MURCA: The Land of the Free (SDNW4)

[Coalition]

I bookmarked this story to enjoy later, without necroing it.

Now there is a new chapter, and the insanity is wonderful. Very well done.

[Scottish Ninja]

Blenn Geck! Seven Stoogal! Together - they fight crime!

[Eternal_Freedom]

Oh God this is still alive, and I was half-hoping it was dead....

Why do I think that Joey Jojo is going to get his comeupance soon??

[PeZook]

Oh God this is still alive, and I was half-hoping it was dead....

What sort of unpatriotic traitor are you? Is your name just a clever play on words, or perhaps...perhaps it is camouflage and you are really a secret Pelanian Candidate!

Why else would you want this magnificent story about the triumph of freedom and traditional values to die? Huh? Why?

TRAITOR!

[Eternal_Freedom]

...says the Polish man. Very MURCAN.

I don't jsut want the tale to die. I want to see Murca fall, burning, from grace as it is conquered and annihilated by those it would oppress. I want to see the country be given just enough time to realise their misdeeds before their land is bathed in nuclear fire. I want to see every last Murcan BURN!

[PeZook]

...says the Polish man. Very MURCAN.

I am merely in awe of the greatest country in the world, and you should, too!

I don't jsut want the tale to die. I want to see Murca fall, burning, from grace as it is conquered and annihilated by those it would oppress. I want to see the country be given just enough time to realise their misdeeds before their land is bathed in nuclear fire. I want to see every last Murcan BURN!

*froths at the mouth in rage*

TFRAITUH! *spittle*

[Eternal_Freedom]

Hey, PeZook, you know what I'm doing right now?

I'm playing the USSR national anthem on youtube, and thinking it's pretty good. I geuss that makes me a red commie bastard traitor hiding under the bed with an AK right?

[Shroom Man 777]

By PeZook

SPINOFF: JOEY JOJO GOES TO SCHOOL P.2

Roach City Motel
Oho, Murca



“In other news, a string of unexplained bear maulings has hit rural Murca, the number of such incidents rising by more than 10 000 percent since the equivalent time last year. We are told this is a lot. I wouldn’t know, I was never good at maths, hurr hurr...and now, time for sports! Bubba?”

Joey missed the rest of the program since his mind locked up at the very big number the journos struck him with. When he finally came to, he realized that made him miss the sports section and threw a shoe at the TV in frustration. Bah. He had work to do, anyway.

Joey has had a very busy month, working at his son’s school. He had to divide his time between stalking Billy Lee across school corridors, classes and bathrooms, making sure his son did not do or think anything untoward, and fixing the school - which, as far as Joey was concerned, was a place of filth and lieberalness.

Why, just last week, Joey realized the school cafeteria was serving salads - salads, the most lieberal food there was - to the students! The nutritionist employed there tried to argue with Joey that children that small needed nutrients and a balanced diet to grow up strong. He used a lot of big words, so Joey shoved the stupid nerd’s face into the salad bar and then emptied all the disgusting green vegetables into the deep frier. One shouldn’t waste food, after all, and as distasteful as vegetables were, deep fried they could be an acceptable substitute if meat was not available.

The man in charge of the Sovereign Citizens militia detachment that came to collect the nutritionist commended Joey for his quick thinking and saving many Murcan children. But man, if even a school founded by someone like Jimmy Bob Anderson hid such dirty lieberal secrets, where could a proper Murcan be safe? At least now the children ate proper all-Murcan meals - pure red meat, fried stuff, cheese... and lots of it! Huge portions! There was also other healthy traditional cuisine, such as hamburgers, freedom fries, beer and gravy, deep fried candy and beef spam with cheese. Joey set up that menu and made the principal sign it - that was one threat to the lil’ fellas that was eradicated. Pfew. The goddamned pussy of a principal almost chickened out, too, said feeding hamburgers and steak to five year old preschoolers was too much. Joey would have to remember to have the Sovereign Citizens investigate that guy, too.

But despite everything, it had been done. After that, Joey took two weeks off to rest from the ordeal. He had to think some more about his position as a teacher, and whether or not it was worth it at all.

At least the classes were proper. Parents sometimes complained about their children coming home bruised and battered, but were told to sue or shut up. Discipline had to be maintained, that was Joey’s credo, and by Jeebus, if it served him well at home, it would serve him well at school, too! Joey taught history, but didn’t stop there, and often helped other teachers, especially with maths and geography. He could leave them alone in homeopathy and alternative medicine courses, those guys were really professional and knew their shit, but those maths professors... they taught bullshit, pure bullshit. Joey had to smack them around some before they agreed to stop polluting children’s minds with fractions. Fucking fractions.

But today was different. Today the Oho Home School Away From Home Bibel School would have its football team compete with another one, from a different school. While Joey was still dismayed little Billy Lee didn’t make the team (for which discipline was administered properly and thoroughly, of course), he could appreciate a good true blue all-murcan showing. To his great honor, he was given the joy of acting as referee to the game. After he demanded it and slashed the tires of the footbal coach’s cars, but still. Freedom!

The match would happen soon. Joey began to apply war paint to himself. He’d be an impartial and reasonable judge but fuck if those Meesheegun Jeebus School For The Gifted fucks would get even a single point in.

“Mary Jane!” he shouted after he was finished painting his face in gaudy glitter.His wife quickly and quietly appeared. Her face briefly showed a look of horror, but she learned to hide her emotions very well and very deeply.

“Is my equipment prepared?”

“Yes, Joey. It is all ready.”

“Is Billy Lee dressed appropriately?”

“Yes, Joey.”

“Is my meat raw and dripping?”

“What?”

There was silence. Joey clenched his fists in rage. Of all the things, she forgot the most important one! The tradition that brought luck to any football team Joey cheered for!

“DON’T SAY WHAT GODDAMMIT! GET THE MEAT NOW, WOMAN! NOW!”

Mary Jane scampered off, terrified of her husband and his famous meat-related angersplosions. She quickly put on her properly patriotic attire, which Joey sometimes let her take off at home (although he invariably hated himself for giving in to temptation, especially after watching Billy Biscuit Graham on television). Then she grabbed some money, a pistol, two grenades, six knives, pepper spray and a sawed-off shotgun and left the motel for a run to the corner store.

She better make it before the game Joey thought and put on his brilliant football gear. He was a referee, but goddamn he’d show these guest team bozos who’s boss by wearing his son’s school colors!

“Billy Lee! Get in the truck, it’s time to go!”

At that, Billy Lee Jojo waddled into the room, wearing ridiculously oversized football getup. The boy could barely walk, the helmet weaved comically on his head, and a huge bag of kibitzing paraphenalia like flags, foam fingers, hats and whistles didn’t exactly help him maintain his balance.

“Dad, do I have to wear this? I’m not even playing!”

“Shut up! You have to support your schoolmates, since you were too weak and scrawny and too much of a nerd to get into the team! Stop whining like a loser that you are and get in the damn car!”

Billy waddled out, trying not to tumble down the stairs. Joey wiped away a single manly tear, trying not to show just how much his son’s disappointment hurt him. But he’d mourn Billy Lee’s failure as a man later. Now, he’d admire the manly buttocks and chiseled bodies of the school’s football team, those beautiful ten year olds fed a steady diet of steroids and performance enhancing drugs by their coach, drugs that made them big and strong and real boys. Oh, how Joey would want to be the father of one of them!

But wait, steroids and drugs were unregulated now. Maybe Joey still could have a little Murcan football player in his home! Yes! With work, Billy Lee would grow to be strong and independent and able to smash people aside and engage in murder-suicide due to roid rage!

Later. After the game. And after he picked his still-loser son from the pavement, since he did eventually tumble down the stairs. At least he didn’t whine like a pussy, those lacerated hands would heal in no time.



Oho Home School Away From Home Bibel School Football Stadium
Oho, Murca



Jimmy Bob Anderson spared no expense on his school, school that created a fine new generation of upstanding Murcans to work his slaughterhouses and snake oil drills. Such tough, manly and patriotic labor required guts (to gut animals and the occasional person), fortitude (to stand the blood and guts), dedication (to not kill yourself after a year) and of course, and above all, raw physical strength. Child labor was all well and good and a perfectly fine way to cut costs, but children were annoyingly fragile. And thus, the Oho Home School Away From Home Bibel School would breed a new kind of child laborer. But they needed a stadium for that, so they got a stadium. A massive frickin’ stadium. With a massive frickin’ parking lot.

Joey drove his truck into that lot, maneuvering between other vehicles that were left wherever their owners felt they should be left, which made finding a spot somewhat difficult. Eventually he managed to park his giant pick-up, running over a homeless man sleeping in the shade.

“Out! March! Faster! Faster!” he ordered his son, but not after checking if the homeless guy was actually dead. Sneaky homeless guys, they were everywhere now, looking for handouts. Fucking layabouts, why were there so many of them? Murca was free now, there was no need to become homeless and filthy just to avoid paying all those incredibly high taxes! But Joey guessed some people were just lazy, and growing up coddled by the nanny state they just couldn’t cope with the new reality. Whatever, Joey surely wouldn’t give them any handouts.

The guy was dead, though, so he wouldn’t be trying to fleece hardworking Murcans. Joey followed his son, who was carrying bags of paraphenalia in his lacerated and bleeding hands. To his father’s pride, he didn’t utter a word in protest - all for the better, for he’d have to be disciplined if he ever did.

“Joey!” the school principal greeted them at the main entrance. “And you came with your son...uh...why are you wearing football gear? You’re one of the referees...”

Joey twitched. “ONE of the referees?”

“Well, uh,yeah the judgements have to be impartial, so there’s gonna be another and...”

“I’M NOT FUCKING GIVING MY POSITION UP!”

“Dad! You’re embarassing us!”

“SHUT UP! Where’s that other fucker, huh? Where is he?!”

“Joey, calm down I...”

Joey slapped the principal. He was already waving his gun around “WHERE IS HE?!”

