The Communist Insanity
THE BEGINNING
An old man with only one tooth and fifty-cents in his pocket, which was actually useless, considering President Bush had enforced the new rule that only the rich could use money, because only the new five-hundred-dollar bills were useful, laughed a deep, almost guttural laugh, as he stood over Thomas Jenkins, who, just fifteen seconds ago, had attempted to steal his worthless hat, bought -- no, wait, of course, given -- from a butchers? store, because food stores no longer sold anything other than Coke and Salad to the Poor, which was useless anyway, seeing as they could no longer take caffeine, and vegetables messed with the metabolism in a way that would disgust even Steven King, which wouldn?t matter anyway, seeing as he was long dead -- killed by yet another car crash, the fool, while walking to the video store to pick up a porno, which only the rich -- rich, of course, if you had personal wealth above ten million -- could afford. And then he banged Thomas over the head, killing him instantly.
On the other side of town, where the rich and famous dwelt -- famous only if you had appeared on television at least ten times, had sex in front of an audience larger than five hundred, and been voted World?s Worst Dressed at least once -- Dan Clark, a bum, with two thousand dollars in his pocket, which, mind you, was useless anyway, because without a barcode or at least the number 666 engraved into your hand nothing could be bought beside Coke and Salad, stood beside a WMB -- changed, of course, from the original BMW, because Elvis Presley had reappeared, claiming to be the True King, and ordered any names, brand or otherwise, with less than four letters, to be reversed, because he was the only True King -- pissing all over the door-handle, laughing as Elizabeth Taylor, 193, on life-support, currently diagnosed with every second disease known to man, including HIV, stumbled her way towards the car, helped along by her thousand-and-one still living viewers and fans, who didn?t really like her anyway, because no one liked anyone beyond President Bush and Elvis Presley (aka The True King), and then fainted. Four hours later Elizabeth Taylor was pronounced dead and five hours after that buried next to Princess Dead.
Sam Goodman, currently America?s top politician, even though already responsible for half of America?s financial problems, including the recent stock-market dive when President Bush went live on Television, nude, dressed as a ghost in make-up (rumours are believed to have been spread that he desired to resemble Marilyn Manson, now Satan?s right-hand man), sat in Parliament -- which, to speak in ?modern? coherent terms, was actually Farmland, recently named by the Rednecks of Redville after a town set aside for America?s Most Hated -- arguing whether or not to allow cigarettes, alcohol, condoms, pornography, sluts, whores, and prostitutes to be made socially available to the Poor, who were mainly under twenty, except, of course, the old man still with fifty-cents in his pocket and a bloody hand, while Bill Clinton, engaged in oral sex with Pamela-lee-Jones, voted America?s Biggest-titted-Bitch, spat abuse about the Colony System and the Goddamn Russian Communists, always gotta be messin? up his motherfuckin? crib, like shit didn?t matter no more to nobody, except goddamn Marshall Mathers, the forgotten rapper. Good ole Bill was later shot in head.
THE MIDDLE
XMD, who, just like Michael Jackson (now renamed Janet Jackson, in the memory of his loving sister, who had died whilst under the care of the controversial sex-therapist, Neil Diamond) lay asleep, under a general anaesthetic, while his balls were severed from his scrotum, and the foreskin of his penis was rolled back to form a vagina, deep in a heavenly sleep, dreaming of the time when he and Eminem had ?got it on? when they had met by accident on the street, buying ice-cream valued at five-thousand dollars, while the Poor begged for the scraps of paper which held the ice-cream together, in the hopes of getting a lick, and watched as both XMD and Eminem began ?laying into each other?, which basically meant engaging in every single activity, from the sexual to the physical, while the man in the black trench coat watched from the thirty-first floor of the White House, smiling in glee as his career unfolded before him -- this grin later becoming a mocking laugh, when both XMD and Eminem shot each other in the head, causing a brief explosion -- and he was rich. The man was later named Big Brother 2056.
Nicole Smith, America?s premier female drug-dealer, something she?d learnt from her father, who, when she was just eight years old, had committed suicide rather than face the consequences of Big Bitch Bosses, the suppliers of the new street drug Purple Haze, was talking away on her cell phone to Mark Brown, an analyst from Downtown, currently under probation for feeding the Poor a loaf of bread and later offering them a drink of water, when suddenly a tele-text-o-mercial crackled to life, interrupting the conversation mid-sentence. Hey there, shopper! said the voice of Marilyn Monroe, who, by the way, had been brought back to life under the Presidents orders, apparently because of the size of her breasts and the famous Birthday song. Haven?t I been looking for you?The words, though vexing they were, hardly mattered, because at that exact moment an explosion erupted from a car, some fifteen miles away, followed by a sharp zip, before finally Nicole fell dead, surrounded in a pool of her own blood. She had been shot in the head by her own brother, who was on an acceptance mission from Big Bitch Bosses.
