be to God, for he has rescued me from failure with his amazing magic banana!”


The Terraristan Miracles

Even a hero cannot build paradise alone, not even with the help of God’s patented Magic Banana, therefore President Angel politely asked the Terraristanis for permission to send 70,000 workers to help them build paradise. Not surprisingly, every Terraristani welcomed the proposal, so roughly one million workers parachuted down from Heaven. They were Amerika’s world-beloved Farm and Forest Forces (F&FF). These super-healthy, work-loving dynamos performed their work with relish and pleasure, planting their Luv Devices all over the dry land, and the work went twice as fast as predicted because the locals happily consented and contributed.

When the planting was done and the Sun burned again in Heaven, each Magic Banana Luv Device opened like an origami machine or an ultra-high tech futuristic solar-hydro-mineral-air-powered plant. This miraculous technology transformed the dead desert country into a productive land that produced all the scientological bananas necessary for a healthy body. Indeed, these micro-plant-factories were so easy to maintain that even dumb kids could keep them operating.

Unfortunately, the grateful Terraristanis forgot to thank God, but God was still pleased, for they praised Amerika’s workers with songs, gifts and invitations to immigrate to their country.

Well, I thought that was the end of the Terraristani problem, but you know what all foreigners are like. Just days later, they began complaining that their Magic Bananas did not provide all the necessities of life. They demanded that Amerika provide free air-conditioned homes. Any other country would have balked at such an extravagant demand, but Amerika was truly exceptional.

President Angel wasted no time asking Ambassador Bollocks to satisfy the Terraristanis one more time because his elementary school teachers had taught him how to build sand castles. The ambassador accepted the challenge to provide free housing for all Terraristanis but asked for logistical support. Moments later, President Angel sent the Amerikan Building Corps (ABC) down from Heaven. They were warmly welcomed by the long-suffering foreigners and were invited to many feasts as they began building the homes even foreigners deserve.

Allow me to describe the ambassador’s inspired designs. Each home was built around a tree. Walls and roofs were constructed from lowers branches, which were pulled down to the ground and covered on both sides with thick layers of adobe mud that reached from the outer branches on the ground up to the trunk. Next, each of these pretty little mud huts was equipped with excellent rocket-stoves and the cutest little chimneys. The Terraristanis soon learned to appreciate Amerika’s gifts and insisted on having every ABC member live with them in their homes.

Well, that should have been the end of the Terraristan story, but as I said before, foreigners are always mooching. Although they were thankful for their food and shelter, they complained that life felt meaningless, so Ambassador Bollocks offered to give them democracy. True to their foreign nature, the Terraristanis had no interest in democracy and said, “We’d rather by ruled by you because we want laughter, and you Amerikans are so funny. And you’re the funniest of all. If you don’t satisfy us, we’ll go to Amerika and have children with all your women.”

“I see. I’m kind of exhausted right now. Let me talk to President Angel and see if he can do some slap-stick with me.”

He called President Angel’s emergency help line and begged for help and swore that this time he wouldn’t fart on his face. The president was happy to hear that, but explained that due to exceptional circumstances, he could not participate and would instead send a million nutcases known collectively as the Amerikan Clown Forces. They arrived by fart-powered vehicles and entertained the depraved and ill-mannered Terraristanis by making their buttocks jiggle, their genitals twirl, and the worms crawl out of their mouths.

I thought that was the end of the Terraristani adventure, but just as Ambassador Bollocks took a leave of absence, those insatiable foreigners prayed for his return so that he might do them just one more favor.

“What do they want now?” I grumbled. “Televisions or signed copies of the Hollywood Bible?”

Well, turns out they already had something even better than televisions: transvisions. What they really wanted was to honor Amerika’s greatest ambassador with a crappy portrait and a concert played with their asses.


The Arabian Energy Scandal

After the good ambassador transformed Terraristan from a garbage pit into paradise, he felt unappreciated, so he went searching for love in the Kingdom of Saud because the lying Devil told him that Saudi women are the greatest lovers on Earth. I warned Chuck of the dangers. I told him that Saudi women are so beautiful that if any one of them exposes any portion of their silky, sensuous skin, even a single nipple, men turn into pigs, roast in their own flames and suffer from eternal shame. That’s the truth. Why else do you think Saudi men keep those dangerous creatures covered and hidden?

