NationStates Jolt Archive

Pope Popeye the Blind walked to the doors of the Papal Chamber to greet the esteemed General Smith. Smith was the most respected officer in all of the Fiddlebottomsian military. Pope Popeye extended his hand in friendship to the general. General Smith's five stars gilstened in the light as he shook the pope's hand. Then they walked to the dining room table as if they were old friends.

The reason for this meeting was the signing of the Kervoskian-Fiddlebottomsian Initiative to End Hunger. The resolution would provide food, consisting primarily people from the middle class, to starving families across the two nations. Dozens of officials were sitting at the large table. Each of the seven bishops and Senate of Twelve Cardinals were there. They sat in quiet dignity as General Smith and Pope Popeye took their seats.

Dinner began promptly at 8:02:56.Course after course was consumed and by 10:22:38 every scrap of food had been consumed. Pope Popeye stood up the say goodbye to his new ally. General Smith accepted the gesture. Suddenly, something caught his curious eye. It was a plate of cupcakes that had been missed by the guests. They were the finest desserts in all of Neo Kervoskia. They were made by the finest chefs in the palace.

General Smith hastily took the plate. The Pope Popeye, being blind, did not notice.Smith calmy, but hastily, walked out of the room and was led out by one of the guards. He then boarded his helicopter. The engines roared and it began to ascend. General Smith could not hold back his temptation. He ate one cupcake, but decided to save the rest for later. He had another dinner to attend. This one was in the capital of the South Islands.

Meanwhile in the palace, the Pope was feeling hungry once more. He remembered that he had ordered cupcakes to be made. He sent for a servant to find them. The servant told Pope Popeye that there were none. He put his hand to his chin to see if he could rememebr where they were. He felt something sticky on his face. He rubbed his finger in it and tasted it. It was frosting from the cupcakes.General Smith had neglected the wipe that sweet goodness from his hand before shaking the pope's hand.

Infuriated, he ordered the guards to seize the general, but it was too late. The general was already in neighboring the South Islands.He immediately called the South Islandian palace and demanded to speak with General Smith. Smith picked up the phone.
"Hello?", he said with a mouthful of cupcake.
The pope knew that sound. He asked, "Where are my cupcakes? I know you have them?"
Just then the monarch of the South Islands chimed in, "Who is that, Smith?" He said with a mouthful of cupcake.
Enraged, Pope Popeye hund up the phone. He called in a scribe and dictated a message. It read"
By Order of His Imperial Holyness Pope Popeye the Blind, the Capitalist Revolutionary of Neo Kervoskia Informally Declares War on the The Bureaucratic Monarchy of H N Fiddlebottoms VIII."

And so it begins....

Lord H N Fiddlebottoms VIII, Bureaucratic Monarch of the Bureaucratic Monarchy of H N Fiddlebottoms VIII, luxiarated in the brand spanking new country that he had bought out when the former Lord had sank deep into gambling debts.

Ruler of an entire country, he was certain that nothing could stand in his way, provided that he continued to make meaningless gestures of kindness, like Initiatives to End Hunger. His plans of langour were shattered like something that shatters in a really dynamic matter, however, when he received the informal declaration of war.

After a quick search through a dictionary to determine what "informal" meant (only to discover that Medical Dictionaries didn't actually define regular words), he sent out word to his Chief of Outgoing Communications. After a lengthy conversation the Chief he had three notices sent out. One, a Declaration of Double War, destined for the blind Pope, another, a request of Military Aid, destined to the Monarch of the South Islands, and a final one, detailing his numerous etceteras that he was engaged in at the local movie theater, destined for a disreputable rag better not mentioned here.

The ever erudite Fiddlebottomsian Postal Workers, however, failed yet again in to fill the minimal demands upon them and rushed the Declaration of Double War to the South Islands, requested Military Aid from the Armies of a certain monthly publication, and it is only for the best that the Capitalist Revolutionary will not be wearing any monocles when he receives his daily correspondence.

The Monarch of The South Islands, Libertarian-Queen Pillabalonk IV, read the letter in stunned silence.

She glanced up from the marshmallow paper, and settled her glare straight at Fiddlebottomsian General Smith, who was consuming a hefty portion of Yargen, the national dish of the Libertarian-Monarchy.

The Libertarian-Queen was beyond stunned. This was the first formal diplomatic function between the Fiddlebottomsians and the Libertarian-Monarchy. Having a declaration of Double war was hardly a good way to make friends.

"Guards!", yelled the Libertarian-Queen, "Arrest General Smith!"

General Smith was stunned. "Your Libertarian-Highness, what has happened! Arresting a military leader is an act of WAR!"

"It seems that you, with your theft of the Kervoskian papal cupcakes, has already made the decision."

The Libertarian-Queen turned to the guards.

"Take him to the Libertarian-Dungeon, and bring me my Libertarian-leathers, I shall deal with him myself."

The Guards grabbed General Smith roughly, and dragged him down the Libertarian-Hallway.

