NationStates Jolt Archive

As the Sacred Emperor gazed out across his balcony, he remembered the infinite insolence of the thrice-accursed infidel nation of Wanfawr. The premier of that collection of serpents made him angrier than Frederick Douglas in a minivan with Jefferson Davis. Summoning a cringing and filth-ridden intendant who was interested only in surviving his career serving the Sacred Emperor, he commanded that a suitably upset letter of expressed unhappiness be delivered to Waunfawr, along with a sample of other displeasing objects of sentiment to the Sacred Emperor, such as crosses, raw meat, french bread, Belgian marijuana, and a toaster oven engraved with the name of his daughter's cousin's favorite arcade game.
Soon the unhappiness would flow along with the blood of lice-ridden filthy infidels who would be purged in a purge worthy of the sons of Attila the Hun and Stalin, and their bodies buried under Lake Loch Ness.

To Waunfawrian soldiers:

What would your mather say at your grave when you're dead?

Do you know what your wife and best friend are doing now you're gone?

Who will provide for the children?

Will you die a sinner?

Do you have good home insurance?

Do you want your country to end under a horrible leader?

Do you like your eggs fried or scrambled?

That's right. You think about that.

Adieu.

[b] Minister of Unecessarily Overstated Threats and Invitations to Birthday Parties, Bar Mitzvahs, and Opera's, the Holy Empire of the Warmaster