Like I said, I warned my boy, but he didn’t listen. He flew to Mecca, the party center of the world, and bought a ticket to a popular unisexual mosque. After dressing in the local party wear, he danced with many women that he felt faint and had to sit down and talk instead. For hours, he engaged the Saudi women in stimulating conversation as the women tried to seduce him with unsolicited kisses. This was fine, and quite common among Saudi women, but it wasn’t long before they realized he was the one and only Ambassador Bollocks.

That’s when the nightmare began. Chuck was promptly arrested and dragged to an oil refinery, where he was hooked up to tubes and pumps and fed nothing but awful Arabic food. After about a week of this torture, the Royal Engineer of Saud arrived and examined the substance being extracted from Chuck’s divine body.

“Allah is awesome!” he gasped. “This shit is superior to methane, propane and butane! Your ass produces better, cleaner fuels than all the world’s oil and gas fields!!”

“Well, thank you very much, but who gave you permission to extract my precious bodily fluids?”

“You were elected by Allah! He informed us that your body is a divine reservoir of luv, the cleanest and most potent energy in the universe! Now it is ours and we will charge the world as much as we desire! We’re going to be rich!”

“That’s good news indeed, but please tell your king that if he does not set me free, I will command Allah to impregnate all your Arab women with black-skinned and blond-haired children!”

The Royal Engineer paled at the thought of such a horror. He relayed the terrible threat on camelback to King Saudom, who foolishly laughed and dismissed it. So, a month later a million Saudi women reported mysterious pregnancies.

Suddenly King Saudom panicked. He summoned his precious prisoner to his luxurious palace, personally apologized to him and begged Allah to reverse his curse on the kingdom’s women. This time Ambassador Bollocks laughed.

“I’m sorry, but history cannot be rewritten. The curse you suffer is the price of my stolen luv. Release me and I will spare you from the same fate.”

“Allah have mercy! You are free!” cried Saudom.

“Thank you.”

“Go home, Amerikan miser! Go and leave me to die in peace.”

Then Ambassador Bollocks pitied old Saudom, sat beside him and said, “If you really want to have access to the world’s cleanest and most potent energy, look no further than your women. They gave me the energy to cross many deserts barefoot just to be with them. Simply feast your eyes on their beautiful noses and cheeks and hear their every breath and Allah will give you all the energy you can dream of.”

King Saudom sincerely thanked him and shared his advice with all the kingdom’s men, and by the Devil’s power, everyone believed him and the whole country descended into a blazing Hell too painful to describe. Thus Allah punishes the wicked.


The Jewish Devil and the Destruction of the Amerikan Dream

Around this time, some crazy Jew wrote a movie script about God promising to give Amerika to the Jews. Native Amerikans have always been hospitable and ready to share their country with anyone, but after the movie was released, millions of Jews wanted Amerika all for themselves. They pointed to the many Jewrassic fossils found throughout the land. Of course, President Angel explained that those fossils were props left behind by Jewish film crews, so he politely declined to surrender our country.

Well, days later, the Prime Mufti of Israel, Ben Rabi Jacob, asked Angel if he could buy or lease-to-own Amerika.

“I’m sorry,” President Angel replied, “but Amerika is not for sale or for lease.”

“I’ll pay in barrels full of luv,” slyly suggested the Prime Mufti.

“You? You have luv? How much?”

“The ancient kings and prophets lefts us a shitload of luv.”

President Angel was sorely tempted. The thought of more luv was tantalizing. He even thought of sharing some of it with his wife. But the enormity of selling his country frightened him, so he asked the Prime Mufti for time to summon enough courage to do the deed.

When Amerika’s intelligence community reported the president’s intention, God sent Ambassador Bollocks to Israel to talk some sense into Prime Mufti Jake. During their one and only meeting, Chuck began as follows, “Jake, I know how much you want Amerika for the Jews, but you don’t know what you’re asking for. No reasonable Jew would want to live in Amerika. We make Egypt look like Heaven.”

The Prime Mufti laughed. “Oh, ambassador, you are too funny! Everyone knows Amerika is awesome! Why else would God want us to have it?”

