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.

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