Yes, peons, just when it looks grimmest for those of us with fascist inclinations, a cuddly mascot appears to improve our brand images! Imagine the atrocities we shall commit under the flag of captioned authoritarian cats!


And read about how style matters for the would-be dictator (something I’ve also pointed out in a scolding tone back when these official missives were printed on paper) at Uproxx. Take these tips to heart, fellow autocrats!


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’état! 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.


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.


October 12, 2009

Your Up in the Sky has been alarmed recently at the flagrant misuse of part of Her Illustrious Title. Peering around this “Internet”–you peons may know this type of peering as “googling”, even though it is common knowledge that a googol has nothing to do with peering and everything to do with the number 1 followed by 100 zeros–I have discovered a shocking misuse of the word “dictator”. It seems that in your workaday world of disease and poor language skills, anyone who crosses your path can be a dictator. An absolute disgrace to the fine English language and an insult to autocrats everywhere.

Peasants, a dictator is not someone who has angered you by reducing the amount of parking available at the local supermarket. Nor is it anyone whose political opinions you disagree with. And that annoying person in your office who keeps watch over the supply closet? Not a dictator. Not even close.

No, peons. Dictator is a title you earn through years of ruthless and self-aggrandizing behaviour. When you have overthrown the government of your country, interred dissidents in work camps, implemented arbitrary laws to govern the daily lives of your citizens, sported a little moustache, put chatty peasants in the Brank, signed treaties with other nations and then ignored them, gone to war with neighbouring countries for the sake of entertaining yourself, curtailed human rights, abolished free speech and put your tired feet up on the back of some interchangeable peon after a long day of watching over your death squads, then and only then do you have the right to call yourself a dictator.

Sweet Poland

September 15, 2009

Why Poland is Our ally

Citizens, this is why Poland continues to be our staunch ally. We simply cannot resist their poetry. A nation that speaks of the buffalo with such lyricism has won Our heart. Together, we will find a way to conquer the world. And then I will betray them, of course. It is the natural progression of the dictatorial alliance. But in the meantime, this nation will raise Zubr in toasts and sing the praises of Polish brewmasters! If you doubt the word of your Far-reaching hand, My secret police will soon be at your door. There are no second chances in the Republic.

School Days!

September 7, 2009

Aaah, citizens. When the wind blows cool through the soon-to-be-bare trees, our thoughts drift inevitably to education. And not just for children, peons. No, education is a lifelong activity in the IRJ. Naturally, your Tall and Mighty is not just referring to classes in school, those hours when you learned the meaning of flagella and quanta, but the day-to-day experiences of learning your place in the world and understanding the rules of the greater society around you.

As citizens of the Republic, you are always on guard, wary of any infraction of the many rules of this great land. But no matter how vigilant you are, you know, citizen, that you are not perfect. You had an egg for lunch, didn’t you? Even though you knew that Your Rising Sun is allergic to eggs and therefore, no one in the land is permitted to enjoy their fetal flavour. Or perhaps you forgot that yesterday was the Day of Dance? I did notice that you barely raised your arms in celebration yesterday on your way to work.

So even though you profess your understanding and awareness of the safety harness Your Word on the Street so kindly provides, you trangress these sacred laws many  times in a single day. And citizens, I think you know that this cannot continue. Don’t make my Secret Police work any harder. Already, they work so much overtime that their spouses are essentially widowed. Review the list on your fridge and make sure that your everyday actions are free of offense to your Fast and Furious. Let the autumn breezes remind you of your duties to the State!

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.