Chuck continued with all the gentleness in the world, “Well, the word Amerika used to refer to two continents, both North and South Amerika, not just to our little country. Anyway, God spoke to your ancestors a long time ago. If He could see it now, He’d understand that Amerika is Hell. We’re overrun with Hispanics, Ethiopian Jews and Asians of both sexes, and they’ll seduce your white-assed men and women and turn you all into Mongrels. And, even if you wear condoms, you’ll have to hide in your synagogues seven days a week if you want to avoid being corrupted by our culture atheism, anarchy, skepticism, comedy, and death worship. Even the hearts of angels are broken here or quickly rot from within.”

“With God’s help, we’ll manage,” Jacob asserted as he nervously pulled at his remarkable afro.

“Oh, but you haven’t heard the worst of it. Yesterday God was so furious with Amerika that he made McDonald’s vegan! And he made every federal, state and city park a legal squatting ground for homeless children!”

The Prime Mufti Rabi Jacob made two little fists and cried in denial, “I don’t care! Amerika still has the most peaceful streets, the best schools, the lowest cancer rates, and the best hygiene on Earth!”

Ambassador Bollocks laughed. “Peace? What peace? We think about death every day! Education? Ha! We can’t afford schools! We’re back to teaching under the trees! And we’re so poor we don’t have a single doctor in the country and everyone is using cheap and disgusting home remedies. Jacob, honestly, Amerika is so broke we’re living without shampoo, shitting on our back lawns and eating our front lawns.”

This was too much. Jacob tried to stifle a sob. “Damn, that’s really bad. Very bad. I admit it, but it’s still better than Israel!”

Ambassador Bollocks laughed, “Oh, and last year we abolished religion and marriage.”

This was too much for Jacob. “You what? You abolished marriage? But why in God’s name would you do that?”

“Well, we have this dictator ruling our country and he decided that marriage is a prison and incompatible with freedom.”

The idiot shook his head and muttered, “Holy shit! Anything else I should know about?”

“Our supreme dictator also declared that employment contravenes our constitutional right to freedom, so he abolished employment. Oh, and he declared that importing contravenes our declaration of independence, so he abolished international trade.”

Abolished trade and employment! Holy shit! How do you stay alive?

“We lick nectar from wildflowers and suck sap from maple trees. I hope you’ve heard enough and will take my advice to forget Amerika and check out life in neighboring Terraristan.”

“Terraristan? That’s a banana republic!”

“Yeah? So what? Bananas are good for you. Just give Terraristan a chance and you’ll find it’s more fun than a woman covered in the softest fur, more fun than a bed of worms, more fun than fuzzy caterpillars squirming in your ears, and …”

Jacob gestured for silence, kissed Ambassador Bollocks a passionate goodbye and rushed to Terraristan. I didn’t quite expect such enthusiasm, and I certainly didn’t expect him to fall in love with Terraristan and to divorce his one and only true god, but he did. He actually joined the philistines and converted to some crazy religion where nothing is worshipped and everything is mocked. But do you think I care? Not a bit. God needs no one, so it was just fine with Me.


The Suffering of President Angel

Ambassador Bollocks had performed such astounding miracles all over the Middle East that he became the most wanted man at home. Everyone, absolutely everyone wanted a piece of him. A petition to make him president of something great was begun. Finally, President Angel bowed to the public’s demand to hand the presidential crown to Chuck Bollocks. But now Chuck didn’t want it!!!!

“Sorry, Angel, but Amerika is so overrated. I love it here. I’m staying in Terraristan. You should come and check it out. The people are beautiful and they won’t judge you for wearing feathers or anything else.”

“Chuck, this is no time for jokes. Amerika needs you again. The crime rate is out of control!”

“Get yourself an exterminator. I’m sick of chasing your stray dogs. Anyway, it’s time you gave up on Amerika. Quit your job and go to Africa. Maybe you can build a better Amerika there.”

“You’re crazy. I can’t quit my job.”

“Why not?”

“I’m the president!!”

“Bah! No one will notice your absence. Amerikans don’t need Big Daddy anymore. They know the law better than the police without ever having read a single law. And if you leave me in charge, I swear we’ll have the lowest crime rate and the highest luv rate in the world. Besides, with your work experience, you could be president anywhere. Lots of countries must be headhunting you right now.”

