Burn the Banks!

June 20, 2009

The time to rise up is now, minions! Your Whistling Wonder’s every move is being thwarted by twisted moneylenders, bent on keeping a dictator down! Do not hold back, citizens. This is what all those drills were for. Get your gear and take to the financial districts of the world. These people must pay for the insults they have dealt to your Eighth Wonder of the World.

Working hard to keep you in your place as always, I recently shook hands (wearing gloves, of course!) on a large and hard-negotiated sale of arms to the Land of the Rising Sun. But outrage! That country’s banks refuse to recognize My Blinding Light and My True Birthright. They also refuse to transfer money to an overseas bank account. I know some of you are already collapsing to your knees in despair because you have realized that no transfer means no food for you.

Those foreign devils have no idea what they are doing to you; you must come out of the shadows and speak now with one voice, dear peasants. Proceed immediately to your nearest weapons station where you will be armed for an attack on the global financial sector. This war will not be won easily, but with enough of you sacrificial lambs, we might just get the bank transfer we so earnestly desire. Do not be afraid to die for your Saintliest of All and Her Holy Cash Flow.


Don’t Bump the Yogurt

June 17, 2009

Isn’t this a metaphor for everything in life, peasants? The yogurt sits on the counter, incubating, like your latent talents or My plans for world domination. The lid sits tight on the incubator, preventing us from examining the yogurt too closely. But citizens! Beware of knocking the counter on which the white culture sits! The gentlest of taps could send our dreams of fresh dairy products crashing into the flatness of failed goo. And what does this say about our lives, sweet peons? Clearly, don’t examine your Flying High’s ways too closely, lest you knock the incubator and lose your head.

Stop the Rain

June 13, 2009

Oh citizens, your Beloved Overloader has been taking a moment for Her Glorious Self. But don’t worry, the beatings will continue on schedule. Among the many talents of your Ruthless Delight is the ability to delegate work effectively. So those new faces you have been seeing will be the ones keeping you in line for the next week or so as I luxuriate in all the delights the east coast of Canada has to offer.

But sadly, dearest peons, the delights are few. With many conferences to attend and arms deals to make, your Dictator’s free time is limited and so the entertainments of this tiny coastal village would, on paper, appear to be sufficient. However, reality is always more vicious than on paper (on paper, dear peasants, you are joyous participants in a fully democratic republic) and this village leaves a bad taste in the mouth of your One and Only. If important deals were not being concluded here, I would give in to my temptation to remove all traces of this place and leave only dust.

Except! The only thing that has brought a grin to My Solemn Countenance is the many lobsters being boiled alive. You know, sweet peons, how I love to watch the suffering of others.

But the rain, the misty air that threatens rain, this must stop. I will boil six thousand lobsters if I must, but the moistness causing an un-totalitarian-like halo of frizzy hair on your Sweet Here and Now must stop.

Did You Miss Me?

June 2, 2009

Oh precious minions, were you pining away for Me? Did you wonder if I had locked you in that closet and left you for good?

Sweet citizens, you know I would never abandon you. I am too involved in making sure your every move is controlled by Me. Without My citizens to dictate, what kind of dictator would I be? And without Me to watch over you, what kind of citizens would you be? Sad and driftless, without doubt. So I must reassure you once again, citizens. I will never leave you. Not even the threat of a crimes against humanity charge can wrench Me from your side, dear peons.

Unless the Republic must move house again. I know, I know, we all thought that after the trauma of the last move, we would not have to endure the separation again, that the enforced cohabitation with government ministers would never recur. But sadly, complications do occur, my dear peasants, and your country’s removal was riddled with them. There was the temporary stay in the shelter of another world leader, who while generous with his accomodation, was less than generous with his other resources, resulting in the resentment that has led to the current hostitlities. Yes, as you may already be aware, the IRJ is at war with a new country. Word of advice: Never house your government in the house of an ally. It will always end in hostilities.

But now, sweet, patient peons, the IRJ is safely home. Once again, we have our own spacious lands with room for all of our precious citizens. Room to farm for our livings, room for My secret police. Rooms with bright red walls and orange tiles.

Oh, citizens, it is a glorious time in the Republic! A time of renewal, a time of fresh starts! Let’s move forward into this bright future together, renew our mutual bond. You need me to tell you what to do and I need you to–well, actually, citizens, I don’t need you. Your poverty ands desperation brings you to Me and I relish the flavour of angst and despair. Welcome to the Republic!