Another year

December 21, 2010

Oh citizens, as we prepare for the annual festivities to celebrate your Incredible Action’s descent from the heavens, I hope none of you have forgotten what happened to those peons who “forgot” to send presents last year. Although I am a tolerant ruler, I cannot abide by insurrection via non-present-giving. And be honest, there is no one so deserving of a present as your Fox Trot.

There were some citizens who, at last year’s dictatorial festivities, declined to participate in the gift presentation, and as has been widely broadcast by state channels, those citizens were executed shortly after the gifts were not received. From this example, I think it is clear, citizens, that your Hot Stuff expects presents and has no compunction about removing those citizens that do not offer up the entirety of their net worth on the anniversary of Her glorious birth.

No, She does not need or want any of it, but as a Dictator, She cannot allow any of you to have it. So send Me those cookies in tinsel-covered packages, citizens. Send Me your first-born so that I might sell them to hostile nations. Do all this and more for your beloved Republic, citizens, and your Tap Master just might let you keep your head. Maybe.


Cease your admonitions!

November 22, 2010

Peasants! Your Greatest Glory will have none of your grumbling! It’s like you don’t even realize that I was the one who made the sun and the moon and all the stars in the sky. Almost as if you do not enjoy your head being attached to your shoulders. Is that the case, citizen? Shall I send My impressively awesome secret pollice to change that situation for you?

The fact is, lowly grovellers who are not even fit to lick the bottoms of My fancy designer shoes, your Delightful Dish has been busy with matters of state. That’s right. Matters of state. You all seem to think that My only concern is your sad, sad little lives. This, obviously, is not the case. The amazing republic does not run itself. I must meet with a variety of subordinates and beat them senseless everyday to make sure that your rice is taxed in a way that brings Me maximum profits, so that I can keep enjoying My monthly vacations on the Cote d’Azur. Because I do enjoy those blue waters. And all that sun. And the food, citizens! Oh the food!

Do not think, however, that I have forgotten you. No, no. These are matters of state. These daily tasks that I am burdened with are what keep this society functioning as smoothly as it does. Without My worldly travels, foreign aid would cease. We would have no foolish foreign governments attempting to keep you poor souls alive, all the while not realizing that this “aid” only aids Me and My many underlings. Only underlings who have earned rewards through vigilant reporting on the suspicious activities of their friends and families, though.

So citizens, do not think that I do not love you and care so sincerely and deeply about your well-being when you do not see reports from Me on this page for months at a time. Know that your Crisp and Clean is always working on your behalf, toiling away to make the IRJ a better place with more guns and more income from illicit international trade.

Toilets Everywhere!

February 13, 2010

Peasants, what is going on? Have you evolved en masse into some kind of post-human creatures who have somehow eliminated the need for urination and defecation? Your Dazzling Light generally pays little to no attention to your insignificant doings, but on a recent excursion to review the troops, She could not help but notice the large numbers of toilets on the pothole-ridden streets in front of your slovenly shacks. Some with their bowls cracked in two or even three, some coloured offensive yellows and pale blues, some the standard white. But all of them toilets. And all of them outside of the room where they ostensibly belong: the toilet room. (If you are wealthy enough to have a bathtub: the bathroom. But if you are wealthy enough to own a bathtub, you are not a citizen of My Republic and hence should avert your eyes from the glory of My words.)

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Maintaining Order

January 30, 2010

Citizens! Rumours have reached My Head Pitchers of Glory, rumours to the effect that a revolution is being planned at this very moment. Insurrection! Riot! Mayhem and coup d’├ętat! I issue this official communication to remind those would-be revolutionaries of a few important facts.

Your Iron Glove developed Her own not-insignificant cult of personality partially through Her impressive indoctrination of the military forces of the Independent Republic of Josi. You see, aspiring activists, together with former Commander-in-Chief and fallen comrade Julius Meindl, I used what the psychologists among you might call “classical conditioning” (if there were any psychologists left among you after the great intellectual purges of the last decade). Normally, we think of Pavlov and his dogs if we even bother to consider classical conditioning at all, but Pavlov was a fool who did not understand the import of his own work. Clearly, this was a tool meant for building better, more loyal soldiers. Think less Pavlov, more Clockwork Orange.

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Sharp Snap of the Whip

January 22, 2010

Citizens! Where have you been hiding?

Don’t think your Fire and Brimstone has not noted your obvious absence. You know these winter months drag Me down and depression inevitably leads Me to invade another country just for the distraction. Do you want to endure another war this year, peons? Have you so soon forgotten the tragicomedy (my good friend Gurbanguly and I enjoyed the comedy of your tragic lives being wasted on the fields below us) of that little venture into Turkmenistan in the fall? If you do not desire to see such a pointless waste of the lives of your compatriots yet again, then perhaps you might make the time–although I know I am asking a lot from your pointless peasant lives spent scrabbling at the dirt for food–to come and dance for your Dictator and President-for-Life?

The grey skies of this post-Yule season are even more oppressive than most and your Rigged Game finds that only the sunny faces of Her peasants can shine any light into the gloom. Sunny faces while dancing, of course. No need to bring any shuffling monkeys into My Glorious Presence. But no need to worry about the mental health of your Rocking Out, citizens! Should any less than satisfactory citizens make their way before Me, their sad dance will be cut short by snipers lining the upper levels of the main hall. Because in the end, the force of the bullet that causes your malnourished bodies to jolt in unusual ways does bring a smile to My heavy heart.