Angel frowned. “Perhaps I am popular abroad, but this country still needs me like kids need Santa Claus and security blankets.”

“Nonsense. Equipped with their little iGods, Amerikans can fend for themselves.”

President Angel laughed. “You obviously haven’t been home in age and don’t read the news. Listen, Amerika has been overrun with economic-eco-commie terrorists. They’re turning rural Amerika into a patchwork of … of –”

“Of communes?”

“Worse! They’re turning our best cornfields and factory farms into disorderly forests and naked circuses! They’re turning our parks into refugee camps for homeless Nature lovers, tax evaders, welfare cases, high school dropouts and other sick rabbits. The Constitution explicitly forbids this, but they think the Constitution is just hilarious. Seriously! And now those clowns are seed bombing our beautiful cities, giving factories away and cutting off our gas, oil, water, electricity and fast food. Civilization is under attack!”

President Angel was hysterical. He slid deeper under the bedsheets and slowly drifted into a nightmare about a bad restaurant. The food was slow. No one respected his orders. They offered angel soup. He demanded ostrich steak and chicken chops, but the waiters were out to lunch. The poor president screamed for service and tried to out-wait the waiters. Hope and stubborn determination bound him fast to his chair. He grew weaker and weaker and saw vultures and hyenas enter the restaurant and laugh over his bones.

President Angel woke up shaking. For comfort, he snuggled against Chuck’s soft, warm body.


An Evil Legislator

The next morning, the president’s nightmare came true: breakfast was not served. The White House kitchen staff had either quit or gone on strike. So Chuck, put on his bunny costume and went hunting for vittles. Sadly, he found nothing edible on the White House grounds: no cows, pigs, puppies, goats, sheep or rabbits. However, he did locate a herd of fat asses and elephants in the presidential gardens. Chuck shot them dead, slashed into the largest belly and extracted a bloody organ known as the omasum, or bible, carried it into the White House and slammed it onto the breakfast table, splattering the president with blood and digestive acids.

“Nice catch,” Angel politely remarked. “Where’d you learn to hunt?”

“I studied the true life of George ‘Jesus Christ’ Washington. Did you know that back in his day, he shot thousands of elephants and donkeys roaming about Washington? He killed so many that Amerikans were finally relieved of those pests. But it looks like they’ve staged a come-back. Not for long, though. With your permission, I’ll hunt them to extinction!”

The president was aghast. “You killed my innocent elephants and donkeys! They’re not for eating! They have rights. I would rather you kill everyone in Congress and the Senate for flooding the nation with crap that comes from their pens!”

“I could give that a try. Are they fast on their feet?” Chuck asked as he stroked and polished his dreadful weapon.

“Unfortunately, they’re faster than flying sharks. I’ve seen them run barefoot from D.C. to W.S. in under an hour! Don’t waste your time trying to catch them. I’d rather you found Stephen Kinki or Joan ‘Nice Legs’ Collins to write golden lines of perfectly legible legislation.”

“Bah! You don’t need them. I could easily write some good legal shit for you. I have honorable degrees from Harvard and Yale.”

“Wow! Chuck the job is yours!”

“You won’t regret your decision. I don’t mean to blow my pink horn, but hey! I think my mental dictionary is super-duper, my grammatical wahzoo is all the rage for the elementary reason that my devotion to concision is so amazing I could pare the old Bible down to a page or two, maybe three. Like, you know what I mean? Okay, don’t look at me like that. What I’m try to say is that when I’m done, your laws will contain no unnecessary flaws, and your sentences will stop being prison sentences!”

The president was so impressed, he put Chuck in his office between towers of paper and said, “Chuck, you’ve gotten my hopes so high that now, if you don’t fulfill you promise in one month, I won’t ever talk to you again.”

Chuck beamed with confidence, but once the door was shut he fell down and prayed, “Oh God, I can’t even spell the alphabet! I’m sorry! I should have paid more attention and studied harder in school, but that’s piss under the bridge! Please, forgive me and give my arm the power to write lines of pure gold!”

And God said, “I will teach you everything you need to know after you promise to improve only the wording of the laws and to leave the gist of the laws unchanged.”

“Can’t I have a little fun?”

“You may compose a law or two requiring all Amerikans to kiss God’s ass 35 times a week.”