Suddenly a guy in a dorky looking striped shirt arrived and asked “What’s going on here?”

Joey pointed an accusatory finger at him and yelled something obscene yet incomprehensible. The referee from Meesheegun Jeebus School For The Gifted saw a gun in Joey’s hand and went for his own, yelling insults in return.

The crowded corridor suddenly erupted into violence, as the two judges shot it out at point blank range.Bullets whizzed by, slammed into walls and people. The dork in a dorky shirt got his several times in the chest and head, but even then managed to catch Joey once in the chest.

After the usurper was well and truly dead, and Joey’s ears stopped ringing, he patted himself down and discovered the only round that impacted him struck a Bibel he was always wearing on his chest. The hollowpoint had deformed and became harmless thanks to the thickness of the tome.

“Thank Jeebus I’m alive! Jeebus wanted me as the sole arbiter of this holy game, hallelujah! Jeebus saves!”

The principal, who was bleeding from a bullet that had grazed his head and sliced his ear, was agape in both shock and reverence. He was right. Joey Jojo was absolutely right. It was... it was a miracle. That was the only possible explanation. He finally realized that he had made the right indecision to hire Joey as a teacher, coach, nutritionist and janitor. He fell to his knees, took off his cowboy hat and bowed his head at Joey Jojo, the man who Jeebus had saved.

“Mister Jojo...” the principal blubbered.

“Mary Jane!” Joey shouted in reply. The principal looked confused, only to turn around and see a heavily armed woman in a full body veil. The principal grew even more confused when she brought up a slab of meat. Joey Jojo quickly took the meat and sniffed it long and hard, squeezing it so that some blood would drip from its raw flesh. “Give me the meat! Ahh yeah... that’s the stuff! Here, try some!”

Joey slapped the meat on the principal’s head, on the side of his wounded ear. The principal sighed in relief as the cold meat soothed the pain of his ear, which was now hanging by a thread of flesh since Joey had slapped it with the meat. The principal then lost consciousness, due to shock.

“What a wimp. Couldn’t even handle my man meat,” Joey snorted. Then he looked at Billy and Mary. “What’re you standing there all slack jawed for? C’mon, we have a game to win!”

Music blared through the stadium’s speakers. Triumphantly holding up his messed-up Bibel, Joey ran out onto the grass, the sun glistening on his fabulous football gear. His wife and son were left behind to squeeze their way up to the audience stands. And they better be in the audience on time!

The commentator seemed confused at first, but managed to somehow recognize Joey, or maybe was informed of what happened, and didn’t miss a beat in his speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen we welcome you here, at a friendly game between two fine schools, challenging each other to a game of the world’s greatest sport... FOOTBALL!”

The audience cheered. As Joey made his way to the centre of the field, the guy with the microphone was getting more hot and sweaty in his booth, “I would like you to give a warm welcome to the Jeebus-chosen arbiter, none other than the hero of Oho, Joey Jojo!”

Another cheer rolled across the field, and then the players stormed out. Both sides sent their best, but the Homeschoolboys (as the OHSAFH team was called) were large like adults chiseled and hyperthyroid, while the Meesheegun Jeebus School For The Gifted team looked scrawny and weak in comparison. Joey smiled smugly - that game was already won! Hah!

The students cheered and waved little flags. Joey couldn’t see his family up there due to the crowds and the sun being in his eyes. No matter, he’d check later if Mary Jane had proper beer- and beefstains on her veil.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the teams are taking their positions! What a great day to be a Murcan, seeing the youth of our nation so committed to preserving the country’s greatest sports tradition!”

Joey stood between the teams, sun glistening on his fabulous gear. He pulled out a coin.

“Okay, here we go, maggots! I want a clean fight!”

“Don’t you mean game?” the guest team’s captain asked

“Shut up.”

The coin flew into the air Joey grabbed it midflight and glanced at it for a second.

“Tails! The Homeschoolboys begin the game!”, he announced triumphantly. The winning team cheered and begun to get set up.

“Hey, come on, we didn’t even call heads or tails!”, the pussy guest captain complained. Joey shot him an angry look and growled “Get onto the field you stupid brat!”

“But the rules...”

“It’s my game, and I am putting the sporting spirit before the rules! Get set up or I will declare that you forfeited the match!”

The pussy of a football captain fumed, but obeyed. Both teams got on their positions, and the stadium went silent in the expectation of a brilliant kickoff.

“Go get ‘em, boys!”, Joey yelled and blew into his whistle.



With a gargantuan crash, the Homeschoolboys suddenly rushed ahead and crashed through the guest team’s line. Screams of pain and horror erupted into the air. The Homeschoolboy quarterback grabbed the ball from the ground and began to run.

Despite their smaller statures, two players from the guest team managed to tackle the quarterback and take the ball away from him. Only one got away, though - the quarterback fumed at the mouth in roid rage and bit the smaller kid’s nose off.

“Foul! Foul!”, the guest captain yelled over the sound of battle, seeing one of his players bleeding on the grass. Joey shook his head, “No foul! He’ll walk it off! Play ball!”

The guest team’s audience booed the decision, but the referee’s word was law on the field, and so the game went on. The lone guest player dodged a hyperthyroid steroid freak who tried to kick him in the teeth and passed the ball to one of his mates. The receiving player was almost immediately thrown to the ground and then elbow slammed, but in a feat of almost superhuman strength, threw the ball across thirty yards, straight through the Homeschoolboy goal posts.

“Amazing!” the commentator cheered, the fucking traitor, “Incredible! The the guest team scores!”

Joey blew into his whistle again, stopping the game just in time to save a player’s life from a headlock.

“No goal! Foul!” he yelled.

The cheer that was slowly rising from the visiting audience turned into yet another leer. Local children drowned it out with their own cheer, though. Joey beamed with pride - he was a truly great referee! He decided to follow it up with another strike.

“Unsporting behavior from the guest teams, and audience, means the point goes to the Homeschoolboys!” Joey laughed.



“This is bullshit! Fucking steaming pile of grade-a bullshit!” the ten-year-old guest captain screamed. “You’re the worst judge ever!”

Joey laughed. He fucking laughed. “Play ball!”

The captain was kicked in the teeth and shut up. Several player tried to do a kickoff, mistakenly believing that losing a point meant they now got the ball, but the stupid idea was confronted with a wall of growth hormone and synthetic testosterone-enhanced muscle. The Homeschoolboy quarterback still didn’t grab the ball, though, as he was busy choking the life out of one of the cheerleaders.

Due to that mistake, one of the miraculously still non-injured guests took possession of the ball and suicidally rushed through to the ten-yard line, somehow avoiding the half a dozen raging Homeschoolboys. Flying on wings of fear, the kid leapt right through and slammed the ball into the ground, scoring a clean touchdown!

Joey didn’t see it, though. Touchdown? What touchdown?

The hero of the minute was bodyslammed and slam-dunked and then beaten with his own helmet until he spat teeth. The ball was back in the game!

And it was a brutal game. When the first quarter was done, the Homeschoolboys walked off the field high-fiving and butt-slapping each other while the guests mostly had to be carried off.

Joey breathed the air, smelling of blood, sweat, urine and other bodily fluids. Aaah. That was the smell of the sporting spirit!

“You really think you can get away with it, asshole?” it was the guest captain again. His face was a terrible sight, covered with dried blood, mud and dirt. He was missing teeth and his left eye was swollen shut.

“Are you questioning my judgements, boy? You should respect your betters!”

“You’re not following the rules!” the kid spat accusingly. A bloody tooth hit Joey in the face. Joey was horrified and blew his whistle.

“Assault on the referee! Free kickoff for the home team!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. The guest captain flew into a rage, but Joey held him off by grabbing him by the hair and lifting him off the ground, the weakling - just long enough for the Homeschoolboys to rush out of their locker room wielding baseball bats.

“He’s attackin’ good Mr. Jojo!” one of the calmed players yelled, “Get ‘im!”

Leering from the guest audience grew louder and the Homeschoolboys violently attacked their opponents - and their cheeleaders, and the water boy, and their mascot.

Now it weren’t just the players who were screaming foul, but their audience and even some goddamn traitors from Oho. They said it was the intermission, that the game wasn’t on and similar lilly-livered talk.

Joey had to admit this was unsporting. The game had to be proper. He blew his whistle again.

“Second quarter begins!”

“What the fuck, man?!” some random parent who managed to get to the field yelled in Joey’s face, “This ain’t football! They have baseball bats!”

Joey blew the whistle in the man’s face for a good minute, covering him in spittle.

“Declaration! Baseball bats are allowed!” Joey said smugly. “It’s not the rules that matters, its the spirit of sport and sportsmanship!”

The Homeschoolboys didn’t even pretend to be chasing the ball after that declaration. They began chasing the guest team around the field. The entire match degenerated into a mass melee.

Then the guest team’s reservists rushed the field armed with hockey sticks - fucking hockey sticks - and crashed into the nearest Homeschoolboy. The boy was huge and toned, but even he went down to a dozen sticks to the skull. He was stick-beaten into submission.

The Homeschoolboy quarterback yelled incomprehensibly. He spat out some kid’s ear that he had bitten off earlier and used as a mouthguard during the first quarter, and rushed the reservists. He lifted the nearest one off the ground and used him to beat on the others, like a human baseball bat.

Joey sighed. Unruly kids. He blew the whistle again, with all his might.

“Foul! Hockey sticks are un-Murcan and Canuckistani! A most foul foul! Hockey sticks are not allowed!”

A half-empty beer can struck Joey in the face.

“Fuck you!” some angry student from Meesheegun yelled. Joey smiled smugly - again - and opened his mouth to declare some more punishment for the guest team, when another member of the audience pulled out a pistol and began shooting at him.

Within seconds, the entire stadium erupted into even more extreme violence. Parents, coaches and teachers all pulled out their mandatory concealed carry weapons, memories of the school shooting from just a month ago still fresh in their minds. Someone yelled the shooter was going for Judge Jojo, and all of a sudden, the guest side of the stadium came under massed fire.

