Tuesday, February 18, 2003
Birth of a Nation State Dept.
Incorporated States of Bunsen formed
Fuck this, I'm outta here I scrawled on the bathroom mirror with a chalky stick of Right Guard rubbed within an inch of its life. And with that bold declaration, The Incorporated States of Bunsen was born.
The ISB doesn't have a President. It has a Head Asshole. The ISB doesn't have a Treasurer. It has a Greenspan (the HA knows that Alan Greenspan is not the treasurer of his former nation, and he doesn't want to hear about it. "Greenspan" is a perfect money-moun.) And there's no Secretary of Defense at ISB, either. For a small financial consideration, ISB was able to lease Charlton Heston from the NRA, provide him with large caliber hand-cannon, and deprive him of his Alzherimer's medication. He's ornery and demented. Don't cross him. The border is secure, except when his diaper's being changed.
The one thing the ISB does have is interns. Lots and lots of interns. Interns to do the dishes, interns to clean up the HA's room, interns to do the laundry, and in the bathroom.
[There are lots of other things about the ISB you might want to know, but Sweet Jesus, didn't you read about how hard I partied last night?]
And in its first official contact with the international community, the ISB will now insult both France and Germany.
An Open Epigram to France:
Don't come crying to us when you find you can't culture a half-way decent cheese from camel milk.
You've been warned, Jacques and Marie.
And the back of the hand for Germany:
While you produce fine malt products and sexually permissive women in strangely arousing traditional garb, you are extra-shitty at world domination.
Notice has been served, Helmut and Heidi.
If you'll excuse me, I must take my leave to violate UN sanctions regarding the export of mother jokes to fundamentalist Islamist states.