Chuck agreed to these terms, but before I could teach him anything, Satan appeared in her alluring form, stole his will and conscience, and forced him to turn the laws into her crappy jokes! Thanks to her evil meddling, he wrote completely new laws and acts like the National Buy the Fucking Farm Authorization Act (NBFFAA) and the Satan Rules the World Act (SRWA), of which the latter required all citizens, corporations and government bodies to surrender all their land to Satan Mining, a non-profit company whose ludicrous mining operations never even reached bedrock, let alone Hell. This company never made a profit because it only used biodegradable, solar-powered machines that only extracted tiny amounts of sulfur, nitrogen, phosphate, iron, hydrogen, magnesium, water, carbon, oxygen and so on. Satan Mining was extremely unprofitable in places where the rodents thought they could eat the company’s plant-like machines!

Next, Satan’s secretary undermined civilization by writing the Forget Your Boss Now Act, and the Men Must Give Women Pleasure Act, and the Mysterious Act for Clowns, Idiots and Asses (MA4CIA).

Satan also dictated the infamous Nightmare Amendment, which declared clothing a national security threat because, if I may quote the Devil, “clothes can be used to hide dangerous objects.” This evil amendment authorized the police to strip citizens and burn their clothes. If put into effect, on its own this abominable law would have destroyed the textile and fashion industries and undermined the very foundation of civilization.

But, perhaps Chuck’s ultimate offense consisted of forging this new article and tacking it to the Constitution:

The one and only Chuck Bollocks shall be loved by all citizens, regardless of age, and he shall be made president, and all gods, dolls, puppets, cartoons and children shall be made in his handsome image, and schools shall study his body, his teeth, his guts, his sexy organs, his pure blood and semen, his extraordinary bone, and his inflatable lungs. All Amerikans shall read nothing but the life of Chuck, and all songs shall praise him, and all actors and actresses shall always re-enact the heroic acts of the true president of Amerika.

Satan certainly knew how to manipulate Chuck through flattery. But, to his credit, Chuck did not always obey Satan. Most famously, he refused to rewrite the following law: “Anyone who fucks with the law so that the judges are either confused or offended by them shall pay with his ass.” Thank goodness he didn’t touch that one, and thank God most Amerikans never read their laws.


A Television Mini-Series

One day, after many arguments with Congress, President Angel was in a humorous mood and made this excellent joke, “Chuck, I admit it, I’ve been wrong about you all this time. You know exactly what the common rabbit wants, and you’re so funny that you truly deserve to be president.”

“You mean it? Oh, really? It’s my dream come true! When can I start?”

“Hold on! There’s a little problem we need to take care of.”

“Shit! I knew it! I’m too ugly, right?”

“Don’t be silly. Amerikans don’t judge by appearances—not unless you don’t look healthy. I mean, if your skin turned black or red, or if your head were a tumor, then maybe they’d have second thoughts. But I’m talking about something else. You see, there’s this thing called the economy. Voters want someone who understands it well enough to give everyone a job and a boss.”

“Good point. This country loves work. It can’t live without it. And as God used to say, where there is no work, Satan sows the seeds of madness.”

“A most astute psychological observation.”

“So, I’ll give the nation lots of work to do. I’ll pay everyone to fight climate change by sucking carbon out of the atmosphere! I’ll make them so busy they’ll be huffing and puffing in bed!”

“Brilliant! Wait, there’s just one more teeny-weeny problem.”

“What now?”

“Well, who’s gonna vote for someone they don’t know? The new generation doesn’t know you from the Devil. They don’t know your history and most of them are too young to remember that in your role as the Amerikan Messiah and the Ambassador to Terraristan, you liberated New York, you saved Africa from famine, the Philippines from typhoons, and you—with the indispensable help of the indispensable CIA—freed the Cubans, Germans, Vietnamese, Japanese, Panamanians and Iraqis from their governments.”

“I guess I should write my autobiography.”

“Stephen King already tried that but decided your life was too scary and depressing to write about.”


“Anyway, what you need is a reality show about you, which is why my personal dick has already written the scripts. All you have to do is follow my directions and act like yourself. I promise, within three episodes, Amerikans will see you’re perfect for the White House.”

“Wow. You really think I’m ready for a reality show?”