White-Trash-Bitch Kylie Monogue, who was the first celebrity to admit that going public to announce that one wished to have babies with one was exactly the same as going public and admitting you were desperate for a fuck, was standing on the side of the road, smoking a Camel filter-tip which she had been forbidden to do since she got breast-implants, as a source of product placement for her new movie, a film that introduced the role of fucking cinema-style, and just how different it is from real life, because every other White-Trash-Bitch doesn?t have tits these days -- it?s only the nigger-sluts anyway who have real pussy and tits -- and explaining that her marriage to former Russian Soviet Unionist Boris Domitri is definitely over, because, ?The motherfucker just can?t keep his dick away from me,? and while her current boyfriend, sonofabitch Keanu Reaves, licks the entire length of her body, all the while managing karate chops and ninja-flunks. Kylie Monogue never had children.
At the orders of secret Russian Communist Britney Spears, two young boys, fourteen, rape an eleven year old girl in full public view, while the police laugh in mockery, and the crowd begin to film, hoping to include the footage in their weekly submissions to TV4?s Who?s Getting Raped Today?, and while the girl is plagued with hundreds upon thousands of images -- all broadcasted internationally -- of rape-crisis centres, which are entwined with product placement adds and community service announcements (apparently a cheaper and more ?effective? way to advertise), and while the People?s Spokesperson -- currently 2uPac Shakur, recently brought back to life to fight in Rap Battles Weekly, a program where warring rappers legally beat each other shitless and get paid at the same time, or brought back to life -- speaks about the medical breakthroughs of Tobacco, and just how wrong the ?medical idiots? were for the last hundred thousand years; how the many marvels of cigarettes and cigars can actually extend lifetimes, and not the opposite. The girl attempts a scream but is cut off by the boys? warrior.
Helen Clark, currently Austra-New-Zealand?s Minister of Education, sits at a conference for the Rich and Mighty, in which the current issues of the Poor are discussed, and where all who are not liked as a majority get their throats slit, talking about the issue of youthful drug induction, and how the Minister of Illicit Practices is not doing enough to encourage such practices, because he spends too much time looking up pornography in both the weekly Television Guide and The Kids? Weekly magazines, while Jeremy Clark, her husband, attempts to file away at both her moles and teeth, both of which seem plausibly useless, and while John Howard, the only man in Austra-New-Zealand?s history to ever be re-elected as Prime Minister of I-Can-Do-Nothing-To-Help-You Politics beyond the legal living age (263 years, according to AI Regulations), sat behind a closed curtain, restrained, as a hairdresser attempted to pluck his eyebrows clean. All attempts were later concluded useless.
Osama bin Laden (as we shall call him, though really his name had changed to Indu-stria-lisation) was smoking marijuana along side Italian Mafia member John Claude Van Damn, when suddenly a rock smashed through the window, later found to have been dropped by the Goddamn American?s from above, with the message attached warning Osama to lay off the fly-by points, because already he was flooding fly-bye?s banking system, which would soon put them out of business, before John Claude declared Osama was a ?Bitch-ass pussy,? who, ?couldn?t fight for his beard if rapping depended on it,? and the two immediately engaged into fist-to-fist contact, knocking each other virtually brain-dead. John Claude was later awarded ten million for being the one to kill Osama bin Laden, but he never lived to enjoy it.
Satan and Steven King stood upon the throne of man -- Russia?s nuclear-weapons stock house -- fighting over who was going to push the button and end mankind, when suddenly Boris Yeltzon entered the room, with fourteen-million supporters behind him each wearing the symbol of the False Prophet, demanding that they Stand aside, because he hadn?t died to die; and if anyone was going to push those fucking buttons it would be him, and if you don?t goddamn stand aside we?ll cast you into a goddamn fucking abyss of Russia?s shit, where you can spend the next one thousand years of your eternally damned lives, and where you will be fed equal portions of Russia?s poverty. Satan stung Boris in a blinding flash of light, and as for what happened next, I can only say Steven wrote it all down.
Two young boys, both thirteen, sit in a smoke clouded room, deeply involved in the art of decapitation, being taught by Russell Crowe, who, just six months before, committed serial murder and was let off for lack of evidence, when suddenly a gun shot erupts -- it was later discovered that two niggers had killed one another, apparently over who was getting better ?ass? that night -- only to be hushed by the crowd of Bitch-ass-White-trash, some of whom are masturbating over the images of a woman being decapitated and raped, which in turn drowns the scream and guzzling of two dying niggers; hell, in the end, no one cared but the doctor carrying out the autopsy. The boys? mothers were both prostitutes and had left them to live in a dumpster at birth.
Marcus Maclean, white, with a faint brown complexion, which wasn?t visible anyway, because the sun had been blocked when President Bush declared war on Russia, only to be met half an hour later with a hundred-and-twenty-five-million nuclear war-heads, which had wrongly been aimed at the Ozone Layer, though luckily they passed through a wide gaping hole, now revealed to be the secret work of Green Peace, sat typing away at his computer screen, forcing a smile of sheer mockery, occasionally pushing the DELETE key, which, mind you, was currently the THIS-EQUALS-BETTER key -- a rule enforced by The True King, who, just five minutes earlier, had advertised a new product, containing the word MOJO, for just fifteen-thousand dollars; ?Just scan your barcodes, and it?ll be on its way. We prooooooomise?? -- with his pants down and his shoes on, touching himself where only the Poor dared to delve, because according to both Satan and President Bush and Marilyn Manson, penis? were no longer Cool. For Marcus at least, life was good, and the world was going to laugh.
THE END