The Libertarian-Queen had one more request before she began her torture of the Fiddlebottomsian General. "Take the Kervoskian Papal Cupcakes to the royal Libertarian Refrigerator. And send a message to the Kervoskians. Tell them that the Papal cupcakes are spoils of war, and shall be distributed to the ever-victorious South Islandians."

The Libertarian-Queen donned her leathers. But, before she left for the torture chambers, she whispered to a dark, shaggy man in the corner. She had but one command.

"Prepare the Secret Weapon®"

Pope Popeye the Blind sat in the Imperial Armchair in the newly redecorated Papal Chambers. Why ordered it remodled when he couldn't see it was beyond all available wisdom. He sat there moving his fingers in a pattern which created a noise that echoed throughout the chamber. Then there was a knock a the door. It was one of the guards.

"Come in", said the Pope with noticable irritation.

The guard walked gracefully to the pope. He handed Pope Popeye a parcel. The pope felt the parcel to see what it was. It was the mail. He took a small knife to open to the package, he missed and it stabbed the yound guard. The guard fell on the floor and groaned in agony. Another guard rushed in and ran over his fallen comrade. He asked the pope, "Your Holyness, what was that noise, are you alright?"

"I am fine, I think it was the neighbors. Could you tell me wha's in the mail?", replied Pope Popeye.

The yound guard peeled back the paper. What was in it shocked him. It was a pornographic publication. There were millions of them in Neo Kervoskia, but this one was particularly horrible. The guard held back his disgust, but the popr noticed," Was that you? What's in the mail?"

"It's, er..a...er..", he tried to spit it out," It's a ...." He could not utter words aloud. He stood there for several seconds until he gathered enough strength to tell Pope Popeye what it was. Upon hearing what it was, the pope became enraged. He called for the Post Master General.

Minutes later the Post Master General was found. He was a young man of only sixty. He kneeled and asked in his most respectful tone, "What is it, your Holyness?"

"Look at this filth! You are to send out subscriptions of Auto Monthly, Martha Stewart Living, Gay Today, the New Republic, and Viagra ads to every city and home of every Fiddlebottomsian."

The Poster Master General bowed and walked to fulfill his duties. He entered the Department of Commericial Advertisement and prepared the mass mailing. the Fiddlebottomsian did not know of the plague that was about to inflict them.

The Eighth descendant of the Fiddlebottoms House slept within his massive bed, desperately trying to ignore the fact that his attendent had been prodding him with a rifle for about an hour.

"I don't think he's going to wake up." The attendent shrugged at the body guard whose rifle he had been using.

The guard, dressed in armor that had been given a faux wood finish to denote his ceremonial (and largely ineffectual) role, shrugged "Try attaching the bayonet before you start prodding him."

"How about you stop prodding, and get out! I am the Bureaucratic Monarch, and that means that I can sleep till afternoon." Fiddlebottoms muttered, as he gracelessly buried himself in pillows.

The attendant, attached the bayonette and made one last attempt at explanation: "Being the ruler of a country generally means that you make some effort to wake up and rule the country.", before thrusting the blade into the pillows.

Several hours later the bandaged Bureaucratic Monarch stood before his the Chiefs of War and Mail Services. Surveying the grim faces before him, he reflected on how much simpler management was now that the Departments of Mail and War had been merged as part of a plan to consolidate groups based on levels gross incompetence.

"All right, Council." He caled out, ringing a hand bell to draw attention to him, "Is everyone present?"

"General Li Wyrthlis is absent, sir. He sent a sick note."

"Oh, such a shame." Fiddlebottoms VIII pursed his lips while skimming the note, trying to detect forgery, satisfied he went on, "Now, Chief of Outgoing Comunications, why is it that the Libertarian-Monarch of South Islands believes that I have declared Double war on her?" The Bureaucratic Monarch's face seemed oopen and excepting, exactly like a bear trap before you step in it, "And when you are done explaining that, would you care to explain the 2 dozen hookers dressed in very non-regulation Military Garb that have arrived at my palace?"

"Ah, that would be because of, um, er . . . The cause for this incident is, or rather was . . . I mean to say that." Sweat poured down the a face that could only be called piggy. "I don't know!" The man cried, now completely soaked in his own sweat.

"I see. Well if you don't know, I suppose it was an act of treachery on the part of the Blind Pope. Any news to report on any other FRONTS!?" Fiddlebottoms yelled over the sound of the Chief of Outgoing Communications fainting and crashing to the floor.

"Well, sir, we appear to be receiving a snow storm of magazines and adverts for various chemical supplements from Neo Kerovskia." The Chief of Incoming Communications, a charming young man who often dressed as a woman, replied, needlessly shuffling papers.

"Such as?"

"Oh, Gay Today, the New Republic, that sort of thing."

"Gay Today?" Asked the suddenly interested General Laskins. "They had an interesting article on . . ." His voice trailed off as the entire room, as one, arched an eyebrow in his direction. "Not that I would normally, read- I just had to check it for subversive information."