“Sure. Come, the studio isn’t far away.”

Chuck had seen enough of reality to suspect a plot to ruin his good reputation, but he was too curious to avoid it.


1. The Midwife

In the first episode, audiences learned that Sister None desperately needed the lord’s supernatural powers, so, at President Angel’s behest, he and my godly son paid her a visit in Pittsburg. They arrived just after the last doctor left Sister None’s resident covered in blood and cursing the day they ever became doctors. With godlike confidence, Lord Chuck followed Angel through the little doorway and into the candlelit interior. On a makeshift mattress, they found her naked legs rudely parted and her screaming, “God, who let you in here! I’ll kill you for this invasion of my privates!”

Seeing the naked woman, Lord Chuck nearly fainted

“Chuck!” President Angel hissed. “You’re her only hope! She’s been trying to clean her sewer for three whole days, but the kid won’t leave. Did you bring a plunger?”

“What? A plunger? Angel, this isn’t a plumbing job! That woman’s pregnant and having contractions!”

President Angel removed a plunger from his handbag and handed it to Chuck. “Stick this on the kid’s head and pull!”

“You’re nuts! That thing will pull its brains out! Listen, the kid won’t come out until he hears that there’s a world of love out here.”

Agitated, the lord knelt between the patient’s legs, but instead of praying, he bent close to the stubborn, unborn monster and politely inquired, “Hey, what’s the holdup in there?”

The kid did not answer, so Angel gave the lord a box of sweet goodies and said, “Stuff these in the kid’s mouth. That way he’ll know what he’s missing out here.”

Chuck was appalled. “I wouldn’t feed this junk to a purple Muslim Jew!” Then he leaned closer to the unborn monster and said, “Okay, kid, I don’t know what your mamma is feeding you in there, but I’m sure it all tastes the same. Wouldn’t you like to choose what you eat? Now, you gotta go wherever your mamma goes, but out here, just look, I can walk in any direction!”

The lord wagged his buttocks and spun on his heel. He was trying hard to sell Amerika. The mother could help laughing.

“YOU LAUGH, BUT It’s true!” Lord Freedom shouted before turning towards the child. “You think it’s Heaven in your mummy because you don’t have to do nothing, but consider this: in there your opinion counts for nothing, while out here we enjoy freedom and equality. We don’t take orders from anyone, not our mothers, bosses, teachers or … uhm, our politicians,” he added, looking nervously at the president.

The little unborn turd stared wide-eyed at this description of Amerika. Then, without delay, he pulled itself out of the womb and into a world of slavery and suffering—I mean—ha-ha-ha-ha—a life of law abiding citizenship. Sister None thanked Lord Chuck and blessed him by naming the newborn child after him. And why not? The little monster was made in his image.


2. The Litter

The next episode occurred the lord’s Luv Mansion at Fort Bragg. It began with the president waking Chuck with this whisper, “Hey, chief, the CIA just gave me a disturbing intelligence report. Apparently about 2,000 kids named Chuck are coming here. They say you’re responsible for their existence, so now if you don’t give them food and shelter they say they’ll bite your toes off.”

“The dogs! I hope they don’t look like me.”

“So you admit to fathering 2,000 little turds?”

Chuck shot up into sitting position. “Wait, did you say two-thousand?! Two kids, that I might handle, but twothousand? What am I supposed to do with so many?”

There was no time to answer. They rushed to the front door just in time to 200 mongrel kids toddling onto the estate. Oblivious of the adults, they began digging holes, looking for grub and pooping everywhere. The hungriest ones mowed the greenery with their teeth and got such belly aches their little voices disturbed the angels above. Chuck offered them generous quantities of luv, but they expressed no interest.

The president had some experience in these matters and handed Chuck a tranquilizer gun. “Go ahead. They just need their medicine, and this is the fastest way to administer it.”

“What? Their medicine? I’d rather have them suckle a cow’s teats. At least that will make them strong as oxen.”

“That would be breaking the law. Milk must be drunk from cups, not directly from cows. Science shows that teat sucking causes us to grow attached cow, which leads to cow worshipping.”

The lord snorted and declared, “Your laws are too cruel! These kids just need a lot of luv, and I’m going to give it to them.”

