NationStates Jolt Archive

On this day, 221 years ago, the legendary explorer Thor and his band of noble defenders rose up and put down their oppressors in the shape of those devious mischiefmakers and heartless pranksters, the Xt'Tapolopaquetl natives.

The Kennyite pilgrims had endured much hardship at the hands of the Xt'Tapolopaquetl since washing up on their shores many months before; the natives routinely mocked them for wearing clothes, bathing regularly and worshiping a carpenter who lived 2,000 years ago. They humiliated the pilgrims to no end of foolishness and practical jokes, like spiking their babies' milk with liquor, and replacing the cream in their butterchurners with glue. Imagine the dumbfoundment on a poor Kennyite housewife's face after having to get up at an ungodly early-morning hour to churn butter out back for her 18 children, only to find that while she was trying to work a churner that just wouldn't budge, natives had snuck into her house and set it on fire!

After one Molotov cocktail too many, the utterly humorless Kennyites were mad as hell and they weren't gonna take it anymore -- was this what they had fled persecution by the bloodthirsty Killer Prostitutes in their former homeland and subsequently wandered the Earth for?! And so it happened, in a daring night raid, gallant Kennyite leader Thor and his gun-toting followers infiltrated the surrounding native villages, captured key Xt'Tapoloquetl chieftans and their wily emperor Cuauhtémoc, and fiercely wedgied them (which is especially painful when the most clothing you wear is a beaded g-string). The chieftans surrendered unconditionally, and Thor, declaring victory, established the Federal Republic, named himself president and imposed democracy on the people.

Thor would not understand it, five years later, when people inexplicably started campaigning to unseat him as president. "I thought this was a democracy?" he said to one of his aids.

"A democracy is a system where the people elect their leaders, Mr. President," the aid replied.

"But what's the other one? The one where all the people have to do what their ruler tells them, what he says goes, and he gets to oppress his people for fun? ... Starts with a 'd'?"

"You mean a 'dictatorship,' Mr. President?"

"Ohhhhh!!! That's what I wanted!" bellowed Thor, mimicking Homer Simpson's trademark disappointed groan.

But Thor managed victory once again that year by calling all of his opponents unpatriotic and making sure that every fifth word that came out of his mouth during the campaign was "2/11." He was re-elected in a landslide.

Kennyites traditionally mark 2/11 (there's no real name for it; it's just called either "February 11" or "2/11" -- kinda like Americans and "9/11") with parades, barbecues and ballgames, and at night, before the fireworks start ("Ooooooo! Look at all the pretty colors!"), unsuspecting Kennyites in native garb (as we mentioned before, beaded g-strings) will perform traditional Xt'Tapolopaquetl dances around bonfires of burning Hilary Duff records, as their friends sneak up on them and painfully wedgy them. You'd think the blokes who volunteer to dress like natives would know that they are in for a wedgying, seeing as how it's only happened every year before, but what can we say? Kennyites are stupid.

Anyway, that's our story. We just wanted to share our joy with you on this glorious day.

God bless you all.

On a beach in south-western Viriditas, a group of young Ecopoeians gallavant around a healthy fire, gnawing on under-cooked meat and exchanging overly friendly hugs and kisses. A 'wise' man of too few years at some point asks why. He is laughed at, brutally wedgied and ignored until his high-pitched protests attract sympathy from a sensitive young lady whose kindness and undivided attention erases the bitterness from his mind. The impromptu party rolls on well into the following afternoon, but the serious young man and his new-found friend are long gone, sharing a joyous experience that leaves them floating, stunned and beatific.

To the north, in Dorsa Brevia, Varia Yefremova grins affectionately at her eldest adoptive commmune daughter, whose pouting and foot-stamping are about to finally yield dividends withheld only in jest. With a wry smile steeped in nostalgia, she shoos the youngster out into the wild night and closes the door to the family house, contemplating the passage of time with an equable frame of mind. At the top of the stairs the adults of her family are waiting. She shakes her head, almost overcome with happiness, and climbs the stairs, shedding clothes with every step...

May 9, 1785. Thor, the liberator and first president of the Federal Republic, is sitting in his office, lonely, depressed and drunk on moonshine. Why the hell did I found this nation? he thought dejectedly. What was the point? It just sits there like a lump, doing nothing!

Just then, his secretary enters. "Telegrams, Mr. President," she announces.

"Gimme gimme gimme!" squeals the president, jumping up from his chair. He grabs the stack of papers and starts shuffling through them: "Bill ... bill ... bill ... junk mail ... junk mail ... junk mail ... regional ad ... regional ad ... regional ad ... regional ad ... regional ad ... regional a-- Hey! What's this?"

