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.
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:
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,
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.
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.
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,
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.