OH CANADA! OUR HOME AND NA....wait. Wrong country.
The United States, one nation under idiots. Here on this land, a whole citizen population stares perplexed at an increasingly inept leadership while there shined high above the cliffs of logic and sanity, sit two ideologies; Democratic and Moronic. Like dumb and dumber, twiddle dee and twiddle dum, Laurel and Hardy politicians criss cross the stage in a feeble attempt at dark humor:
A violent thunder crackles across the hardwood flood as Laurel stumbles forward to the audience, his mouth twisted in obvious retardation.
"I proclaim," he says, drool dribbling down his open mouth, "a new beginning." A hint of a sinister smile plays upon the corners of his lips as he hears Hardy begin his long waddle upstage.
"What say you Hardy?" shouts Laurel turning around to face a large belly poking through an already oversized long shirt. "Should we give the old slave childr......errrrr.....citizens a good show this year? You know, a good governement and all that?"
"Hmmph," grunts Hardy as his shuffle forward becomes noticeably more strained, "good government....good government...What do these fools know of a good government?"
"Why Hardy," says Laurel his voice straining to the taste of pickled pigs blood, "How can you say such things? These people are our people. They need our help and our protection. We must treat them with some mediocum of respect."
Hardy moans fill the room as his next step forward sends thunderous ripples into cavities better left unmentioned. "Respect. These idiots know nothing of respect. MY FATHER BUILT THIS COUNTRY. MY FATHER HAD THE RESPECT OF THIS COUNTRY."
"Now Hardy, lets not be so hasty in judging these...things called people. No no. Let us make something for them instead. Let us build something great. Something that the future could not even destroy."
"Yes Laurel?! What is it that you have in mind?!! Some sort of future church?!!! Perhaps one that uses a special alloy?!!!!. Our cross could literally be impenetrable Laural. Yes, yes.....Jesus the Transformer Christ. It does have a special ring to it." Hardy looks up expectantly at Laurel, eyes lost in the possibilities of biblical wonder.
"No Hardy. Not yet. The people will not appreciate Transformer Jesus nor will they appreciate your metal church. No. I was thinking more along the lines of facism."
"Facist Jesus? Are you sure?" asks Hardy, not quite understanding the gravity of Laurels statement, "because I don't think people will fully get facist jesus. I mean we could try but..."
"No Hardy. Fac-ism. Think of what we could achieve with fascism under our arms. The money, the power, the legislature, MY GOD THE LEGISLATURE." Laural unfurls his arms in an exasperated sigh as his jowl begin to move to the orchestrated rhythms of his pelvis. "Think Hardy," hips still thrusting the stagnant air, "all we have to do is enslave this heathen population. We re-work their constitutional rights, tax them to poverty, enforce illiteracy, ban science and BAM. The world is ours."
A stain begins to appear on Laurels pants.
"Facism huh?" Hardy ponders, his wallet pressing up against the back of his pants, "So that's what all this hub-bub has been about recently?
"You know", says Hardy hair standing on brim, "I know of atleast twelve or 13 people that would do this. That should be enough right Laurel? 13 people to enforce a government meant for millions?"
"Yes Hardy," answers Laurel, his blood now flowing considerably easier, "13 for the million."
The United States, one nation under idiots. Here on this land, a whole citizen population stares perplexed at an increasingly inept leadership while there shined high above the cliffs of logic and sanity, sit two ideologies; Democratic and Moronic. Like dumb and dumber, twiddle dee and twiddle dum, Laurel and Hardy politicians criss cross the stage in a feeble attempt at dark humor:
A violent thunder crackles across the hardwood flood as Laurel stumbles forward to the audience, his mouth twisted in obvious retardation.
"I proclaim," he says, drool dribbling down his open mouth, "a new beginning." A hint of a sinister smile plays upon the corners of his lips as he hears Hardy begin his long waddle upstage.
"What say you Hardy?" shouts Laurel turning around to face a large belly poking through an already oversized long shirt. "Should we give the old slave childr......errrrr.....citizens a good show this year? You know, a good governement and all that?"
"Hmmph," grunts Hardy as his shuffle forward becomes noticeably more strained, "good government....good government...What do these fools know of a good government?"
"Why Hardy," says Laurel his voice straining to the taste of pickled pigs blood, "How can you say such things? These people are our people. They need our help and our protection. We must treat them with some mediocum of respect."
Hardy moans fill the room as his next step forward sends thunderous ripples into cavities better left unmentioned. "Respect. These idiots know nothing of respect. MY FATHER BUILT THIS COUNTRY. MY FATHER HAD THE RESPECT OF THIS COUNTRY."
"Now Hardy, lets not be so hasty in judging these...things called people. No no. Let us make something for them instead. Let us build something great. Something that the future could not even destroy."
"Yes Laurel?! What is it that you have in mind?!! Some sort of future church?!!! Perhaps one that uses a special alloy?!!!!. Our cross could literally be impenetrable Laural. Yes, yes.....Jesus the Transformer Christ. It does have a special ring to it." Hardy looks up expectantly at Laurel, eyes lost in the possibilities of biblical wonder.
"No Hardy. Not yet. The people will not appreciate Transformer Jesus nor will they appreciate your metal church. No. I was thinking more along the lines of facism."
"Facist Jesus? Are you sure?" asks Hardy, not quite understanding the gravity of Laurels statement, "because I don't think people will fully get facist jesus. I mean we could try but..."
"No Hardy. Fac-ism. Think of what we could achieve with fascism under our arms. The money, the power, the legislature, MY GOD THE LEGISLATURE." Laural unfurls his arms in an exasperated sigh as his jowl begin to move to the orchestrated rhythms of his pelvis. "Think Hardy," hips still thrusting the stagnant air, "all we have to do is enslave this heathen population. We re-work their constitutional rights, tax them to poverty, enforce illiteracy, ban science and BAM. The world is ours."
A stain begins to appear on Laurels pants.
"Facism huh?" Hardy ponders, his wallet pressing up against the back of his pants, "So that's what all this hub-bub has been about recently?
"You know", says Hardy hair standing on brim, "I know of atleast twelve or 13 people that would do this. That should be enough right Laurel? 13 people to enforce a government meant for millions?"
"Yes Hardy," answers Laurel, his blood now flowing considerably easier, "13 for the million."
*End Scene*
FUCK YOU AMERICA.
P.S: There are rumors in news media that the government of America actually does tend to make decisions so hastily. How I ended this piece was not a mistake.
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