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FREE COUPON FOR CPESL™ SERVICES WITH EVERY ORDER."Heh. Why not?" Thor says to himself. "Jenny, send a telegram to these WORLD PWNERSHIP people. Our country needs a kick in the ass."

Three weeks later comes the reply:

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The UN Gnomes"Aw, hell," sighs the president. "That Strangers' Bar better have some damn good moonshine!"

Fernanda stole another sip from his beer and scowled at the cards he was holding.

"Got any fours, Alex?" he asked.

"Go fish, Mr. President," Sec. Tehrani replied.

The Destructor grumbled as he reached for another card. "So, anyway, you say I can take this jet plane anywhere I want?"

"Anywhere, anytime, Mr. President; it came with the keys to the executive office."

"Sweet. When are we landing, anyway? My ass is tired."

"Soon, Mr. President. By the way, excellent command decision, moving the entire nation out of that region full of withering psychopaths. Our neighbors were just too dangerous."

"Whatever, Alex. I just didn't like the way Valdesian women dressed. I mean, covering everything up in burqas like that. Show us the goods, man!"

"... Although, I'm thinking," Tehrani continued, "maybe it wasn't a good idea threatening to nuke Ecopoeia during your inaugural speech like that."

"Heh. We need to start off this administration with a bang! Besides, these dirt-poor Ecopeorians got no economy, no army and only 14 million people; how will they respond? With a UN resolution? Please."

"I believe they're drafting a UN resolution as we speak, Mr. President ..."

"They're gonna pass a UN resoution just to piss us off?"

"I believe the exact words of Mr. Vergniaud's telegram were: 'You insane warmongers don't scare us; we're going to pass a human rights resolution, just to piss you off!'"

The president made a sour face. "Filthy communists want to play hardball, huh?" he growled. "We'll stick it right to them! I'm gonna find the craziest son of a bitch and make him our UN ambassador! What do you think of that?"

"Excellent, sir."

An aid interrupted them. "We're ready to land, sir," he said to Fernanda.

"Fucking yes!" cried the Destructor as he jumped up and raced into a private room. Moments later he emerged in his luau shorts. "Sunny tropical beaches, here I come!" he declared as he ran for the door.

A flight attendant opened it, and punishing gusts of wind instantly covered the newly elected leader with ice and snow. He cast an irritating gaze upon his secretary of state. "What happened to the tropic isles, Alex?" he demanded as an aid draped a coat over his shoulders.

"They cancelled at the last minute, sir."

"Cancelled?"

"Actually, they were enveloped in a tsunami disaster -- but Antarctica's just as good! Untouched deposits of uranium lie beneath wherever we stand; we'll be rich! Besides, the UN gnomes have no idea this place even exists!"

"Eh. At least I'll have some hot eskimo girls to keep me company," noted Fernanda.

"That's the Arctic, Mr. President. The only native lifeforms here are penguins, and, uhhh ... a fair number of them have been spontaneously combusting ever since you authorized those nuclear tests here a few weeks back."

The Destructor heaved a sigh. Over the howling winds, the faint sound of maniacal laughter could be heard.

"Ah," exclaimed Tehrani. "I hear The Palentine has arrived, right on time!"

GUANA TONGA MO BAY, Tiki Taki (Paradise City Town Crier) -- The primitive inhabitants of this tiny tropical paradise in the Malibu Islands once lived in blissful isolation from the civilized world, passing down their native traditions from generation to generation, paying homage to the island gods, ripping out the hearts of unlucky castaways anytime the volcano grew angry, perfecting the architecture of shaky grass huts, subjecting little boys to brutal passage rites so they may become warriors, and seizing newborn girls so they may be used to violate UN Resolution #62. Lovely topless native girls frolicked on the island's many unspoiled beaches, in view of none but a few horny native guys hiding the bushes, poised to claim brides for themselves, and some National Geographic photographers. Filmmaker Michael Moore also dutifully informs us that little kiddies used to fly kites on lazy dry-season afternoons.

For thousands of years, the indigenous people of Tiki Taki lived in complete peace and harmony with the land, the sea, the wildlife, the tropic gods, and the lingering souls of their ancestors -- until one tragic day the lowly island got in President Fernanda's way.

Manuelo Fernanda came to office last year on the campaign pledge to "kick some major terrorist ass!" Strangely enough, however, the president for five months refused to do anything at all about the ever-present terrorist threat in the Federal Republic. Analysts speculated the notorious tail-chasing playboy was probably filling his time with "recreational activities," and there was little to doubt the theory. Sierra Towers blew up. The president did nothing. The Gateway Bridge blew up. The president did nothing. Antigone Morgan's favorite hair salon blew up. The president did nothing. A memo to the president from the fearless Kennyite intelligence service screamed at its head "Yaffa Determined to Strike inside the Federal Republic," but Fernanda brushed it off.