Fiddlebottoms turned back to his other Generals, blatantly snubbing Laskins. "Gentlemen, this means war."

"Well, technically, we are already at war." General Store interrupted.

"Then this means Triple War." The Monarchs eyes narrowed darkly "Rally the army, and block all communications coming from foriegn lands not addressed to me or one of my Generals, in fact, all mailings that we manage to stop should be returned to the leader of that nation, after they have been wrapped in old banana peels. Me and my Generals will- wait. Who are we missing. Li Wyrthlis sent a sick note, but there are two other chairs right there."

After a long silence as everyone tried to remember who was missing, General Store spoke up: "Oh, that is where General Smith usually sits."

"General who?" Fiddlebottoms desperately tried to recall a Smith.

"He's the fat one what's always attending dinners. (Thats why he needs two chairs) We made him Most Respected General last week."

"How did he get to be Most Respected if no one no one noticed him? Doesn't he have some qualities?"

"No, not so much. Mainly we were just hoping that some one would assasinate him, which seems to be the case. Ever since we declared Double War on the South Islands, we haven't heard of him."

"But, what if they torture him for information?" Fiddlebottoms asked, while wondering about how exactly any of these men had received their positions.

"Oh thats fine, too. He doesn't know anything, for the past month we've been sending him transcripts of Sawcraft VII games instead of reports. Damn fool hasn't noticed that the entire army turned into a mix of Circular Saw Berserkers and Death Jig Saws yet."

At this moment, a bell rang in the distance, and Fiddlebottoms checked his watch. "Very good gentlemen, and it is now time for a tea break. We will discuss our offensive plans later."

Czardas. Intel Briefing Room #π, 0643 hrs

Secretary-General Andreas Caverra looks around the gathering of ministers and advisors in Czardas's capital city. Everyone looks tired, understandably because it's early in the morning; most of the chairs are filled. Caverra speaks.

"So, is anything new in the region?"

"Not all too much." Foreign Minister Kari Alhoun is awake as usual. He sorts through some papers. "Let's see: there's some kind of genocide going on in Pwth Ylcddyth, but the government isn't succeeding in doing anything to the minority groups because it has no minority groups. Uh, and there's some kind of war involving Automagfreek, which means that we shouldn't get involved at all."

"Very true that. Anything else?"

Alhoun reads a sheet of paper. "Ah. The South Islands is apparently at Double War with H N Fiddlebottoms VIII, and the cause of the war is a nation immediately to our east, Neo Kervoskia."

Caverra thinks. "Neo Kervoskia? Never heard of them. Do we have a Neo Kervoskia?"

Everyone thinks as well. Suddenly the door opens and the Minister of Geography stumbles in a few minutes late, dressed in a tiger suit with bunny ears, carrying a certain novel best not reproduced here in one hand with the cover disguised as a dictionary.

"Neo Kervoskia. Do we have one?"

"Oh yes, them," says the Minister of Geography. "They're the ones who never send any delegates to the regional meetings...apparently they say something about cheese toasties...mmm, that sounds good right now actually..."

Caverra cuts off the Minister. "They're an Athrian, and we must help them. Let's send them military aid."

"Military aid? But, Mr. Secretary General..." Minister of Defense Violet Astoria starts.

"Surely we can do that, can't we?"

Supreme General Ogden speaks up. "No, I'm afraid we can't really. You see, the 1st Field Army is lost, the 2nd Field Army is hiding from a mouse that ran into the barracks, the 3rd Field Army is out picking strawberries, the 4th Field Army doesn't exist and never did, the 5th Field Army disappeared through a loophole in the space-time continuum, the 6th..."

Caverra cuts him short. "Ok, we can't use our professional army. Why not volunteers?"

"No sir, I'm afraid that's impossible," the Minister of Unusual Holidays says, adjusting his long tie that extended from his neck along the floor like a lichen and is busy nosing about the legs of Caverra's chair. "You see, today is Pigeon-Shaped Pancake Day and everyone is celebrating..."

"Damn it! What can we send to our ally in their time of direst need?"

"If I may make a suggestion," a sibilant voice comes out of the shadows, "I can deploy one of my...legions."

The voice belongs to the sinister Baronn Roeck, leader of the Pole Fighter Army, a huge shadowy underground organization of skilled Czardaian fighters. Roeck emerges from the shadow, a man cloaked in black, looking grim and evil.

"Very well," states Caverra. "You may deploy some of our shock troops. Meanwhile, let's continue to make plans for how to use them."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In his secret cavern he uses as a hideout, Roeck draws up a list of the equipment he will send to Neo Kervoskia.

2500 troops
720 medics
414 hookers
2800 transport personnel

20 tanks
18 missile launchers (long-range)
18 missile launchers (medium-range)
18 missile launchers (short-range)

8000 cans of SPAM® (as artillery)
1600 toy guns
800 real guns
100 machine guns
50 submachine guns
5000 cans of Silly Putty™ (just because we have them)


He smiles at the long lists of grim-sounding equipment. H N Fiddlebottoms VIII would suffer for its transgressions...