They shot back, of course. Bullets whizzed across the field, scoring touchdowns on people. Joey barely avoided getting himself killed, mostly by slipping on the grass, which was slippery with blood.

The massed firefight showed no signs of stopping, even when Joey blew his whistle really, really hard. Already a Friendlypol SUV was rushing across the field, saying something through its loudspeakers. It was attacked by the Homeschoolboys quarterback, who leapt onto the hood and hissed at the driver while banging on the windshield... and that was enough.

The top-mounted Mama Goose on the vehicle opened indiscriminate fire towards both sides of the stadium, slaughtering those who were not yet wounded or dead from the initial firefight. More vehicles rolled in, reacting to a call for backup.

“YEAH! OOOORAH, YOU FUCKING TERRORIZERS! EAT LEAD!”, Joey could hear someone scream. Officers were viciously beating up and tasering the wounded for not complying with instructions, scattering the crowd. The quarterback was drawn off the SUV, and even though the ten-year-old managed to break an officer’s arm and gouge another one’s eyes out, he was eventually subdued.

A Friendlypol helicopter gunship also appeared and began hunting down the fleeing terrified civilians terrorists. Eventually the entire even culminated with a tank crashing through both audience stands, bringing them down and ending the incident for good.



“One liner”, said lieutenant Seven Lawman Stoogal, stepping out of the tank.

“Another one liner.” He added, and it was over.

THE END

Tune in later for your regular dose of patriotism in original Murca: Land Of The Free!

[Steve]

I wanted to sic a couple Imperial Star Destroyers, er, I mean, Anglian Star Cruisers on them, but Shroom and Simon Jester and PeZook said no.....

[Simon_Jester]

Don't worry, Steve. There are other plans in the works.

[KlavoHunter]

They've been probed by Collectors and snubbed by Elysians - what else is there left for Murca?

[Shroom Man 777]

I wanted to sic a couple Imperial Star Destroyers, er, I mean, Anglian Star Cruisers on them, but Shroom and Simon Jester and PeZook said no.....

Why do you hate freedom and what do you have against the dreams of Hydrocephalic Platypus Cuckolding Animals come true?

[PeZook]

They've been probed by Collectors and snubbed by Elysians - what else is there left for Murca?

It wasn't Murca that was probed by Collectors. Some parts of Murca were micronuked by Brags err I mean Ayrakis (who we all know are huge, animal-like and covered in fur) though.

[Mayabird]

Thank you to Shroomy for the pictures and criticism.



[A very deep engine roar, almost a rumble]

“Wow, what's that you got there, Leroy?”

“It's the new Batasu I-2 Thumper!”

“I thought you already had a truck, Leroy.”

“This ain't just no truck, Jimbo! The I-2 Thumper is a civilian version of a military tank! I didn't just weld that turret on – the Thumper comes with a wide selections of Murcan-made weaponry, just like the Thumper itself, good for shooting or blowin' up anything that needs killin'!”

[Sound of an explosion.]

“Well that's nice but what happens if they shoot back?”

“That's why you got all this nice armor plating. Watch!” [Sound of a gunshot and then a ping off metal.]

“Wow, Leroy, that didn't hardly dent it!”

“That's right! I can go anywhere safe and secure in my I-2 Thumper just like our troops. Nobody'll get in MY way none, not with this! And it's all Murcan-made from the start to finish, no furriner parts at all, so you'll be supporting good hard-working Murcan workers by getting one. Hey, where're you goin'?”

“I'm fixin' to buy my own Batasu I-2 Thumper!”

[Deep engine roar/rumble again]

“Batasu – Murcan made for Murcan men!”

* * *


“Hey there folks! Have you been finding yourself with heart trouble, liver failure, or other such internal ailments? Over at Ed's Organ Emporium, we got a full selection of body bits to fit your needs! We don't got no sissy waiting list here! If you can pay, you can get what you want, when you want it! Transplants, implants, we got it all! We'll even give you a complementary dialysis treatment while you wait!

“Ed's Organ Emporium – we got the best organs for the best healthcare in the world!”

* * *


[Gospel music plays in the background]

Praise Jeebus! Halleeujah! Reverend Anal Roberts, the great prayer healer himself who lets the power of the Lord work through him, after being moved by his faith has released a new book to answer the questions of God's blessings. Jeebus: the Invisible Hand of the Free Market sets out to explore why God loves rich people more, why socialism is evil, and how you too can gain God's favor and be greatly rewarded by His invisible hand, praise Him!

His book, written in the name of Jeebus, comes in print, audiobook, and pop-up version for the kids. Buy them separately with the money that the Lord has granted you, or get all three with the Platinum Prayer Package! Halleujah! It is personally approved by the Sovereignest Citizen Shrubya himself! If the Lord wills you to purchase any of these items, the Reverend will be inspired in his heart to also send a book on Godly cooking, “Praise the Lard!” May the spirit of Jeebus send you to your phones to order now! Amen!

* * *



“Too many kids, not enough food? We got just the solution for you! Chiild Indentured Services will take your excess kids off your hands for a great price! We'll pay big marks for as many as you need to offload. Child Indentured Services will take them all - sick kids, disobedient kids, even girls! They will be fed, housed, and given daily church services recorded by Billy Biscuit Graham himself! You can rest assured that Child Indentured Services will ensure that your children will become productive god-fearing Murcans instead of mooching beggars! Don't waste your time having relatives adopt them when you could be making a profit! Come in today and check out our pricing!”

[PeZook]

Who said it fell on the wayside, huh? Who was that fucker?

Written with Shroomie!

Now alone in the office, Chinny sat himself behind Gorge’s desk, imagining the time it would be his. That time would come soon. Yes, so very soon. He pressed a button to make sure the doors were locked. He placed his feet on the table. Then he looked at those videos, leaked by Badley Girling, the very same ones Shrubya was watching a while ago. Thick Chinny gasped as he saw the moving pictures. These materials were classified, and that traitor had the gall to leak it and give aid and comfort to the enemy when it was meant to gave aid and comfort only to high-ranking Murcans who had the proper security clearances.

Like him.

Thick Chinny was aided. He was comforted.

So very comforted.

Washingtoff, Murca
The Hill

Somebody knocked on Chinny’s office door in the morning. The Almost Sovereignest Citizen scrambled to hide his cigar guilotinne he played with when nobody was looking. He’d put a little doll of Shrubya in it and then SNAP! Heads would roll!

One day he’d do that for real.

“Come!”, he finally said. His principal aide came in, careful not to step on discarded clothing and rolled-up reports on the state of the Treasury that didn’t fit into the overfilling wastebin. Somebody would have to do something about that eventually, but they’d have to wait until the Almost Sovereignest Citizen went home to do that. Otherwise he’d accuse the janitors of espionage, lieberalism or shifty looks and have them executed or thrown into the Pit for his amusement. Construction workers were digging another Pit right next to the original even now, since the first one got filled up in hours.

“What is it, boy?”

“Well, sir, I wanted to discuss your agenda for today. There are mettings for you to attend and...”

Chinny growled. He hated meetings. They were always full of idiots and yes-men sucking up to Shrubya, “Fuck them. Whoever they are, they can fucking go to hell. Tell them I’m busy!”

“With what? You only have meetings scheduled for today...”

“THIS IS NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS!!!”, Chinny yelled. His aide backed off and whimpered in terror. Like a little girl. Chinny rose from his chair, staring at the insolent subhuman piece of lieberal trash, “NOW GET OUT!”

The aide left in a hurry, nearly tripping on the mess Chinny left on the floor. But the Almost Sovereignest Citizen couldn’t get back to his voodoo just yet. Two people entered the office, despite mewling protests of the terrified aide.

“What the hell, people? What the fuck is wrong with you?! I said I’m busy!”



“We’re from the Department of Defence, Mr. Almost Sovereignest Citizen, and we come with a matter of utmost importance”, the man of the pair said. Chinny huffed and puffed, but at least they addressed him properly, without emphasizing his position, and they came from the Department which concerned itself with freedomizing other nations, so they couldn’t be all that bad, could they? Besides, they had the proper relations, with the man doing the talking. That was still pretty rare.

Chinny shoved the little voodoo doll into a drawer, “You have five minutes.”

To Chinny’s surprise and anger, it was the woman who started to brief him on the urgent and important matter. What was she doing here, anyway? Why wasn’t she at home, tending to her man’s babies, barefoot and pregnant like all proper Murcan girls? Her daddy must’ve neglected her upbringing something fierce! Why, she didn’t even have any scars or bruises!

“...of utmost importance. We must mobilize all assets to investigate...”

Chinny ignored her talking. It couldn’t possibly be very important if the man hadn’t even said a word so far! He was already scheming a new set of laws that would correct the problem he was seeing right here, right before his very eyes. Freedom wasn’t free, and by Jeebus he’d make those uppity womenfolk pay their share of the price!

“We need a decision now, Mr. Almost Sovereignest.”

The pair stopped talking. Chinny mulled over the far more important issue of women’s rights before realizing that, though.

“Uh, what? Could you recap? What decision?”

The woman shot her man a look. The man, to Chinny’s shock and horror, returned the very same look.

“You weren’t listening, sir?”

“I totally was!”

“I’m pretty sure you weren’t....”

“Shut up! I listened to everything you said, and I say no! Who are you people, anyway?”

Another look was exchanged. Chinny didn’t like it, eye contact between sexes led to bad thoughts and possibly bewitchment. It was what lieberals did, letting their womenfolk corrupt places of power with their strange and icky ways.

“Mr. Chinny...” the man began, trying to chose his words carefully. “I cannot overstate how troubling these findings are. Bear maulings shouldn’t be happening... you really should reconsider your decision. This sudden upswing is unnatural and shouldn’t be happening. It is possibly the biggest threat to Murca and this planet in the history of our civilization.”

Bear maulings? What the fuck, these two came over to my office to discuss bear maulings?, Chinny thought. His eyes briefly flashed red again, as anger built up inside his withered gut.

