NationStates Jolt Archive

Blubland-Jaredcohenia Border, 3am

Haven's largest unguarded border. Two peaceful people. One insatiable love of peanut butter. And this is how it all went wrong...

The faction group Rogue Aegis has always been far right-wing in its opinion that Blubland should be entirely self-sufficient. Nevermind the fact that they import massive amounts of goods from Jaredcohenia and other parts of Haven, and that Blubland has always depended on fellow Havenites to supply equipment for war.

If Blubland is to be strong, it must stand on its own! Lead by the charismatic Fribble Gripnet, Rogue Aegis has developed its own militia. Being Blubs, their idea of an uprising is entirely non-lethal and while not intended to be funny, the plans were outright hilarious.

And thus.. on the border, about two hundred Blubs wearing black jackets to blend into the night began to cross over. Slipping through the brush, moving up the mountain range that seperated the two nations. It took all night, but moving quickly they reached the top. There they rested throughout the day, and the following night began the descent.

An hour before dawn..

Blubs crept through the streets of the small, sleepy Jaredcohenian border town of Czarburg. Czarburg of course was one of the depots for peanut butter trade into Blubland. And this depot was now under the scrutiny of an advance team of Blubs with night vision gear.

One Blub scurried forward, trying to duck under the gate of the depot, only to have a big, friendly Jaredcohenian security guard jump in suprise and turn on a flash light. He pointed it at the Blub, who blinked shyly in the sudden light. "Hey there! We're after hours, little guy. You can get a tour in the morning."

The Blub sniffled a little, eyes drooping to the point that the poor guard never had a chance. He stepped closer, going down to one knee to pat the intruder, "Hey now.. don't start crying on me, I.." and the Blub whipped out his tazer, clicking it on with a crackle and shoving it into the guard's crotch. The guard squealed, "AH, MAH BALLS!" and collapsed, whimpering. The special forces Blub gestured, and dozens more streamed into the facility.

By morning's first light, the Czarburg peanut butter depot was in Rogue Aegis hands. .. tentacles.

Waving big cans of peppermace, tazers and fierce boards with nails in them, the Blubs hooted happily, dancing around inside the facility. Jars of peanut butter were lying open on the ground, licked clean and scattered messily.

An international inccident has begun...

"They...what?" A cigar toting chief executive officer asked. He was Crix Madine, CEO of Jaredcohenia's chief exporter of peanut butter - The Best a Blub Can Get (tm). The Best a Blub Can Get (tm) was approved by various mother Blubs for their children, and it seemed that all Blubs enjoyed the Best a Blub Can Get (tm). It was indeed, as the commercial stated 'the best damned peanut butter made by Jews, enjoyed by green jelly...organisms? With tentacles? you're paying me to read this shit?' Madine dropped his cigar on the ground, the carpet around him starting a small blaze that the CEO stopped out. "Contact all The Best a Blub Can Get (tm)" Yes, the CEO said registered trademark. "and tell them to put vicodin in every jar of peanut butter going to Blubland! Those Blubs will be so goddamned drowsy they'll be easy to be placed in jars themselves!"

"But Madine!" Madine's secretary, Miss Ima Hottie, ejaculated. "How will we know what peanut butter is going to Blubland or is being sent to us? It will be hard to tell, all peanut butter will be doped!"

"This is why I pay you to service the old machine, Miss Hottie." The CEO had another cigar in his hand and was lighting it. "The Best a Blub Can Get (tm)", again saying registered trademark, "is only an export version. No Jaredcohenian would ever consume The Best a Blub Can Get (tm). It contains certain products that are...dare I say, illegal in Jaredcohenia." He puffed smoke out of his mouth and sat down in his deluxe office chair, placing the cigar between his lips. "Call that drunkard in chair of the Foreign Ministry."

"You mean that sexy stud, Soda Popinski? All girls would love a man like that...he really knows how to make a girl feel dirty, you know?" She smiled a bit. "I heard he has a big bottle of Grog, if you know what I mean." She giggled like a giddy school girl that was just given a good grade. "I would give up my entire job to be with Admiral Popinski..."

"Just call the alcoholic, I didn't need to hear a wet dream. Now get on Crixy's lap."

The rest of the conversation's tape log was stopped, no one is sure as to what happened after this.

"They...what?" A tall, bald man wearing boxing gloves, a pair of gym shorts, and no shirt. He had a pair of ankle cut white socks on that were stained red, the red is either some kind of red liquor or blood from one of his numerous bar-bouts. Soda Popinski had a large bottle of Grog on his desk as well, the rumor that he was well endowed was true but he didn't call his member a bottle of Grog. He just drank a lot of Grog, the Admiral was quoted on saying 'cheap liquor is the best liquor.' It should be known that Admiral Soda Popinski is what Jaredcohenians call a 'fallen Jew', an atheist if you will. However, he still retains that stereotypical Jewish cheapness, like most of Jaredcohenia. Before being told that a covert operation of Blubs had infiltrated Czarburg's peanut butter depot, he had been reading a circular for J.C. Nickels, an upscale clothing store in Jaredcohenia. "How can the Blubs even get into Jaredcohenia? The mountains bordering our two nations would take a month for a Blub to climb. Do they have helicopters? Goddamnit, I hope they don't have helicopters. Dispatch the third militia to the area, make sure that no Blub penetrates further into Jaredcohenia. This invasion is to stop at once. Kill all Blubs involved, if you can not kill them then they are to be tortured the only way you can torture a Blub." Popinski's eyes moved to his shelf, which sat opposite his desk. On it were numerous awards, pictures of Soda Popinski and his brother Vodka Drunkenski, pictures of Momma Popinski, and finally a mason jar with a green liquid inside. Popinski walked over to it and lifted the mason jar, and opened it. "Having fun, little Blub?" The Blub's voice was muffled badly, he had been stuck inside this mason jar for a while. "What's that? I can't hear you. Maybe if you weren't crammed inside this jar I'd be able to hear you. Ha ha ha!"

Heading towards Czarburg, Jaredcohenia

"They...what?" The Third Militiamen were on various infantry transport vehicles, riding along towards the city. "They want us to carry mason jars and capture each and every Blub and put them in these jars? What, that's fucking nuts, man." The militiaman was smoking something.

"Blubs are people too, you know. No one has the right to be crammed inside a mason jar. Well, other than Zukariaans. Pagan scum, that's what they are. They pray to multiple gods and put needles in their skin."

"What about Clandonians? Hell, I'd enjoy putting a Clandonian in a jar. Maybe a Hamptonian in a Jar would be cool, it'd be portable financial advice wherever you go!"

"Dammit, we're Jews. We have enough financial advice where it is!" The militiamen noted a sign on their way to the Blub-infiltrated city. "Czarburg - 5km."