Wow, I just wrote something COMPLETELY terrible/incredible! All you brave souls can check it out! It was the early 1930s in the America: United States. The stock market was sending unholy ripples of poverty through every corner of the nation. Banks, hospitals, mailmen... They all went up in smoke. War was beginning with the flawed economic institutions that the United States was built upon. Mile-high fires surrounded Wall Street from all directions and burning money erupted into the sky throughout the entire state of New York. The economy had already ended millions of lives with its stranglehold of death. Only the Royal American Magicians of Great Fame could keep its evil fires at bay on the outside of the New York Stock Exchange, where thousands of noble people struggled to right the wrongs of the investors that lay dead beside them, literally only skeletons after the stock market struck them at the height of their livelihood. These skeletons would have to be buried later, for men were fighting in the most important battle of the economic Crusades, and they were not winning. “HOLD FAST MEN!” yelled General James Earl “Jiggedy” James Jameson James, heir of the James Family Portrait and inventor of womens female trousers. “IF THE ECONOMY GETS INSIDE OF THIS BUILDING WE WILL SHARE THE FATES OF OUR FOREFATHERS AND BLEED OUT INTO THE STREET AND STRAIGHT ON TILL MORNING!” He was already pooping even at this early hour. His sunken, serious eyes drooped in melancholy as his bowels forced still more feces onto the Stock Exchange floor. There thousands of shits, thousands of them; littered out as far as the eye could see or the mind could reach. They knew not for what purpose that they pooped, but poop that they had to, they realized, for the alternative was cold oblivion. The cold oblivion of death. “BREACH IN SECTOR A-73!” screamed an intern into his headset. The control panel did not lie; the fires of the Depression exploded inward through a neglected crack in the East Wings wall. The insidious light was swallowing everything; chairs, coffee tables, rugs, even other interns. General James watched with stoic emptiness as everything around the tiny opening was seared with flame. “CLOSE THE POD BAY DOORS!” he shouted, as the stress caused his eyeballs to explode from his face in a bloody mess. “A-73 CLOSED OFF!” responded the intern, MISDEMEANORS HUSTLING! 7... 8... 9! THE EFREETHEANS ARE THROROUGHLY CONFOUDED! ARBITATOR ONE IS A-O GO! 7... 7... 9!” A large, metal door sealed off the afflicted hall and the fires could progress no further. They flew around the room in frustration. In a moment, a cluster of fire materialized into a crowned face that laughed at the cameras. “WHY DO YOU RESIST?” cackled the Fire King, “YOU CANNOT STOP MY GREAT DEPRESSION! I WILL CONSUME YOU ALL!” “NOT TODAY, FIRE KING!” General James responded, “NOT WHILE AMERICA STILL STANDS!” He quickly turned his back from the monitor to run to another bit of urgent business. But when he was halfway across the room, he froze, foot still in the air. His breathing was ragged and his bleeding eye sockets dripped malevolently. He inhaled sharply, and with all of his will, tried desperately to poop just a little bit more, for a little bit longer! But when no more poop could fall out of his overworked sphincter, his mouth contorted with despair. Immediately he melted into a puddle of blood, dying with terror. “JIGGEDY!” screamed the intern, his father figure exploded before him into liquefied organs. The room was quiet, astonished. But just before it all erupted into panic, the intern did what no man could do and stood up with commanding presence. “YOU SAW WHAT HAPPENED!” he projected, tears in his eyes, “NOW WE KNOW: DONT STOP POOPING, GENTLEMEN! DONT STOP POOPING AT ANY COST OR YOU WILL END UP LIKE THE GOOD GENERAL!” Everybody rushed to attend to their defensive stations, pooping all the while, shooting money from specially-designed cannons to quell the fires of Depression outside. For when they took this holy and noble facility, there could be nothing left to defy them! And then, on the brink of hopelessness, the doors burst open... And in walked Mr. Asshole Seven Nine Fantastica, the man who would later be recognized as the very first Asshole Fantastic. Accompanying him was his long, flowing red cape and his famous orchestral accompaniment that followed him and everything he did. He walked proudly over to the control panel and he took command. Men at his rear could only stare in surprise and envy at his perfect, bulging anus. One could see it through his pants; not to be confused with the whole of his noble bottoms, his anus alone was the size of a fist, and so prominent that appeared almost as a third ass cheek between the first and second. Men whispered to one another in awe. “GIVE ME A STATUS REPORT!” he yelled at the intern. “THERE ARE FOUR THOUSAND AKGs IN THREE THOUSAND PROFFID SETTINGS! WE HAVE GALLAHERS AND GALLAWAYS AT SEVENTEEN AND NINETEEN AND A WHOLE BOATLOAD OF TRANSLUCEDITE WAS LOST AT THE HARBOR!” “DAMN THIS DEPRESSION!” Fantastica screamed, pounding his fist recklessly against the control panel and inadvertently destroying several crucial defenses. And yet, who could question a man with such a pungent and magnificent asshole? Asshole looked at the monitors when the fires were eating away at the sealed metal door. He immediately reached over the interns shoulder and pressed a big, blue button. “IGNITION ON!” And with those words, the room and all the fire contained therein was launched into space. Fantastica breathed a mometary sigh of relief, then steeled himself for his next announcement. “LISTEN YOU CURS!” the great man called, “WERE TO THE END OF OUR LINING AND WE HAVE SUFFERED HEAVY LOSSES! THERE IS ONLY ONE THING THAT CAN BE DONE!” “AND WHAT IS THAT?” mouth-exploded the intern, since nobody will ever not be shouting in this story. “SOMETHING SO CRAZY, IT JUST MIGHT WORK!” Mr. Asshole resonded, “IN ORDER TO STEM THE TIDES OF DEPRESSION, WE MUST BLOW UP THE ENTIRE ECONOMY!” “IMPOSSIBLE!” yelled the intern. “ITS THE ONLY WAY THAT WE CAN SAVE OUR PEOPLE!” The intern nodded sullenly and pressed the button that would seal off all the doors in the facility. He then pushed the entire control panel backward to reveal a red button on the bottom of it, covered with glass. “Im sorry, General James,” he whispered for once. He pulled back the glass and pressed the button. A black hole appeared in the center of the establishment. “God bless AmmmeeeriiiccCCCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!” screamed Asshole as he was sucked into worlds unknown, along with all the specialists and the Depression and the rest of the economy. With the economy destroyed for good, the American people financially flourished in ways that were not conceivable when still limited by an actual economy. The world grew in terrifying and unlimited quantities, and money just kept on getting more and more valuable completely infinitely. The world had entered a new era with an unending stream of completely illogical money and Mr. Asshole Seven Nine Fantastica was memorialized throughout all of history as the first human being to bear the name of Asshole Fantastic. The end.
Posted on: Mon, 06 Oct 2014 07:46:35 +0000
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