“The hell, people? Why are you bothering me with it?”

“We explained that, sir. You weren’t listening.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP I SAID I LISTENED TO EVERYTHING!” Chinny yelled. He got up from his chair, ready to bash the uppity bastard’s face in.

The man raised his hands in a reassuring manner. “Calm down, sir! Everything is in this folder...just look at those pictures taken during the moon landings...” he tried to extract something from his briefing folders, but Chinny slapped the documents from his hands. The photographs and charts and reports scattered along the floor, joining their brethren from other briefings.

“SCREW YOU! You lieberal flagoffs, get the hell out of my office! You elitist intellectuals FAKED those landings anyway, and our government doesn’t give two shits about some fucking bear maulings!”

“For Jeebus’ sake, just listen for a second, you goddamn idiot!”, the woman yelled, “Bears are extinct! Gone! Shot to the last specimen after your dumbass government abolished hunting restrictions. Bear maulings shouldn’t be happening!”

Chinny shook, grunted and threw his desk at the woman. She managed to duck just in time, showing extraordinary reflexes. The desk slammed into a wall, prompting a bunch of SS men to rush inside the office.

“We’re leaving”, the man said, lifting his hands. The SS men tracked the pair with their guns, waiting for their Beloved Leader’s command. But Chinny didn’t order them stopped and thrown in the Pit, for he was busy clutching his chest and desperately searching the smashed desk for bull semen pills.

So the pair left unmolested and unhindered. Not far from The Hill, in a small safehouse surrounded by armed troops wearing military faitgues without any distinctions, they met several very serious men and made their report.

One of the men, who Chinny would recognize as an annoying general who constantly criticized the Almost Sovereignest Cititen’s brilliant plans, finally spoke, breaking the shocked silence inside the room, “Gentlemen, it is obvious this plan never had a chance of working. The government is just as insane as the rest of the nation, and will not recognize even the most obvious threats.”

“Our facilities are under constant siege, and have to maintain the strictest security protocols to avoid looting”, another man added, “We had to bring in families of all personnel inside base perimeters, and before long, we will run out of spare parts and supplies necessary to maintain our combat readiness. I am afraid the situation’s become untenable.”

“Then we are in agreement? We initiate Exodus?”, a third officer asked, pulling out a secured cell phone from his pocket.

“Yes. All X-COM personnell will evacuate the country. Send out the orders.”



Roach City Motel
Oho, Murca, two days after the Homeschoolboy Massacre



The money. Yes, the money!

Joey was sitting in his secret hideout below the motel room’s floor, counting the cash he had accumulated to start his fertilizer business. Yes, he finally had enough!

After the ill-fated football game was ended by timely and even-handed FriendlyPol intervention, Joey quit his job. Jimmy Bob Anderson was angry at the carnage, but since almost no witnesses were left alive, he couldn’t pin the blame on Joey. So while Jimmy Bob was left to try and sue FriendlyPol and win without suffering a mysterious hit-and-run incident in the process, Joey was left with his money.

Money. Hah.

His contemplation was broken by a knock on the door. Panicking, Joey quickly left his hideout and covered it up cunningly with a flowerpot before answering.

“Mary Jane? What the hell, woman? Why weren’t you at home?”

Joey’s wife walked in without a word. She was carrying little Billy Lee, and her veil was covered with blood. Joey shrugged and sat down in front of the TV.

“Why he’s fine, thank you!”, Mary Jane said sarcastically, “No worries, we weren’t shot or anything!”

Joey leapt ot his feet, shocked at the impudence. “What did you just say?!”

“You left us at the stadium! Those psychos went in shooting everyone! We barely got out alive and you didn’t even notice we were gone! I HATE YOU JOEY!”

“You shut your fucking mouth, bitch!”

“Screw you, Joe...oh...oh my god...” Mary Jane suddenly grasped her large belly and moaned in pain, “Oh this is bad...this badbadbad...”

“What? What’s going on? Don’t try to weasel out of your discipline, woman!”

“I’m having the first cramps... oh they’re bad...”

“Cramps?”

“I’m in labor, you idiot!”

Joey stared at her, stupified. In labor?

“What do you mean, you’re just standing there! You’re not doing any labor!”

“WE’RE GONNA HAVE ANOTHER BABY YOU STUPID BASTARD! HOW COULD YOU HAVE NOT NOTICED?!”

“But...but...” Joey didn’t know what to say. Baby? He didn’t want any more babies! He didn’t give his wife permission to have any more babies! How could she have disobeyed him so? Women are supposed to listen!

“You can’t have another baby!”

“I can’t help it, you wanted sex and refused to use condoms!”

“Because they are evil! And you’re a woman, you’re supposed to service your husband! Billy Biscuit Graham said so!”

“Fuck him! Joey, you gotta take me to the hospital!”

“You’ll just have the baby here, like in the good ol’ days!”

“If you think you can force me to give birth in a goddamn motel, you’ve got another thing coming!”

Billy Lee and his brothers and sisters were watching the entire scene from their shared room. They were frightened. What was going on? Why was mom yelling at dad? It was usually the other way around, and that was familiar, but the kids were afraid dad would do something horrible.

“...and if you don’t take me to the hospital, I will burn all your fucking money and leave!”

Joey gasped in horror. His own wife was threatening his money! His own hard earned money! First she had a baby without his permission, now she would destroy Murca’s most precious item, its sacred bills! She’d strike against her own family, the hand that fed her!

But he had no choice. Even Joey, fuelled by patriotic fervor as he was, had to sleep from time to time. While he did have a shotgun, three revolvers and an assault rifle under his pillow every night, he couldn’t count on being able to counter Mary Jane’s strange womanly powers. He’d have to play it cool. Women in labor were said by Billy Biscuit Graham to gain superhuman strength and devillish powers, and the should not be engaged without backup.

“Fine,” he spat, having considered the situation carefully, “We’ll go and deliver your baby! Kids! Pack yourselves, we’re goin’ on a road trip!”





Joey drove his truck onto the parking lot in front of a strip mall not far from their motel. It was a grand place of business, home to some oh Oho’s most respected companies: there was a factory outlet for Ed’s Organ Emporium, a recruiting office for FriendlyPol and Buttwater Tacticool, a Batasu dealership.

But Joey and his family were going somewhere else, to a small office crammed between Child Indentured Services and a boarded-up bookstore. A crooked and dirty sign above the door announced to the world that here resided the Oho division of Godly Parenthood, a god-fearing company that allowed proud Murcan womenfolk to deliver their babies with dignity, honor and an all-murcan beer-and-beef diet that bred strong little freedom lovin’ fellas.

“What? You’re taking me here?!”

“We don’t have money for a hospital, woman!”

“You have PILES of money!”

“This is business money. Women are not allowed to touch business money.”

Mary Jane keeled over with another contraction, which prevented her from talking back. Surely a sign from Jeebus that Joey was doing something right, “But don’t worry, I heard from Jed Leeroy this place is excellent! He had all his kids in here!”

Mary Jane mumbled something obscene, which was fortunately illegible - fortunately, because a group of Sovereign Citizens were walking on patrol nearby, and they might’ve felt compelled to discipline a woman for using manly words.

Joey decided not to risk further discussion. He waved his brand new gun around, herding his family like a good shepherd towards the clinic. He had to shoot a homeless guy who was approaching him threateningly, shambling and asking for change. He was glad he spend the six thousand marks on this awesome handcannon instead of child seats for his truck. Surely it was a better investment.

The Sovereign Citizen patrol glanced at the shooting, but seeing who the victim was, they shrugged and went back to requisitioning a car from a man who was lost and stopped to ask for directions - as asking for directions was a sure sign of liberalness if there was any. Since the man wouldn’t give up his property, they were viciously beating him up with electrified nightsticks that sprayed mace.

But that was all immaterial to Joey, who by now had his family securely inside the clinic, getting ready for Godly and patriotic birth of their little brother or sister. A nurse began to take their insurance information, which went pretty quickly because Joey did not believe in health insurance of any sort - the sort of collective risk-pooling smelled of commienism, even if it was done by gigantic Murcan small companies that patriotically abused their customers. In the meanwhile, Joey looked at the clinic’s stock of BeefBoyTM baby formula with steroid supplements, those would come in handy if they didn’t want their baby boy to grow up into some limp-dicked homobortionist flaggoff, and if they had a baby girl... well, the ‘roids would fix that too.

“We have a room for you, Mrs. Jojo. This way please.”

The nurse led the family through right winding corridors, plastered with patriotic posters, crosses and the Murcan flag. There were also spray-painted slogans that called for new parents to support the troops and meatfeed their infants to make them strong and proud. At the end of the hall was the birthing room, where the nurse placed Mary Jane on a delivery table underneath a massive TV playing infomercials about how breastfeeding increased the risk of cancer, and how it didn’t provide enough testosterone for infants because it was made in weak female bodies. There were advertisements for child indentured services and from the newly privatized military encouraging parents to enlist their children as soon as possible, commercials selling Baby Rockstar cassettes and infant pawn shops.

At first, Joey found these infomercials highly informative and interesting, but for such an intelligent individual with an attention span that moved much faster than the rest, he quickly became bored. It didn’t help that his wife’s screams of agony were drowning out the ads.

“What’s the hold up? I thought this was going to be quick and messy!” Joey complained to the nurse.

“Just wait for a while, sir. The doctor has just arrived at the helipad,” the nurse replied as she adjusted the microphones.

“What?” Joey shrugged when the nurse didn’t bother to respond. He sat down on an instrument table, cleared off the forceps and sutures, and played with his gun for a while. It was a Gluck, and he sure used it to kill the shit out of that hobo a while ago. Busted a cap on his ass-

“DOCTOR IN THE ROOM!” the nurse shouted as she straightened up and saluted.

The declaration caught Joey by surprise and he squeezed the Gluck’s trigger by accident, discharging his gun. The round ricocheted and shattered an IV bottle.