Then he ripped off his shirt, leapt among the mob of hungry brats and prayed that God and Science would turn him into a lactating woman.

God replied through President Angel, “Chuck, your prayer would be absurd in any country except in Amerika! Unfortunately, God does not know female anatomy, therefore He must politely declines your request.”

“With all due respect, Mister President, you are a liar! God could easily teleport me into his celestial lab and turn me into a lactating tit!”

“Chuck, you must suffer the consequences of your reckless promiscuity.”

The lord scratched his head. “But I’ve never fucked anyone. To the best of my recollection …”

“You could be charged,” the president continued speaking over him, “with patent infringement. By law, the white gene you have muddied must be kept pure, and those who break the law must be thrown into the most terrifying prison in Amerika, a prison full of colored women.”

The lord was still scratching his head and thinking aloud, “… maybe I ejaculated in my sister’s direction once or twice, but, you don’t think …?”

“Of course I think! And why not? If you ejected your semen at the right angle, semen can fly for miles! And look at those kids! They behave exactly like you!”

“I don’t care. I don’t have time for them. I have a country to save.”

“That makes good sense.”

“Let’s round these little trespassers up and bring them to my sister. She’ll quiet them with her amazing milk glands.”

“Her glands, as you call them, they certainly are amazing,” said Angel, dreamily.

The lord made a mental note to punch the president after he took care of business. With help, he chased the mob of ruthless trespassers around the house while Angel stood on the balcony, cheering like an Olympic spectator. The lord barely survived the first lap, so Angel came down and commiserated with him, “I don’t think your plan is working. I think they like it here.”

Chuck turned to the smug little shits gathered around him, daring him to touch them, and shouted, “I’ve had enough! Go home!”

The eldest one replied with bitter sarcasm, “But we like you and we like it here. This place is Heaven.”

Wrong! This is Hell! And my friend here is no angel; he’s a monster!

Angel was so amused he couldn’t resist growling and baring his teeth at the children, but they weren’t amused. They actually screamed and fled scampering down the street to their mothers. Stupid cowards. Afraid of monsters! Honestly, doesn’t any have faith in God?


3. The Family

In the final episode, President Angel tested the lord’s patience by taking him down the street to a mental asylum that the CIA had disguised to look like the dump where the lord’s family lived. Upon their arrival, they heard the sound of women and children cackling these blasphemies:

Our lord’s name was Chuck,

And he was crazy as a duck,

Quack-quack, quack-quack.

He walked funny,

He pooped money,

And gave it all away.

Quack-quack, quack-quack.

He gave us credit, dimes and pennies,

And said, “Go nurture it

Work to feed it, make it grow

Before God and the Government

Come calling and collecting.”

Quack-quack, quack-quack,



Chuck felt personally insulted and hurt—for he deeply respected both God and the government. So, he snuck inside that mental asylum, smashed all the bidets and toilets and made Angel write these words on the wall, Because Satan and her sisters live here, the government will no longer take your shit!

Afterwards, he met Penny, or a woman he thought was Penny, rushing past the washroom.

“Hey, Mom! It’s me!”

She asked in feigned confusion, “Is Mom my name today?”

“Don’t you recognize him?” a stranger asked.

“Him? I knew an Elohim once.”

“Mom, don’t you recognize me?” Chuck cried, a note of desperation tainting his voice.

“No. I knew a Mimi once. Are you from around here or are you lost?”

Chuck was sure President Angel had paid his mother to humiliate him. “It’s me, your son!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know any ‘yorson.’ Never heard that name before. Is it a variation of whoreson?”

Chuck saw his sister down the hall and yelled, “Bitch!” She barked, wagged her buttocks and bounded away. Chuck thought he was back in the old psychiatric ward he’d visited early in his government career. He started to worry. Was he losing his mind? Maybe it was time to get out of the entertainment business and get back to reality.


Public Reaction

To the president’s infinite frustration, the public did not react. Despite the enormous budget spent on producing Chuck Does Amerika, the public only changed its opinion of the government, and changed it for the worse. I suppose I should have told him that Amerikans had long ago lost interest in televisions and movies. Ever since their stupid little revolution, they got all their information the way ignorant cave men did, through unprotected contact with the worm-ridden, ever-changing body of Mother Nature, and through the unreliable word-of-mouth method.