NationStates Jolt Archive

Well, so the World Assembly makes its first anniversary...

I would find it most fitting if the General Secratariat would make a live speech (in person or teleconference) about the state of the World.

I wouldn't bother if it started with "The state of the World is a complete mindfuck"

A presencial one would be best, so we could start a noble tradition of pie-throwing at the other Delegates and at the General Secretariat. The sugar-loaded remains could then be distributed for charitable activities.

Here-Here!!! We second that proposal! We love pie!!

I still want an address. And no, I do not have pets.

You can want it all you want, but you obviously ain't gonna get it.

Hello ambassadors, observers and any of lower, higher or analogous intellect, power and incontestable presence.

The World Assembly has surpassed my hopes and dreams beyond my mildest imagination of immorality.

Only a twentieth of a score ago was our member states situated in inconceivable anarchy and peril with the extra-dimensional collapse of our beloved institution following the inanity that took place on that Dark Tuesday.

Criminals on the loose, and dolphins swimming safely– oh the horror! No longer could I claim I had power beyond my own humble organizations of evil. Without a democratic body to corrupt I had to turn to basket weaving and mass genocide to quench my first for power.

Thank Violet that I could return to my perch over human suppression with all of our peculiar institution’s normality.

As such, I would like to ask from the floor if anyone has a speech they would like to publicize – or an aquatic animal they desire to behead, or if anyone wishes to beseech absolution from blackmail.

The World Assembly is listening….as heartily as possible of course.

Unwisdom deleted

Catherine Gratwick

Now wise beyond on his years, the bearded and prophetic Eduard Heir walked into the chamber with a long walking stick and a brazen head in his hands.

Declaring to the ambassadors, "Behold the Heir Doctrine... (a stone tablet)

I. Thou shall listen to Violet like the flower to the sun,

II Thou shall throw pie like the flower to the sun

III Thou shall eat cake like the flower to the sun

III Thou shall forget about having a four term, like a flower with dementia to the sun

In the name of my continued attention, shall we commence with the pie throwing!? Oh humble ambassadors, and foul looking thingies?"

And There Was Light!

Thank You, thank You Mme. Gratwick! For I knew my cries would be heard.

My first pie, of course, landed on Bob Flibble's face, as he did not believe Mme. Gratwick would deliver her thoughts and reassert her awesome power before the World Assembly.

I'm moved to tears.

(Pie remains were donated to QuoD's World Fund to Reduce Food Waste & End World Hunger.)

Pie remains were donated to QuoD's World Fund to Reduce Food Waste & End World Hunger.

Ha. And I thought we were going to have an eating contest with those remains. Ah Shucks. :)

Eduard gracefully threw the second pie of the "battle royale" at some large crocodile that was standing beside him aimless before ducking behind a desk to watch the anarchy unfold.

Singing at the top of his lungs, "Here comes the Pie King..." - an old unibotian civil war tune sung in E flat for those curious.

I would personally like to inform everyone that the cake is a lie!

Eduard stood up in the mass of pie throwing,

"If cake is a lie - than so is life, reality and the lie itself."

-A swarthy man, bedraggled and questionably rested, enters ahead of a vast constituancy of donuts-- and a confused expression, applausing hesitantly, as between impacts his palms seem to be developing some chocolate paste.-

"O' Cake, thou art unmoist; as thine suspect goodness sticks to the roof of my mouth.

Surely, it seems, pie eating contests must be mandated in starving nations to the satisfaction of all parties involved."

Behold the Heir Doctrine

Using her animatronic-clubbadastic-laser beam, Gratwick blasted the tablet into a million pieces of granite.

"Blasphemy! In the house of Gratwick! How dare you dirty the floor with your violetist beliefs - think of the children!"

Gratwick ducked behind the pulpit to avoid more pies being thrown at her.

"Dammit, I should have thought this out better."

Catherine looked over aimlessly at her getaway portal across the room - requiring her to run through a large scale battle of PIE.

Using her animatronic-clubbadastic-laser beam, Gratwick blasted the tablet into a million pieces of granite

Eduard stared at the pile of rubble with watery eyes, "that's going to take a lot of superglue to fix."

Turning his head to the sky, "Why VIOLET!? WHY!?" shouting in comical anguish.

Only a twentieth of a score ago

OOC: Brilliant! :D

Hear, hear! What is pie without whipped cream?

Hear, hear! What is pie without whipped cream?

Oh meanie... Please accept this PIE on your face!!! muahauhauah

The cake is a lie, AND the pie is full of ebil mind control nanomachines!!!

IC:...Elsewhere in the WA HQ ...

