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.

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