“Oh shit!” Joey cursed. I hope I don’t have to pay for that.

“No worries, my child. Every God-fearing Murcan has the right to exercise the Second Amendment. Why, the Prophet St. Murcan wrote it in the holy Constipitution itself!” a voice proclaimed.

“Oh my god...” Joey turned around to face the man who said that. When he saw who it was, he knelt down in reverence. It was... it was... “Reverend Biscuit Graham!”



“Oh get up! Well, okay, maybe you can kneel for a few more seconds, sure.” Biscuit laughed. “Say, that’s a nice Gluck.”

“Thanks, sir,” Joey Jojo said as he got up and brandished his sidearm. “You carry one too, sir?”

“Of course! What self-respecting child of Jeebus wouldn’t use his God-given conceal-carry license?” Biscuit pulled out an even larger gun that made Joey feel all inadequate and envious. “It’s a Shit & Blesson .44 Hagnum. The most powerful handgun on Almera. Do you feel holy, punk?”

He discharged his own gun for Joey to see and hear. The blast was deafening, and the acrid smell of cordite overpowered that of Mary Jane’s vaginal discharges.

Biscuit twirled his gun with his finger by the trigger guard, cowboy style, before holstering it in his pants.

“Let us begin, shall we?” Biscuit said, his tone now serious.

“Uh... yeah...” Joey looked at his ass, where he had sat on some expensive-looking medical instruments. He knew nothing about medicine, since that was for pansy luberal elitists intellectual scum, but he knew a bit about chopping meat up in a kitchen and how it was important to wash your knives and forks and other utensils (not because of anything silly like germs, because only girls got scared of that stuff, but because Mary Jane used to cut vegetables with the knife and Joey didn’t want to get the taste of vegetables on his meat whenever he used the same knife. Thank Jeebus they outlawed vegetables).

Perceptive as always, Biscuit Graham patted Joey on the back.

“Don’t worry about that, my son. We don’t use any instrument or that sort of thing over here, no siree,” he chuckled paternally.

“You don’t?” Joey asked, sighing with relief.

“YOU DON’T?!” Mary Jane asked, eyes wide in horror.

“No! Of course not! Here, we practice Godly Birth! What use are instruments when birth is a spiritual experience that connects men to Jeebus? The only instrument we need to deliver the child is prayer! Pray, and Jeebus will do the rest! Jeebus saves! All women who are faithful, who follow their husbands, love, cherish and obey them, will be given salvation!” Biscuit Graham exclaimed.



Joey Jojo looked down at his wife smugly. Surely the words of Billy Biscuit Graham would finally tell her what was what. If she didn’t repent, she’d be punished for her sins for sure.

“Oh God, this is ridiculous!” Mary Jane screamed. “At least give me some pain killers!”

“No!” Graham roared. “For as I said in the last Slobbath, the pain of childbirth is God’s punishment for woman’s wickedness, as the Roslin tempted the Adama with the Forbidden Vegetable! That is also why men must eat meat, and meat alone, as women bleed for months on end, all to atone for their transgressions!”

Graham pulled a piece of meat from... somewhere and handed it to Joey.

“Here, eat this Communion Steak while we pray over your wife!” He grabbed a microphone, knelt down in front of Mary Jane’s legs - which were now spread open by stirrups to allow the baby to pass through - and began to pray. “Hear me, child of Jojo! Let my prayers reach you as it echoes through the dark chambers! Let Jeebus go into your heart, accept him as your personal Lord and Savior, and you shall be born again!”

Mary Jane’s bag of water exploded and showered Graham in amniotic fluids.

He stared blankly for a moment. Joey Jojo was on the verge of puking out his Communion Steak.

“Uhh...” Biscuit Graham pondered for a moment, interpreting the Lord’s Sign and understanding his Mysterious Ways, before deciding on an appropriate course of action. “Ah, yes. Testify! Hallelujah! Sieg Hallelujah! TESTIFY!”

Joey Jojo swallowed his vomit and joined his spiritual leader.

“TESTIFY!” he shouted.

“Hallelujah!” the nurse yelled, taken in by religious fervor. She slipped on the amniotic fluid staining the floor and fell down, landing on her head. She began to convulse and foam at the mouth violently.

“TESTIFY!” Biscuit Graham hollered, mistaking the sound of her choking on her own tongue for that of speaking in tongues.

Mary Jane had another contraction and yelled through clenched teeth “You sons of....”

“TESTIFY!” Joey Jojo covered her mouth with a leftover Communion Steak. “See this woman suffer for her sinful nature! And repent by taking in the meat of Jeebus!”

The pastor slapped each of Joey’s daughters with Communion Steaks. “Eat this holy meat and know what awaits you in the future, harlots! For it was your bow-legged blandishments that banished our forefathers from the Garden of Caprica!”

Joey’s daughters stood there, horrified beyond description, clutching their Communion Steaks meekly, and absolutely convinced they’d never, ever let themselves become pregnant. Which would be difficult, seeing as sex education was recently outlawed under penalty of death, so none of the girls had any idea what exactly they’d have to avoid doing.

The pastor didn’t stop to consider such issues. He continued to scream between Mary Jane’s legs. “Let this child come into this world filled with Jeebus’ power! Hear me, young patriot, and hurry up for my helicopter costs a bunch per minute while it waits for me!”

Mary Jane spat the Communion Steak and screamed her head off, the contractions now practically continuous. The nurse was yelling towards the ceiling, speaking in tongues like she did every Sunday during service. She eventually collapsed, shaking all over, dragging an IV tube down with her. Nobody paid any attention to her, the seizure interpreted as God’s spirit speaking through her body. The religious yelling, pastor Graham’s screams and Joey’s zealous incantation nearly drowned out the baby’s first cry.

At the last moment, little Billy Lee gathered his courage, leapt between both men and grabbed his newborn brother before he could impact the floor. Covered in blood, he cradled the terrified baby to his chest with shaking hands, having no idea what to do.

Joey Jojo snapped briefly out of religious stupor and glared at the boy for his impudence.

“Don’t you even dare think about breastfeeding that baby!” he growled. But before he could reach for a bottle of BeefBoyTM formula, Reverend Biscuit Graham began throwing rattlesnakes into the room. Joey had to catch a couple of diamondbutts before they could land on his face.

Billy began to sob uncontrollably, scared of his father’s screams and the inexplicable rattlesnakes that were now slithering all around the room, biting the unconscious nurse. The rest of the children either passed out or fled - which prompted the clinic’s director to walk into the room.

“I see you’re done. Great. That’ll be 32,999 marks and 99 cents,” the director said smugly. He was satisfied, because his clinic had been in somewhat dire straits lately - fewer and fewer women seemed to have been delivering babies lately.

“The shares are still the same, right?” Billy Biscuit asked his business partner. “Good. You can finish the payment details with the customer. I’ve got a flight to catch. Tah!”

Joey Jojo was too busy dodging rattlesnakes to react. Billy was still sobbing, but didn’t let go of his brother. The newborn was screaming his head off, feeling cold and threatened and miserable. Finally, Billy Lee decided to hand the baby over to his mother.

Joey suddenly forgot all about the rattlesnakes and rushed to prevent the homobortionization of his brand new son, but the director grabbed him by the arm.

“How are you gonna pay for that, pardner? Cash, credit or barter?”

Joey glanced at the horrorific scene in the room, the unconscious nurse covered in snakebites, the shattered IV bottles, bullet holes in walls and scattered intruments. He was confused.

“How much did you say it was?” he asked, momentarily forgetting about Billy Lee and his insidious, treasonous plot. He’d regret it later, after he realized the newest member of the Jojo family began his life by touching breasts.

“32,999 marks and 99 cents. We’ll throw in a commemorative photo at no charge! So, cash, credit or barter?”

Slowly, Joey began to ruffle through his pockets. He extracted a small Bibel, spare ammo for his Gluck, some ruffled random papers, a piece of string and fifty two cents in cash.

“Uh....barter, I guess.”

“Okay. Your truck looks fine, it should cover the co...”

“NO! YOU TOUCH MY TRUCK YOU SON OF A BITCH AND I’LL FUCKING...”

A huge and burly and heavily armed security mang walked into the room upon hearing Joey yell. Being very intelligent and street savvy and also scared shitless, Joey decided to stop.

“Uh, I mean I’d rather not leave my truck here, I need it for my business...”

“Okay, but you still need to pay for our services somehow.”

Joey began to think. He was really good at thinking, he even trained himself to ignore the pain that came with it. He frowned, then grunted, then began to turn red from the strain. And then he came. To a conclusion!

He just got another child. That means he could get rid of one, and Mary Jane would never know the difference!

“I can offer you Betty Sue Lee Anne Jojo!”

“And who is that?”

“That girl who ran out. She’s strong! She used to work at Billy Bob Anderson’s slaughterhouse, so she doesn’t fear blood, and is a good cleaner!”

“Dad!” little Billy Lee protested, but was ignored.

“I’m telling you, you’ll get a lot of use out of her. Deal?”

The director thought for a minute. He could use a new nurse, now that his regular one was half-dead from her epileptic seizure and snakebites.

“Deal!”

“DAD!”

“Shut up, boy! Adults are talking! Give me your new brother and let’s go!”

“But mommy is still bleeding!”, one of Joey’s other children shouted.

“Oh, she’ll walk it off. It’s nothing some excercise won’t fix! Come on, your mom still has dinner to fix! Hut hut, we ain’t got all day!”



Somewhere in Western Ayrak



هل أنت بخير؟

There were words. Words being spoken to him from beyond the grave. A mass grave he was shoved into by FEMALE, Federal Emergency Management Agency and Lieberal Execution death camp guards, after he proudly proclaimed his love for Apple Pie. A deep grave filled with mangled bodies of his fellow patriots. Murcan patriots, fighting the evil Algeiran government and its taxes and false flag operations and death panels.

