Fable
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A Fable free porn video
Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far, away, etc., there lived an evil man named Drubya. Drubya belonged to a rich family, all of whose members felt they deserved to rule– because they were rich, could trace their pedigree back several centuries, had gone to all the right schools, etc. Drubya wanted to get himself elected to the highest office in the land, that of Pretzel in Chief. The only problem was, people didn’t like him very much. They didn’t like him because he was a rich, spoiled, arrogant overgrown fratboy who thought he deserved to have everything handed to him on a silver platter, and a big phony and liar to boot. But he didn’t let that stop him. He got together with his brother Jub, who was governor of a state called Fuckallya. Together they hatched a scheme which was diabolical in its cleverness.
‘Now we have a lot of noogas in our state,’ brother Jub said. [NOTE: ‘nooga’ was a derogatory term for Affrikan-AmeriKKKans.] ‘They vote overwhelmingly for the other party, the Dimwits. I’ll just arrange to have a bunch o’ them kicked off the rolls in advance. Then you should be able to carry this state. And as we all know, as Fuckallya goes, so goes the nation.’
Well, the two brothers chortled big time over that. They sat up all night celebrating their scheme, drinking and snorting cocaine, and forcing nooga slave girls to give them them head. The next Monday morning, Jub went to work in his office on his scheme to disenfranchise the Affrikan-AmeriKKKans. He hired a private consulting company to purge convicted felons off the voting rolls. Since Affrikan-AmeriKKKans were a persecuted minority, often railroaded into prison by the cops and courts, this would get rid of a good number of them. Not nearly enough for his dear ole brother to win, though. Then the consultant from the company came up with a brilliant idea. ‘We’ll set the parameters of the search so broadly they’ll remove not just felons, but with anyone with a name at all similar to that of a felon.’
Jub’s eyes lit up. ‘Yeah, that’s great. . . Them noogas all have similar names, names like George Watchyourtongue and Dumbass Jefferscum. That’ll work like a charm!’
So the plan was put into effect, and large numbers of Affrikan-AmeriKKKans were stricken from the rolls, without even being notified. When they went to the polls on election day, thinking they were registered, they were told they weren’t, and couldn’t vote. Since most of them would have voted for Drubya’s opponent, Al Bore, that went a long way toward ensuring victory for Drubya and his party, the Fatcats. However, even that wasn’t enough. Jub had to resort to a number of other dirty tricks to make sure his brother won. There were the butterfly ballots, which flew away when the Affrikan-AmeriKKKans tried to cast their votes. Also, Jub rounded up a bunch of guys named Chad and had them hung in front of heavily Affrikan-AmeriKKKan polling places. These hanging Chads frightened the Affrikan-AmeriKKKans and kept many of them from entering the polling places. Then there were the pregnant Chads– horrible freaks of nature, men with big, swollen bellies, lactating breasts, and an insatiable craving for pickles and ice cream. They caused many Affrikan-AmeriKKKans to run screaming in horror away from the polling places. Even with these and a few other dirty tricks, Drubya only managed to carry the state of Fuckallya by one vote. That gave him enough votes to win in the Electrical College, even though he lost the popular vote overall.
His opponent, Al Bore, was a weak, spineless, pansy ass preppy motherfucker, but even he realized he was being screwed out of the Pretzeldency. He called for a recount of the ballots in Fuckallya, which he had the right to do. That threw Drubya and his brother Jub into a panic. They knew there was so much fraud and irregularity in the Fuckallya election that they would surely lose a recount. But they had an ace in the hole to play. They got their cronies, Fatcat political appointees all, on the nation’s highest court, the Supine Court, to intervene in their favor. By a 5-4 vote, the Supine Court stepped in and ordered the recount to stop, and declared Drubya the winner.
So Drubya took power, and went to work in the Ogle Office. Well, actually he didn’t do too much work himself. He mainly just snorted cocaine, played video games, and forced nooga slave girls to suck his dick and lick his asshole. But he had a lot of real smart fellers workin’ for him, and they worked very hard. First and foremost among them was Dick Cheesy, his Vice Pretzel, who was in charge of all the vices– and there were plenty of them. Field Marshall von Rumsfeld headed the Department of Mass Murder, the most important one. Rectum Pole, a former general, was put in charge of the Steaks Department, also very important. Finally, John Asscross headed the Department of Injustice, the other key one.
At first, Drubya had a lot of fun in the Ogle Office, what with the nooga slave girls and all. But then the job started getting to be a real bummer, man. The economy took a nosedive, and people blamed Drubya for their being out of work and impoverished.
‘How unfair,’ Drubya would mutter to himself. ‘I got myself a real good job, using a little good old-fashioned AmeriKKKan ingenuity and initiative. It’s not my fault they can’t do the same.’
Then Drubya’s main campaign contributor, the Endrun Corporation, bilked the state of Canifuckya, the largest and most populous state, out of billions of dollars by manufacturing a phony energy crisis. That was bad enough, but then one of the Fatcats defected to the Dimwits, and Drubya lost control of the Sinate. His approval rating was in the toilet, he was in deep doo doo politically.
