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.”

“Damn!”

“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,

Quackity-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.

 

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