هل تحتاج مساعدة؟

Then there was a touch, a very delicate touch, then turning into a more vigorous shake. He could feel his cheek tear itself away from the hot sand, tearing apart the crust made of his own blood and vomit that covered it. He could hear the words, which seemed spoken from right to left somehow, but could not understand them. Why couldn’t he understand the words? Words were words. People spoke them. People understood them and spoke back.

Because it’s an Ayraki, you fucking idiot, his brain gave him the answer. He felt the touch of a plastic bottle near his lips and, suddenly, his bloodshot eyes shot wide open.

Chet Fisto yelled something incomprehensible and terribly slurred, and batter the water bottle away. He punched blindly, hitting and old man right in the face.

Good one! Yeah, fucking Ayraki, huh? Does it feel good to be a violent dumbass? his brain mocked him relentlessly. The old man fell to the ground, clutching his face.

“You fucker... you thought you could give ma a socialist welfare queen handout, huh?” Fisto slurred and shambled over to the man. “Turn me into a good little commienist? Well, no can do! I am a true blue Murcan hero and I don’t need...uuurgh...”

Fisto, the Hero Of Murca, vomited on the rocks.

His brain laughed. It fucking laughed.

Ha ha, idiot, is that a concussion? Why yes, yes it is! it sneered from inside Chet Fisto’s head.

“I gotta get out of this FEMALE death camp!” he screamed desperately.

The old man whimpered,لماذا فعلتم ذلك؟

“Shut up! Shut up your Islime-o-commienist pig! Ha ha I just called you a pig! I am so funny! Halal that, motherfucker!”

Chet felt his head spin, so he grabbed onto the camel standing nearby. The animal tried to bite him.

“Fuck! Fuck! They’re after me!” he yelled and tried to run, only to trip and fall over... right onto his rifle.

Training took over from there. With long-drilled movements, perfected by copious combat experience, Chet Fisto defended himself by swiftly rolling onto his back and cutting down the defenceless old man and his camel with a long burst of automatic fire.

“FUCK YEAH, BITCHES!!! I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL KILL YOU ALL!”

“Hey! Fucker!” he heard someone yell.

Fortunately for the yeller, Chet has already spent all his ammo. He couldn’t reload with his still-shaking hands, and while an attempt to charge the stranger with his knife was valiant, it proved totally ineffective, as the Hero Of Murca once again tripped and fell.



The man in a ghillie suit stood up and walked up to Fisto, “You stole my fucking kill, fucker. And I almost had enough to advance to the next rank!”

“Yeah, you tell him Bob”, another sniper appeared as if from nowhere “You could totally get a customized Armalyte with that kill!”

“Who the fuck is that guy, anyway?”, the one called Bob asked. He rolled Chet over his the tip of his shoe. “Oh, special forces! Ha ha, Leeroy, we have a gubmint socialist here!”

Fisto grabbed Bob by his shoe and bit into his ankle. He tried to yell insults at the same time, but it was understandly troublesome.

“Ow! Let go!!”

Leeroy seemed to be having fun seeing his friend jump up and down, trying to shake off a crazy half-dead government soldiers from his ankle “Hot damn Bob, you sure showed ‘im!”

Bob finally whacked Chet with the butt of his rifle and kicked him in the teeth. “Fucking socialists, always trying to have a bite off other people’s meat!”

“I AM NOT A SOCIALIST!” Chet yelled, rage making him forget all about pain and his broken nose and concussion and dehydration and freshly messed up teeth. “I am a hero! Chet Fisto of the 1st Very Special Operations Battalion, shitheads! You wanna take me on, huh? You wanna try and show me what’s what?” He tried to posture and huff and puff, but puked again instead.

“Holy shit, Bob!” Leeroy gasped, “It’s Chet Fisto! Remember, from the teevee? He’s the one who gave that filthy sand digger Barry a shower!”

“By Jeebus, you’re right! Damn, maybe he’s not such a socialist after all! Holy crap man, sorry for kicking you!”

“I don’t know, Bob. He still takes taxpayer money, right?” Leeroy placed his hand near his sidearm. “Hey Chet, didn’t you hear that the military was privatized?”

Bob was incredibly enthusiastic by that point, though, so Leeroy’s completely reasonable and well thought out arguments didn’t really work. He helped Chet up, shoved a pen into his hand and forced him to sign his grenades.

“Hey, Chet! I’m talkin’ to you!”

“What?” Fisto turned his head away from Bob’s dangling grenades “No, I haven’t heard! This is great news!”

Leeroy relaxed a bit. Maybe it was true, the poor soul was just misguided, and hey - someone who waterboarded Barry couldn’t be all that bad, right?

“Say, Chet...” Leeroy said after some thought. “How about you join Buttwater Tacticool, huh? Stop stealing from taxpayers, be an enterprising self-earning entrepreneur and fight this war like a true Murcan - a small business paid mercenary with loyalty to no flag!”

“Holy shit!” Chet spat upon hearing the pitch. It contained just enough buzzwords to get him hooked. “Tell me more!”

“Buttwater Tacticool is the world leader in providing cost-effective military solutions against a wide variety of threats! As an associate member of the company you will receive many great benefits, including basic dental care and low rates on ammunition purchases, and get to earn very good money.”

“But Leeroy,” Bob interjected. “What rates can I count on?”

“Well, not much at first, Bob, but as you work for the company and provide deathcare to more and more terrorizers, your pay will begin to rise! You can count on earning a stupendous FIVE THOUSAND MARKS per year by doing nothing but shooting people!”

Bob scraped his chin theatrically while Chet watched with his mouth agape. “Five thousand? That’s a little low, won’t you say?”

“Ah, but you weren’t listening! That’s just the basic pay! But get this, every person you recruit into the company will allow you to earn a small percentage of their sales - with just a little bit of effort, your pay will skyrocket! Why, just last year I earned over TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND marks this way!”

Holy shit. Holy shit! Chet thought, his eyes glazing.

Jeebus, you dolt, can’t you see it’s a pyramid scheme? Chet’s brain sneered

“Not at all, dear viewer!” Leeroy protested vigorously. “Our scheme is most assuredly not a pyramid! It is a cutting edge rectangulocubic direct smarketing patented freedomization system! Many people have already joined and are raking in the big bucks, just listen to those testimonials!”

Bob took off his helmet, put on a patrol cap and attached bushy fake moustache to his upper lip.

“Hello there, pardners! I am Colonel Billy Bob, and I have made a career in Buttwater Tacticool. It is no joke, it really works!”

After removing his moustache Bob continued “Howdy, Johnny Bob here. You should totally join this outfit, they’re pretty damn awesome!”

“See how happy these two are?” Leeroy beamed at Chet. “And you can be happy too, with Buttwater Tacticool! Sign up now for a free sidearm, and you can participate in many exciting contests and ranking matches to earn special perks and customized character classes!”

Chet couldn’t believe his luck. Finally someone who appreciated him! Two hundred thousand marks, holy shit! He jumped up and down with glee “Oh God sign me up, like, right now!” He yelled.

“Certainly! Just sign here... and here... no, no social security number required anymore...your credit card number and PIN here...thanks! Thanks, man! Let’s get back to our Doomvee and get back to base! The guys will be so happy to meet you!”

Chet beamed and took off in the indicated direction. He couldn’t see Leeroy and Bob high-five each other. The duo cackled all the way to their vehicle, a mega-armored Batasu Thumper SUX.



They shoved Fisto inside and drove off.



Firebase ASS BLASTER
Western Ayrak

The showers were large and spacious, and full of naked men. Chet Fisto was amongst them, right in the middle. The sound of running water could not conceal his grunts of pleasure.

“Oh God. Oh yes. Oh God, please don’t stop!”

The burly men of Buttwater Tacticool Solutions lathered themselves, as did Chet. He groaned in ecstasy, clutching the soap and moving it about in slow, circular movements. Sometimes he was interrupted when other men passed him by and gave him little butt slaps and tooshie squeezes.

“This feels so good, baby! Come on, come on, let it flow...oh yeah, that’s the spot!”

Vigorous scrubbing in the thick steam fog. Naked, muscled bodies moving about in unison. The pleasures, simple pleasures of the flesh.

Chet Fisto emerged from the showers, thoroughly relaxed and satisfied. His newfound buddies gave him a friendly slap on the ass, congratulating him on joining the company. He slapped them right back. They all laughed and ran around, playing grab-ass or whipping one another with towels. Like frat boys, giggling, frolicking tip-toeing frat boys engaging in innocent pranks. Boys had to be boys, and here in the showers they could be!

“Come on, Chet, get dressed!”, it was Leeroy, the man who helped Chet find his new home in this foreign country.

“Awww! Come on!”

“Move it, boy. Don’t worry, we have a totally awesome thing to show you!”

Hesistantingly, Chet picked up his new Buttwater issue uniform. He waved goodbye to his Butt Buddies, as the little company leaflet called fellow operators and followed Leeroy to the Ops Center. The Situation Room.



“Heeeey, dudes!” a Buttwater operator waved at them from the couch. “You’re just in time!”

Leeroy high fived the bearded operator and motioned to Chet “Here, grab a controller! You gotta check it out, man.”

Chet sat down, hesistantingly and took one of the white controllers into his hands. It fit naturally, perfectly designed and fully ergonomical.

The huge plasma screen hanging on the wall lit up, displaying a video feed from a Massacrator killdrone fling somewhere above Ayrak.

The unnamed bearded operator belched and put down his beer, before explaining what they were doing to Chet.

“See, dude, this is, like, the camera on the drone, right? And you use the controller, like so, then turn it and then you seek targets and WHAM! Take ‘em out. Best player gets perks and first dibs at the beer cooler, right?”

“Hey, cool! How do I know which stuff is the target, though?”

“Who cares? Just use you imagination, mang!”, Leeroy yelled. “Oh hey, check this out, a bus! What are they doing?”

“Hey, they are praying!” the operator noticed “Praying, man! That’s what terrorizers do! Smoke ‘em!”

Leeroy cackled and pressed the trigger. Far away, the killdrone turned and released a missile.



