Where politics is cold, love is warm.
Can you guess who wrote which one?
(It’s painfully easy.)
Chill guy, super powerful, crazy rich, really hot, great sense of humor. Ordering pizza after sex is mandatory. Preference: anything that moves. If you curvy that’s all good; big is beautiful. I’ll be more attracted to you if you blindly agree with me and support everything I do even when I’m wrong.
You think you’re worthy to breathe the same air I breathe? You insignificant beast. Love me. Praise me. Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me. You’re less than dirt. Pathetic, pitiful, powerless. Tell me how much you want me, pig. You’re just the jackal howling at my door. My love is a gift you are not worthy to receive. I grant you mercy because I take pity on creatures of lesser intellect, beauty, and purity. Perish, worm.
Continue reading “Country Dating Profiles”
“This is why I love these trashy Euro parties. Everyone’s drunk as hell and high. You’re all nuts! Nuts. I love it–and I love you, you wild, godless, sexy Europeans. Hey, can I sit on your lap?”
Listening to too much Gaga. This song is a slapper and that one line just screamed America. Of course, Europe’s house parties are the best; when you’ve been living too long, all the while crammed together with a bunch of people you hate on a small continent, and have been through way too many wars, going wild every now and then becomes a necessity.
Dad = a disappointed England–who has no right to judge because he’s a complete mess too.
“Whoever drinks this elixir shall be granted the gift of sight–to see into a person’s heart and know their true character.”
In that particular wing of the United Nations, the air was thick with secrecy.
“Did you bring it?” whispered America.
“Yeah,” Japan whispered back. From her shirt, she pulled a small glass vial that stored a vibrant bluish liquid. America stared at it in awe while Japan reached into her pocket, procured a slip of paper, and read from it. “‘Whoever drinks this elixir shall be granted the gift of sight–to see into a person’s heart and know their true character.’ You try it first,” she suggested, holding it out to him. He shrugged his shoulders.
Continue reading “The Contents of One’s Heart”
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.
(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.
Continue reading “MAGA: Let’s Own That Commie Cuck”
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.
Continue reading “MAGA: Blood Grudge”