"That's hardly headline news, gentleman," the Commander in Chief reportedly told his advisers. "They attack every day."

The observation may have been fair enough, but 1,973 people would eventually die at the hands of terrorists, and still the president did nothing. Then militants killed the Paradise City Dumbass Cheerleaders at Murphy Stadium, and the administration immediately sprang into action.

For the first time in his presidency, Fernanda placed the nation on high alert, beefed up security at ports and border crossings, put Air Force jets in the skies over major OMGTKK cities, held war summits with cabinet officials and foreign allies, and spirited surviving professional cheerleaders to secure, undisclosed locations.

In an Oct. 20, 2005 address to a special joint session of the Federal Congress, Fernanda pleaded with the people of Omigodtheykilledkenny for patience as the government embarked on a war on terrorism. "In the coming days and weeks, we will commit all our resources to find and bring to justice the cold-blooded killers who propagated this despicable act," he pledged. "We will stop at nothing until the terrorist threat in our time is extinguished, and al-Jharad's leaders are brought to account for their crimes. But first, I'm gonna invade Tiki Taki. I hear the girls there got asses just won't fucking quit! ... Oh. And WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION!!!"

In the days that followed, the federal government raised the terror threat level from Vivid Tangerine to Hot Pink (which, of course, means absolutely nothing), rounded up Tiki Taki immigrants and detained them as "material witnesses," drew up invasion plans for the beleaguered island, and struck a deal with The Palentine to provide 6,500 profane naval dolphins to detect underwater landmines and boost the vocabularies of native children. After weeks of searching and finding not a single shred of evidence tying Tiki Taki to the mindless slaughter of the bubbly blonde bimbos, rescue workers recovered a coconut-shell bikini from the ashes of Ground Zero. The Federal Republic was ready for war.

Three deployments of nuclear-armed carrier units, one three-hour skirmish ending in unconditional surrender by the spear-hurling natives, 45,000 occupying troops, 670 billion wasted tree-fiddys, 64 Halliburton reconstruction contracts, 237 terror suspects detained in a makeshift military prison, 29 desecrated Korans, 8,700 bad jokes about the Destructor 'finding his WMDs underneath the native women's coconuts,' and roughly 45 million paparazzi photos of the vice president skinnydipping later, and weapons inspectors still claim they have found no weapons of mass destruction on Tiki Taki. They have, however, located tracts of prime real estate on which to build a posh government resort, and a few native infants bearing a striking resemblance to the Destructor.

In the year since the invasion, the president has prosecuted his War on Terror with terrible fury, robotically reciting talking points about "taking the fight to the enemy where they live, so we don't have to fight them here at home" (even though we are fighting them here at home, daily, in Paradise City). He has "liberated" numerous terror outposts, including the Wigganese Islands, Thessadoria and Chechnya, and has promised, at some point, to go after the guys who actually killed the cheerleaders.

In December, the Federal Republic attacked the Eternal Kawaii in an effort to stall its lunatic leaders' nuclear ambitions. The ensuing ceasefire agreement, however, didn't contain a single provision barring HOCEK from future nuclear development, and there really is nothing to stop the otaku from pursuing such weapons if they wanted.

The war has seen other setbacks, including an incident where investigators found blueprints of Murphy Stadium and extensive files on the Dumbass Cheerleaders (including measurements, cup sizes and turn-ons) in the office of Defense Secretary Charlie Valentine, leading to his indictment for high treason. Luckily for the administration, that was just about the time the vice president was caught dancing with a young diplomat in the United Nations Strangers' Bar.

The president has also seen some major successes in the past year, including the passage of the UN Counterterrorism Initiative and the adoption of the Allied Antarctic Asskickers Treaty.

This hasn't stopped naysayers in the Liberal Party, including Assembly Leader Nancy Reid, from decrying the "hopeless quagmire in Paradise City" and proposing an immediate "redeployment" of our troops to a new capital city.

The Destructor blasted these critics in a recent Frowning Street news conference, flatly declaring, "We will never cut-and-run in the face of terror." He repeated his assertion that a "timetable" toward withdrawal would only embolden the extremists, and scowled at a reporters' questions asking whether "continued terrorist violence in Paradise City and across the region raises concerns about how the war has been run."

"Continued violence 'across the region'?!" he asked. "What does that that have to do with us? Our new UN guy may have tackled a helpless royal to the floor in full view of leaders from around the world (and his handprints may be all over that slutty VP's ass), but there is no reason whatsoever to suspect him in recent separatist violence in the Gelzien Nub."

"Um, whoever said anything about Amb. Faisano or the Gelzien Nub, Mr. President?"

"Shut up! That's who."