"Oh, thank the Goddess, we're down to the 'Y's already!" said Dicey Reilly, tearing open the thick Yeldan file and stuffing it, one annoyingly small portion after another, into the shredder.

"But why are you going to all this trouble?" her Secretary for Situations Like This asked. "You've been telling me since this kerfuffle began that she can't possibly be the real Catherine Gratwick. The Secretariat smuggled that webcam into her cell long ago so you'd be able to keep an eye on what she was up to -- I mean, to make sure she was humanely treated. So why get all het up over some imposter?"

"Just a thought, John: which one is the real imposter?"

The (Wrongfully) President for Life of Ardchoille gestured towards a small screen showing a low-res pic of a huddled figure in a jail cell. "Look at what she's doing: nothing. The Catherine Gratwick I've heard of would be shoulder-deep in lawbooks and lawyers, not to mention the heads of ex-lawyers. Or she'd be dissolving the bars with her bile. That woman would not be doing nothing."

"She might just be asleep. It's night-time over there."

"It'd be nice to think so," Dicey sighed. "But something worries me. This one, the one that's here now, says she's from the Secretariat. You just don't make that claim if you can't back it up. We've made sure of that," she added, waving significantly towards the Trophy Wall.

McGonnagle didn't look. The Trophy Wall always unsettled him. The still photographs he could ignore. The videos were usually so fuzzy he couldn't make out the details. The various severed limbs were, he had convinced himself, merely waxworks. But the -- things -- that occasionally twitched ... well, animatronics could do a lot, these days, but when they looked at him ...

He shook himself free of such thoughts. "You're right, surely no-one would risk pretending to be a member of the Secretariat," he shuddered. "So she might be the real Gratwick, and the one in jail might be the imposter. Got it. And then we might mount a campaign for her freedom, on the grounds of mistaken identity. Nice.

"And meanwhile, of course, the real Gratwick might be back here. And might have the keys ... and might get into your files. Yeah."

He watched his President flapping about, wondering why she bothered keeping hard copy files, anyway. Back-up, he supposed; using magic still had weird effects on electronic storage. His eye wandered idly over the discarded covers from files already dealt with.

"Uh, Dicey, you know how the Secretariat's all about openness and transparency and not acting behind closed doors and all that?"

"Yup. Here, help me with this box."

"Sure. But, Dice, I was just wondering -- what was this one that was labelled 'Sludge File'? It seems to have had entries for every other member of the Secretariat. Let's see ... there's a file divider for Frisbacteria ... Reploid Seductions ... Euroslave ... "

"There was never anything in that file! It was just a ... sample I made up to show the new kid our filing system. Of course I wouldn't collect sludge files on any of my colleagues, and of course if I did they'd be empty, because you can't collect sludge if there's nothing to collect ... Oh, by the way, John, you know that new equipment your department's been going on about, the stuff we said we couldn't afford in a month of Sundays? Yeah, well, I think we possibly could do it ... I mean, strictly on the Q.T., you know, we don't want to break the budget ..."

McGonnagle smiled inwardly. Outwardly, he helpfully hefted the box.

OOC: Picspam will get this thread killed. Spamspam will get it killed. Non-WA roleplay will just get it moved to NS.

O.O.C. its pretty spammy already though right ?

The Animatronic Catherine Gratwick - a deep masterminded plot by an unsuspected nation to get an ambassador in the Secretariat was now spinning over how to get out of the WA without being observed from close-up (as her puppetmaster was not entirely sure that her appearance would hold up with close observation).

Robot Catherine looked up at the ladder on the wall near her, used by the WAHQ janitorial staff to retrieve the highly elevated banners from the ceiling.

"Perfect" her positronic brain noted.

The Imposter ran and leaped onto the ladder, scaling it to reach one of the green, and white coloured banners.

The Puppetmaster, sweating like a steam boiler, as he moved his thumb on the joystick.

Catherine threw her off the ladder as the command signalled her, grabbing one of the banners in a impressive display of strength as she swung it with the weight of her body like a pendulum, propelling herself through the air across the floor of the General Assembly - landing smoothly beside her portal.

The puppetmaster breathed easily - that was a close one.

Ambassadors watched as the portal closed with the exit of the mysterious automaton.

As he wiped the pie from his face, the distinguished ambassadore took out a can of whipped cream.
"Who wants the cream of the whipped!?"

As he wiped the pie from his face, the distinguished ambassadore took out a can of whipped cream.
"Who wants the cream of the whipped!?"

I wouldn't want your cream no matter how well you've been flogged.

Bob Flibble
WA Representative