Setting Things Straight

December 25, 2009

You have nothing to celebrate but Me, citizens. Make no mistake. This “christmas” thing is just another ruse by the outside world to make you think that there is something worth living for other than the great Independent Republic of Josi and your Leader of the Pack. No matter insulated you are from those evil influences of the hostile world that surrounds us, some of you are no doubt sorely tempted by the evil foreigners’ promises of free candy and wireless Internet.

Peons, the free candy is poisoned and the wireless Internet is monitored. You will not be free there. Ignore the sickly sweet Western voice whispering in your ear and re-affirm your commitment to the Republic and its myriad delights. Delights such as harvesting crops, delicious meals of gruel and leftover vegetables, state-sponsored education programs and of course, the polished statues of your Finest Finery all over the immense Republic.

And the statues are fine. Although there could be more of them. I hope you sculptors are already hard at work. But if not, perhaps you should dig out your bronze and your kilns lest a certain secret police service were to come knocking on your door. And if you are secretly celebrating one of those non-IRJ holidays, my special forces kicking in your door might seriously dampen holiday spirits.

Always Looking Forward

December 22, 2009

Yes, another year has passed, citizens. And yes, it could be said that your Bright and Shiny has added another increment to Her age, but those of you saying that are looking for knocks on your door in the middle of the night. Safer to say that your Pie in the Sky is timeless, ageless, infinite and omnipresent. No need to get bogged down in the laws of physics when it comes to Me. This day is only marked in the Republic as a celebration of My mightiness, My ancient wisdom, My bright smile. This is a time of celebration, peons, the greatest day of the year, a day which marks the descent of your Tip Top from the heavens above to the earth to rule you and bring order to these scattered lands. So bring on the parties and presents. Do not forget to worship Me on this day of days!


December 3, 2009

Citizens, I realize that your modest shacks are overrun with a variety of unpleasant visitors: cockroaches, mice, spiders, possibly fire ants–I don’t know your specifics. But I do know that the poverty I force upon you can only lead to one place: disgusting pests snacking on your meagre stocks.

But your Deep and Delicious is not you. No, citizens. My needs are greater than yours. My life is more extravagant than yours. Most importantly, My nerves are more sensitive than yours. And those of you daring to compare your desperate, tragic selves to your Cat’s Pyjamas will soon be welcoming My secret police and saying good-bye to your heads.

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Killer Virus

October 30, 2009

The loss of productivity is troubling, quite frankly. Peons are dropping on all sides, felled by a mysterious illness often referred to by the locals as the “flu”. Although My staff of esteemed medical care personnel tell me that this flu is not necessarily fatal, it is murdering a large number of My worker bees. The doctors suggested timidly that this might be due to the general poor health and nutrition of My average citizen. Those doctors have been replaced by new doctors who insist that the flu is fatal to the common masses and there is nothing your Fine and Fancy can do about it. These doctors have also been separated from their beloved heads because after being educated in My fine facilities these many years, they should be aware at this point that there is nothing I can’t do. What fool would doubt the great and terrible glory of your Lionhearted Omnipresence?

However, whatever the nature of this flu, it is distressing Me to see My precious pawns in such a state. No wars can be fought when half of My foot soldiers have temperatures of 40 degrees and higher. The workers tilling the fields have coughed all over the produce so that I am forced to throw it away to prevent contamination of other peons. Which means that there is a distinct food shortage as the majority of what the Republic produces these days goes straight into the bin. So you poor citizens have even less than usual to eat. Don’t worry about your Up to the Hips, though. I’m importing all my food from Europe until the crisis passes. I will still be strong and hale enough to watch over you with My paranoid eyes, looking for plots among your malnourished population to overthrow Me and establish a democracy. (More like a democrazy!)

So what is the message to you, the individual peasant, from Me, your First and Only? Simple, dear citizen. Get the flu shot. My random hodgepodge of medical people tell me that it is highly effective in preventing further transmission of the virus by breaking down the links in the chain. If you have been vaccinated, you won’t get the dreaded flu and pass it on to your neighbour peon. So your neighbour peon is saved by your own forward thinking. Which means that friendly neighbour can get back into the fields and grow some cough-free food. Which means you may just get enough to eat yet. Until I start raising taxes again. So get the flu shot soon and enjoy a brief moment of relative prosperity and a respite from the crushing burden of life in the Republic. This window is short, citizen. Take advantage.

Be a Pirate!

September 21, 2009


This day be a day fer respectin’ them amazin’ forerunners ‘o our society, th’ band ‘o pirates. Although yer Sailin’ High has no respect fer anyone but Her Own Impressive Action, She feels that She must gift due whar it be due. ‘N that be to th’ band ‘o pirates. So let them half ’tis day, Me sweet peons. ‘N let us all celebrate wit’ a big barnacle-covered bottle ‘o spiced rum, because that be what band ‘o pirates do. ‘N let us bow our heads in our drunken stupor, rememberin’ our mighty forefathers. Aah, sweet memory.