President Axehand sat on his luxurious throne of mahogany, ready to attack the day’s business with fervour. The flags of his glorious nation waved gloriously behind him, highlighting his own gloriousness as he fervently thrust his left hand (which is, as you might have guessed, also an axe) at the intimidatingly large pile of important and official papers on his mahogany desk. They crumbled like so many potato chips. “The time for work is over! SECRETARY, BRING ME COFFEE IN THE SKULL OF A GOAT!”, he ejaculated. The Secretary of the State sidled into the glorious Chamber of Presidency, expertly prepared coffee cradled in her mahogany hands. “Tell me, Secretary, what news of the war?”
“You ended the war last Tuesday, sir. I believe you ordered your chair to be fitted with their President’s spines.” President Axehand caressed the spine-handles of his mahogany chair, and realised this to be true. “Narrator! You should have mentioned my chair was only partially mahogany. How am I meant to notice these things if you don’t describe them in your prose?” “Sorry,” I lied, what a pompous git, thinking he could command me when I created him. Protagonists these days.
Before I could trail into a vague sort of inner-monologue, a giant robotic hand thrust itself into the Chamber of Presidency, making the roof crumble like so many giant potato chips. “PRESIDENT AXEHAND! Prepare to be handed the axe! As in being acquitted of your presidency because I’m going to kill you!” At this point I was starting to get a headache. What time period was this even set in? Anyways, President Axehand leapt from his throne of partial-mahogany, battle lust in his eyes and loins. “Fool! You’ll never take my empire! Prepare to die!” President Axehand thrust madly at the robotic invader, as the Secretary of the State cowered in the corner like some sort of corner. I sidled up to her. I’m allowed to do that. “Hey, baby, are you up for election, ’cause I want you in my House of Representatives – in the pants!” We’ll skip over what happened after that, suffice to say that trying to pick up a chick made out of wood can be rather painful. Oh, yeah, so like, President Axehand totally destroyed the Sentinel or whatever it was. He drunk gloriously and deeply from the skull of the goat. “SECRETARY! THE COFFEE IS NOW COLD! STOP FRATERNISING WITH THAT PERVERTED MAN AND GET ME MORE COFFEE!” That was uncalled for. “Hey, %^#@ you, man. I gave you life. I think I’m entitled to a little private time with the ladies.” “What?” “What??” “How do you pronounce %^#@?” “It’s a censor, man. I was insulting you.” President Axehand’s beard filled with battle-rage-lust, as he prepared to do to me what he would often do to so many potato chips. Luckily, he fell into a pit of ravenous goats at the last moment. I’m allowed to do that. President Axehand was ripped to shreds, so many shreds.
I sat on my glorious throne of glorious mahogany, the Crown of Presidency atop my head as I pondered the future of my glorious nation. But, more importantly, I sulked that the Secretary of the State still wouldn’t go out with me. Why am I not allowed to do that? %^#@.
A Wasp Is Neither A Bee Nor An Ant. 