But then he hatched upon another brilliant scheme. There was an Arabik Mushhead radical named Osama bin Fucken, who headed a loose terrorist network, named All Cornhole. There was a rich network of contacts between Drubya’s family and bin Fucken’s family. In fact, bin Fucken had originally been supplied and built up by the AmeriKKKan government before later turning on them.
‘I’ll let bin Fucken get away with a major terrorist attack on this country, and then use that as an excuse to go to war and crack down on internal dissent. There won’t be nearly as much of that, anyway– everyone knows people rally behind the Pretzel in times of crisis.’
So the wheels were put in motion. Bin Fucken was allowed to send several of his operatives into the country, who prepared their attack at great length, while the government intentionally looked the other way. Finally, on November 9, 2001, which became immortalized as ‘119,’ two hijacked jets slammed into the twin towers of the World Tit Center, which were both shaped like enormous breasts, with nipples pointing proudly to the sky. Another hijacked jet hit the Pentagram, headquarters of the Department of Mass Murder, inflicting minor damage. A fourth crashed near Pittsburgh, because the people on board preferred dying to having to go to Pittsburgh.
The World Tit Center was completely destroyed, and thousand of people killed. AmeriKKKan males were all big tit men, and they were shocked by the destruction of the national mammaries. Drubya went on TV before the AmeriKKKan people, pretending to be outraged and vowing to get bin Fucken ‘dead or alive.’ He blamed the Towel Band, which ruled a country called Assgasistan, for harboring bin Fucken. He rounded up thousands of people and held them without any charges, in the name of fighting a ‘war on terror.’ He bombed and invaded Assgasistan and took it over, but bin Fucken was nowhere to be found. He set up a concentration camp in Gwongottago Bay, where people were brought from all over the world to be tortured. His approval ratings soared, and suddenly everyone liked him instead of hating him. Well, almost everyone. There were a few malcontents who muttered things like ‘Reichstag fire’ under their breath, but he had them rounded up whenever possible.
Things went along just
peachy keen for a few months, while Drubya basked in his new-found popularity. But then things started to get screwy again. Shortly after making a killing in Canifuckya, Endrun went belly up and had to file for bankruptcy, because all the top executives had looted the company of billions of dollars and put them in their own pockets. So Drubya called up the Endrun Chairman & CEO, Wanna Lay.
‘Damn it, Wanna boy,’ Drubya fumed over the phone. ‘All those meetings you had with Dick Cheesy to dictate our energy policy to us can come back to haunt us now. You’re makin’ me look bad. I’m gonna have to pretend I don’t know you now. All those photos of me sticking my nose up your butthole are gonna have to be destroyed.’
‘OK, but I’ll have to keep the negative for an insurance policy . . .’
Worse still, word started to leak out about all the advance warnings Drubya had about 119, and how they were deliberately ignored. His approval rating was sagging, and rapidly heading back into the crapper. The Dimwits in the Sinate were forced by popular clamor to hold investigations, to at least make it look like they were doing something. Even the whitewash investigation by the Sinate Dimwits threatened to spill more beans than Drubya could ever scoop back into the bean jar. They were also nosing around into Endrun, and how Drubya had changed the laws to allow it to loot billions of dollars from the state of Canifuckya. It looked like Drubya was in deep doo doo again, but then he came up with another brilliant idea.
‘I know,’ he said to his top aides, ‘we’ll nab a guy with an Arabik-sounding name, and tell the public we foiled a plot to set off a dirty bomb, which would make everyone think dirty thoughts all the time. That’ll make it look like we’re on the ball fightin’ the war on terror. That oughta keep the Kristoon Coalition happy, too.’
‘But Mr. Bullshit,’ an aide spluttered, ‘if we don’t have any proof he did that, it will come out sooner or later.’
‘Ah, that’s the beauty of this,’ Drubya chortled. ‘We’ll declare him an ‘enemy combatant’ or some shit like that, and transfer him to the jurisdiction of the Department of Mass Murder. They’ll just hold him indefinitely without bringing any charges. That way we don’t need any evidence at all.’
Soon after, they found their scapegoat, a man named Abdullah Al-Mujafukker, and trumpeted that they had foiled a plot to set off a dirty bomb. Drubya expected his approval rating to soar again, and the Sinate Dimwits to be thrown into confusion and disarray.
But the AmeriKKKan people were not quite as gullible and stupid as Drubya thought they were. His array of cunning stunts had worn thin with them. This time they saw through his trickery, and didn’t fall for it. They’d had enough Bullshit. They rose up and overthrew the usurper and tyrant Drubya, and restored freedom and democracy. Peace and prosperity bloomed throughout the world. And they all lived happily ever after.
Of course, nothing like this could ever happen in the real world– could it?
–June 11, 2002
Marisol
- 24.05.2020
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