“Woooo!” the entire Ops Center hollered “Look at them go!”

“Hey, let me try!” Chet turned his controller on “Whoa, is that a crowd?”

“Yeah man, a brown crowd! Ha ha, good joke, eh? It’s a crowd of brown people!”

“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! They’re opening fire! They’re opening fire at the sky!”

“RETURN FIRE AT ONCE!”

Another missile streaked from the sky, detonating rght in the middle of an Ayraki wedding, scattering body parts and debris around.

More beer was passed out, and people gave Chet buttslaps in reward for him picking up the game so well. Hours passed. Fierce competition broke out between Leeroy and Fisto, with both men furiously firing missiles and guns at any sign of insurgency, from funeral conducts through schoolyards down to random bicyclists.



“Holy shit! Holy shit! That... that van! There are people in that van! The people in that van... they’re... they’re... they’re picking up the wounded! Why would anyone want to pick up the wounded?!”

“I don’t know, mang! What do we do? What do we do?!”

“They could be terrorizers!”

“YEAH! THAT’S IT!”

“Quick, kill them! Shoot the van, man! Shoot the van! Kill them! KILL THEM ALL!!!”

“Oh yeah, look at that. Right through the windshield! Ha ha!”

“I would say that’s a fairly accurate assessment so far.”

“I think they just drove over a body.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

Some of the troops who were in the field reported that there were children massacred in one of the vans. Some of the gamers with Chet became quiet, no longer cheering and hooting. One of the troops even brought the injured kids into a Badley IFV and requested the kids to be taken into a privatized military hospital.

“That’s a negatory on the evac of the two, ah, civilian, ah, kids, to, ah...” a voice in the radio stammered for a while. “Uh... Gosh darn it! Those kids aren’t insured anyway, and we ain’t giving them any socialist handouts! This ain’t no union shop!”

“Yeah, that’s right! Let the Ayrakis take care of those spoiled brats! Let those sand diggers take them to a public hospital while they still HAVE public hospitals! Hahaha!”

“Fucking Islime-o-commiethanazzienoids!”

“Hey, wanna see me drive over a body again?”

“Sure!”

Suddenly the game was interrupted. The screens went blank, and on them appeared a massive face of none other but...Thick Chinny! An ANGRY Thick Chinny at that!

He growled and all the grown men shrunk in their seats and whimpered.



“LOOK UPON ME AND DESPAIR!”, he bellowed, and the TV speakers assaulted the gathered troops with his booming voice. Even Leeroy collapsed and curled up into a fetal position.

“Kneel before me and listen to your CEO-in-command!”

“We obey!” the Buttwater operators chanted. Chet didn’t, but instead waved his hands excitedly. “Oh! Oh! Mr. Almost Sovereignest! I have a complaint! I must complain!”

“WHAT IS IT?!” Giant Chinny snarled. His spittle shot at them in glourious 3D, making the men duck reflexively.

The euphoria of having the Almost Sovereignest, the second greatest Murcan on all Almera, address him personally nearly overwhelmed Fisto. So too did the absolute existential horror and fear he felt as he faced his master’s monstrous visage. The extreme emotions coalesced in Fisto’s body in a nigh religious experience, and he felt a warm feeling between his legs as he peed himself.The feeling was so overwhelming that he forgot to denounce the general who tried to set him up to get himself killed.

“I...forgot...”, he whimpered to his Lord and Master, because he did.



“WHELP!”, the plasma TV jumped up slightly with Chinny’s roar, “STOP WASTING MY TIME! NOW KNEEL, FOR I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE!”

Fisto’s legs bent as if of their own accord. He kneeled, submitting to the CEO’s will entirely and without question, ready for his every wish and whim and flight of fancy.

“LO AND BEHOLD, FOR TRAITORS IN OUR MIDST HAVE FLED THE GLOURIOUS MURCAN PARADISE TONIGHT!”

The operators stared at the screen in awe, mumbling prayers in an almost religious fervor.

“THESE FOULEST FIENDS TOOK WITH THEM INSTRUMENTS OF OUR CAUSE APLENTY! THEY ARE ANATHEMA TO OUR ATHEMA! THEY MUST BE CONQUERED!”

“Huh?” Leeroy muttered. While Buttwater Tacticool only recruited the best and brightest minds (out of those that fell for their pyramid scheme, that is) these bright fellows were becoming increasingly confused by Giant Chinny’s colorful language and big words.

“WHAT WAS THAT, WORM?!” the Face Of Chinny snarled at Leeroy.

“I, uh, I didn’t mean to I mean, like...I don’t get it.”

Chinny blinked. Once, then twice, and then even thrice. Just how stupid were those dolts?

“Fine, you fucking idiots! A bunch of traitorous fucks, no doubt secret lieberal homobortionists the lot of them, seized a whole fuckload of our military gear and got the hell out of dodge!”

Buttwater operators were listening intently, taking it all in. Their fine-tuned combat minds were already running simulations and preparing mission plans for hundreds of possibilities. Most of these simulations involved them singehandedly blowing up gajillions of enemies and earning like sixty new weapons and platinum quadruple prestige sniper classes in the process.

“They took their shrivelled little balls and wimpy little vaginas over to Stenchia and Thanasia!”, Chinny said the names of the two most freedom-hating countries with the proper amount of hate and disgust, “You are to take your Massacrator drones and find those fuckers and murderize them but good! MURCA FUCK YEAH!”

“But sir...” Bob raised his hand at the TV. “Isn’t that unconstipitutional? We’ll be shooting our own citizens?”

Everybody else looked at him in shock and horror. Leeroy walked up to his friend and put a hand on the misguided fool’s shoulder.

“Bob, didn’t you hear? They are traitors, man! The Almost Sovereignest Citizen himself said so! Traitors have no rights!”

“That’s right!” Chet agreed enthusiastically. “And the fucking Thanasians won’t give them up, so fuck them! We can do whatever we want! We’re the biggest toughest motherfuckers around! FUCK YEAH! MURCA FUCK YEAH!”

“FUCK YEAH!” the operators yelled and pumped their fists “WE’RE GONNA BLOW UP THE TERRORIZERS!”

“That’s the spirit, men!” Chinny beamed, his red flashing eyes gone for the moment. “And you, Fisto, good to see you coming together with the right crowd! You will not regret it! Just you wait till you come back Murcaside for your debriefing and cocktails, you maverick renegade you!”

With a suggestive wink,Chinny disappeared. Video feeds from the Massacrator killdrones returned... all except one.

“Holy udders, Batmang!” Leeroy yelled in despair “The fuckers shot down Bessy!”

“NO!” Bob gasped “Where was she? What was her last known position?! Tell me, Leeroy! We must have revenge! Those fuckin’ Ayrakis didn’t have the right to do that!”

“It was near Bakalakadaka Street.”

“Fuckers. Let’s show them how Murca repays vandalism! Call in the Snorthogs!”

With ceremony, two operators dialed numbers on their cellphones and gave a target to the pilots. Not five minutes later, Bakalakada, a medium sized town in central Ayrak, ceased to exist.



Buttwater Tacticool Solutions always got the job done.

“Alright!” they cheered at the sight of the vaporized city. Served those sand diggers right for shooting down their drones. “Far out!”

“Radical!” Fisto hooted.

“Word!” Leeroy agreed and high-fived him, and then gave him one down low. Fisto was too slow, so Leeroy grabbed him in the nuts instead. “Now let’s send the rest of our Massacrators to Yurp. We’ve got lots of work to do!”



Bearlin
Thanasia, Yurp



X-COM accomplished the evacuation procedure with extreme prejudice. The plans were long in the making: despite not quite appreciating the extent of social and political changes in Murca, the organization’s planners thought to better be safe than sorry.

Upon receiving their orders, X-COM personnel seized their Air Force transport assets and loaded them with equipment ; Hidden backdoors and agents sabotaged the air defence network (not that there was much of it left, no thanks to this fucker Satan McNamara - and totally not because the equipment necessary could no longer be serviced, as it was an intellectual lieberal job to do so - and because there were still loads of bloody poor people who couldn’t pay Buttwater for privatized SAM sites over their cities). Heavy equipment and combat troops flew to Zenobia, whose government has had a working arrangement with X-COM for quite some time. Civilian members of the organization left Murca via a variety of alternative means, and found themselves in Stenchia and Thanasia. They’d be moved to a new Zenobian base of operations in a while.

Zenobia did not officially exist, as it could no longer be mentioned in any official documents or spoken conversations as per EXOR 11231 GEOSTEMBUTTOCK, so nobody in Murcan government could locate it. But they could locate Stenchia and Thanasia, and their Massacrator killdrones could, too.

Those vile escaping terrorizers, those traitorous, liberal homobortionist cyclists would find their justice! Or it would find them. AND EXPLODE!

Some would say it wasn’t right to murder Murcan citizens without trial, and on foreign soil at that - but Murcans knew better. Terrorizers had no rights, and Thanasia was unwilling or unable to apprehend them for their vile crimes. Stenchia was no better, but Stenchia had nyukyular weapons. Or it claimed to, anyway - everybody knew Stenchies couldn’t do nyukyular stuff, as they were all effeminate girlymen and cheese-eating surrender monkeys. As clearly a state of war existed between Murca and everybody who badmouthed Murca, she was within her rights to kill anyone it wanted anywhere in the world. Murca had already killed people in Thanasia before, not once but twice, and it could kill people in Thanasia again!

Buttwater Tacticool operators hiding away in safehouses throughout Yurp didn’t give two shits about that, though. They had a job to do! A job involving explosions and beer. And killing Yurpeans.

“I wish we could do it with satellites, mang.” Bob said, setting up their Degenatron console in a flat in Bearlin. “Why don’t we have satellites?”

“Who the fuck cares, mang? We still get to blow up Thanasians, right? So fuck satellites!” Chet Fisto said with enthusiasm

“I thought we were going to blow up Murcans traitors and terrorizers?”

