I thought I made it clear to everyone that there only gets to be one superpower. I let you wear my crown and play pretend for a little bit–how’d the feel? You get it all out of your system? Good. That little taste is all you’ll ever get.
You have money, but then what? Nobody wants your culture, your way of life. Nobody’s wavin’ their flags at the gates to usher in internet censorship and government surveillance. I’m everything they want to be, you’re everything they want to leave behind.
I’m Land of the Free. I sell the goddamn American Dream.
That’s why I win.
A little bonus I drew for the latest MAGA installment. I’m pretty sure America’s monologue was inspired by something I heard on Deep State Radio, but I’m not sure.
In 2017 I made a set of political-themed Valentine’s Day cards. Rather than put effort into making a new set, I’m just adding two additions and re-upping last year’s post.
Of course, this post wouldn’t be complete without an anti-Valentine’s card:
(Read the prologue)
My jaw throbbed and I tasted blood on my tongue. Hair fell into my face when I met China’s steely eyes with a white-hot glare.
“That hurt, you little shit.” Except he was far from little. Nearly my height, he was lean and built like a mannequin in an Abercrombie & Fitch.
The Land of the Rising Sun answers questions.
I want to help you guys get to know the countries better so I decided to begin conducting interviews and bringing you the exclusive scoops. After all, these people run the world so it might be a good idea to understand the inner workings of their minds.
Recently, I was able to land a one-on-one with the ever elusive Japan. (She ignored my first 50 calls, but I am persistent.) Here’s how it went.
Orange and pink painted the horizon as clouds rolled along the tops of skyscrapers. I took a drag on my cigarette then tossed back the rest of my liquor. From my penthouse balcony, I watched the sun set on my empire. Every bank, every government office, every important building as far as the eye could see had my flag, my mark, on it somewhere–the front door, the marble tiled lobbies, the very tops so first-class passengers could see, even on the goddamn urinals sometimes.
That’s how it used to be, anyway.
From Russia, With Love