A story of one soul during two lives

“You need a war,” Mr. Pink stated, sinking comfortably into the red- cushioned plushness of the Throne.

Of course. From time immemorial, monarchs had instigated conquest to consolidate power. Shrub the First had finessed foreign conflict within the first year of his reign, initiating a hate campaign against a former Murican puppet named Madman Insane, dictator of I’mcracked, who had the planned misfortune to invade his tiny but wealthy neighbor, Heywait, right when the elder Shrub sought an international demon to crucify.

The timing of this hostile action was no coincidence; Insane had innocently made his move with false assurance, from clandestine Murican authorities, that they would not interfere with Insane if he took Heywait. Naturally, there was no one to complain to when King Shrub welshed on Madman and used the incident as an excuse to begin the prolonged and expensive Golf War, the centerpiece of his brief reign.

At first, this strategy was successful; the Muricans, always needing someone to hate, took immediately to Madman Insane, with his swarthy desert features and alien-sounding moniker. King Shrub was suddenly quite popular.

But as the Golf War approached the eighteenth Hole, it was obvious that most Muricans were dissatisfied. Sure, Madman had been driven from Heywait, but he still held power in I’mcracked and looked to do so for some time to come. The Murican people, robbed of their bloodlust, felt vaguely duped and subsequently dumped King Shrub, for the Lord Horny Hick from Ark and Saw, who ruled reasonably well and kept the people entertained with his sexual antics.

The economy, which had seemed so hopeless under King Shrub, was miraculously restored without special measures, and grew steadily until Horny Hick was forced by statute from the Throne. Weapons contractors screamed bloody murder at the draft-dodger’s cutbacks, but most Muricans were out shopping and ignored the missile-mongerers’ moans.

The fact was, the Murican people were disillusioned with foreign war, particularly when their massive armies displayed an embarrassing reluctance to win. Too often they found themselves peeling off bumper stickers and lowering flags with gritted teeth, as once again their vastly superior military effected an equivocal withdrawal from a much smaller territory where the enemy would continue to rule as before.

Even Horny Hick-who was much more interested in domestic affairs- had tried his hand at the meddling game, agitating against the genocidal Sloppy Don Lousysonofabitch in Yourup, the latest in the procession of demons promenaded before the Muricans’ Magic Mirrors for hate purposes, but, finding little interest in the intervention at home, he allowed the issue to quietly drop. Ratings were not good, even though the headlines screamed, “Systematic Rape” and “Ethnic Cleansing”. Halfway around the world, who gives a damn? Besides, there’s plenty of sex and violence in the local news, thank you fearless leader.

A war? Yes, certainly! But what foe? They were running out of bloodthirsty foreign lords with funny names. The senior Shrub had won the Throne originally in a contest against the hideously named Duke Cockkiss, which sounds like shit in any language, while summoning up equally disturbing images of fellatio. And the King had learned from his father the vital importance of having an enemy with a funnier name than yours.

Mr. Pink was waiting impatiently for the glassy look to leave the King’s eyes, tapping his fingers on the armrest of the Throne. “We need another Oyster Bay,” he said carefully. The King needed his explanations in slow, short words. “Something to whip up a frenzy. A war even long- haired radicals would be ashamed to protest.”