“They’re as good as Thanasians after they betrayed the greatest country in the world. They’re no longer Murcans, yo!”

“Hey dudes, we’re online! Come on, grab your controllers!”

Massacrator killdrones were now in the air over Bearlin, circling menacingly, their bellies loaded with missiles. Loaded for bear and ready to smear. Their targets. IN DEATH. Fuck yeah!

But who were their targets? The city was huge, and full of people who all looked the same! The operators had pictures, sure, but people looked all the same from this high up. The drones circled and circled and zoomed on random people but the images were grainy and couldn’t quite show faces.

Bob was the first to break. He suddenly started to yell. “Oh man, this is bad! The operation is going south, mang! We’re done for! It’s over, man!”

“Get yourself together, soldier! We have our mission! It is horrible and dangerous,” Fisto took a swig of beer, belched and bit down on some pizza. “And important! We have to focus, mang!”

“THERE!” Leeroy yelled and pointed out a guy on the plasma screen. “This one’s eating a hot dog!”

“AHA! Only Murcans eat hot dogs! And no real Murcan patriot would visit this socialist shithole! It’s our target! Smoke him!”

“Got him, firing! Fox one, fucker!” Fisto bellowed and pressed a trigger. A missile streaked down towards a tourist boulevard full of people. It struck its target - a hotdog cart serving a Pollackistani tourist - and exploded, showering the area with shrapnel.People fell on the ground, covered in blood. Cars were lit on fire. Children ran away screaming from the plume of smoke and debris.

“Good kill good kill. Look at ‘em run!”

“There’s another! Check this out, he’s trying to help the wounded!”

“Traitor!” Fisto yelled and fired another missile, which blew up an off-duty paramedic and his patient.

The operators hoooted and hollered, and even Bob got himself together. They fired more missiles, killing targets wherever they saw them. Throughout Thanasia, Massacrator drones slaughtered traitors and Thanasian terrorizers like in the most glouriousest days of the Salvation Wars.

Thick Chinny watched the proceeds from his office, using one of the few remaining Murcan satellites. He felt pride fill his tortured and abused heart. That’s right, fuckers. He thought We can do whatever we want! And you can’t stop us! Look at freedom sing in your cities!

In Bearlin, buildings were now on fire and collapsing. Thanasian air force was scrambled and began oppressing the drones but they were Yurpean slackers who couldn’t fight, so before the last Massacrator was shot down, the job was done.

The traitors were dead. The collateral damage was acceptable.



Mission accomplished.



Moosecow, Zenobia



The images of burning Yurpean cities raced across the world like lightning. While before few people gave a shit about Murca’s shenanigans in the Middle West, this was something else entirely. Murca had not only crossed a line on the sand (digger), they had metaphorically shat on it with poop and literally shat on it with precision guided JDAMRAAMLRSLBM9F-117/11s.

The Yurpean Onion nations had protested to Murca, but the Almost Sovereignest Thick Chinny merely took their Angry Letters and used them to wipe his ass, before mailing the resultant messy messages back to their senders. They tried to protest in the FUN, but the Murcan ambassador left in a huff, and the Sovereign Citizens firebombed the building. It was full of socialist whiners anyway, and thus had it coming anyway. The property was used for a new strip mall.

Then the Yurpeans expelled Murcan diplomats - of which there weren’t many, because diplomacy was for pussies. Murca responded by expelling any ambassadors remaining in Washingtoff - by throwing them out of airplanes over Yurp, or dragging them through the streets behind pick-up trucks (like those damn dirty Shroomalians did once, but if Murcan patriots did that to socialists it wasn’t wrong at all)

The gist of it was that ever since the Sovereign Citizens took over, Murca had gone into a downward spiral of madness and the rest of the world had just about enough. They had no way to challenge Murca by themselves, so the leaders of the Rest of the World gathered in the capital of the only nation that had ever challenged Murca’s might. Zenobia.

Powerful leaders of all the developed nations pondered the big question, the greatest mystery. As Thick Chinny put it, “What’cha gonna do about it, fuckers?”

“Let’s invade Ayrak and expel them!” the Stenchian president Triquie Nique Sockrazy proposed. “Beat them at their own game, somewhere we can strike and ruin their fromage!”

“Ja, you Stenchies, always going for colonial adventures in foreign lands...” Thanasian Chancellor Ottovan Bisquick replied sarcastically. “Kinda like the Murcans, nein?”

“Bah, we bring Stenchian civilization and fromage to savages! Murcans just want oil for their bodies!”

“Oh, you are so benelovent, eh? What about that time when your police...”

Donald Dusk, the Pollackistani premier pounded his fist on the table and yelled “By Jeebus, will you two ever stop?!”

“Shut up and go get yourself invaded!” Bisquick snapped back.

“Just you wait until we’re presiding over the Onion, fucker! Then you can stuff a brattwurst in it!” Dusk spat right in Bisquick’s face. “We’ll see who’s boss then!”

Anglian Prime Minister Tawny Blare snorted with derision at the comment. “Surely not you, Dusk. Your people couldn’t boss anybody around! Why, most of your live on His Majesty’s dole already!”

“Shut up, you Murcan stooge! We only invited you here because we felt sorry for you! And because we wanted you to take a message back to your boss!” Dusk retorted.

“Look who’s talking! Didn’t you Pollackistanis want to have some Murcan missiles inside you?”

“Shut up, Blare! Nobody likes you anyway! And learn to use a godamn toothbrush. Jeebus!”

“Well how about you...” Tawny tried to reply, but he was hit by a piece of Le Fromage. “Wha...”

The follow up attack was launched by Bisquick, who threw a brattwurst at the Anglian, bypassing his defences in the Low Regions with a deft armored thrust.

A terrible noise broke the quarrel and prevented a most undignified food fight. It was a shoe. A shoe being slammed on the table, with great zeal and forcefulness. The shoe in question then flew across the table, knocking out Leon Idas of Starta, the ambassador of Athenia, who was trying to sneak his own Tzatziki strike on the Anglian.

“Now that we are at attention again!” Litvin Maximov said, putting on a spare shoe he always carried for just such an occasion. “Let us discuss the issue that brought us here, shall we? Weren’t some of you attacked lately? Isn’t that more important?” He asked rhetorically.The gathered ambassadors and leaders suddenly remembered their burning cities and dead people, and hung their heads in shame. They all had friends in the diplomatic corps who the Murcans had dragged through their streets with their pickup trucks. The Yurpeans had their conflicts, sure, and everybody hated the damn bucktoothed brown-nosed Anglian stooges. It was unlikely they would ever become real friends and stop jockeying for position and political power in the Onion, but for now the issue was far bigger than any of their little conflicts.

“So, ambassador Maximov...you invited us here, it is fitting you present Zenobia’s plan for dealing with the situation?”

Litvin Maximov, who barely escaped from Washingtoff after Murcans declared his country excommunicated from the world, smiled. “There are certain forces that can aid us in this struggle. Allow me to present general Meyer, as well as Agents Faux and Skully from X-COM. They will brief you gentlemen on what we have learned in the last week.”

“But wait, X-COM... isn’t that a Murcan organization?”

“Until a few days ago, yes.” A man in a military uniform confirmed premier Dusk’s suspicions “But our mandate has always been to the planet as a whole.”

“Maximov! We were supposed to be plotting Murca’s downfall, and you invite Murcans to the meeting?!” Bisquick protested, and the room threatened to assplode in political bickering again “Betrayal!”

“Chancellor, you could shut up an listen for a few minutes instead of invading people with your half-asses opinions again, da?” Maximov scorned. “Just listen to what the mangs have to say.”

Nobody liked it, but Maximov’s threatening posture, nasty scar he got while running from Murca and a really scary nervous tick was hard to argue with. They sat back, fuming and angry, and the general and his associates set up the presentation.

The lights went out, and a picture was projected onto the wall. The picture showed a desolate lunar landscape...but not just that. The gathered men gasped in shock.

“Gentlemen...” the general began. “There is a great threat to our world. To all our nations, to every man, woman and child. I am here to tell you all about it.”

They listened. They listened and were eerily quiet. Before long, they knew what action had to be taken. They knew very well indeed.

[Shroom Man 777]

Did I ever tell you that I love you, man?

[Purple]

MOAR! GIVE US MOAR!

[KlavoHunter]

MOAR! GIVE US MOAR!

*Waterboards!* I'LL GIVE YOU MOAR!

[Shroom Man 777]

Gentlemen, PeZook and I have terrible news. We regret to inform you that some assholehas two-rented MURCA, ruining our chance for vanity self-publication. We will stop writing the stories because it is useless now, our hopes have been dashed. And we will contact the FBI, as well as some of our associates, to try and make sure that that fundamentalist youkrainian gets extradited and fined and tried in an outsourced corporate judiciary system.

[Lonestar]

Gentlemen, PeZook and I have terrible news. We regret to inform you that some assholehas two-rented MURCA, ruining our chance for vanity self-publication. We will stop writing the stories because it is useless now, our hopes have been dashed. And we will contact the FBI,

[Shroom Man 777]

said Lieutenant Shroom.

[Steve]

Gentlemen, PeZook and I have terrible news. We regret to inform you that some assholehas two-rented MURCA, ruining our chance for vanity self-publication. We will stop writing the stories because it is useless now, our hopes have been dashed. And we will contact the FBI, as well as some of our associates, to try and make sure that that fundamentalist youkrainian gets extradited and fined and tried in an outsourced corporate judiciary system.

No more Murca? This calls for celebration!

[Purple]

I don't get it at all. What to hell is two renting? Someone wrote a similar story? Well boo hoo! I want to hear what happens to everyone's favorite wife beater!

[Steve]

Uh, Purple? They're joking about Lonestar's "SHROOMAGEDDON" post in Testing, and mocking Stuart Slade's epic meltdown over some Ukrainian kid torrenting Armageddon.

[Purple]

Oh, in that case sorry. Shroom... It's just so hard to understand some times you know.