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The Rise And Fall Of The Aggressively Suppressed Depression
Once upon a glorious period of time in our world's extensive history, a time when Mother Mature was highly prosperous and not yet perturbed by the technological advances of modern society, when there was wealth of unbridled joy for everyone to share, something quite interesting happened. Before we move on to this interesting something, let's spend a bit more time focusing on the initial euphoric wonder of humankind's prime in the land, that thousands of years later, would come to be known as America. In this unspecified age, the fresh marvel of the ability to run in flowery meadows and splash in crystal clean water was plenty enough to bring a brimming smile to the face of any man, woman or child. In this time, all humans exhibited exuberate ecstatic emotions and embraced one another as a nationwide family who's loving bond could never be broken, corrupted or manipulated. Humans were one with nature. Although they hunted often to survive, they were never cruel and NEVER lost respect for the animals whose existence was praised as a delicious and nutritious gift from nature. Labor free earthly creations were hailed as artistic masterpieces. Everyone gladly gave their equal contributions to the order of the community. No one was a stranger.
But that was once upon a time. The time period that is to be the focus of this story is quite different. Quite, quite different. The aforementioned intriguing occurrence changed the face of this feverishly friendly and seemingly unstoppable aura of awesomeness that glistened off of our ancestors. The morals, honor, grace, excitement, individuality and equality were maliciously brought to shambles by the perpetrator of this horrendously abominable act on the established unity of humanity. This event was immediately named, "The Unnatural Hospitality Holocaust" by whom it shocked and appalled with its blatant desecration of what the vast majority of humans had known and loved. A rebellion was started against it, but the dark forces quickly extinguished this uprising and administered brainwashing techniques that involved unimaginable torture of thousands of pour souls to crush their will into oblivion forever more. Swift and direct genocide was the fate of those who could not be swayed in the slightest from their persisting sanity to accept this new reign of totalitarian terror. As a result, the man who's maniacal vision was these atrocities administered a permanent name change to this landmark event. This event, which was universally forced into acceptance by the newly reordered society that this despicable man - along with his maniacal minions - had oh-so-delicately crafted, came to be known as "The Great Tidal Wave of Wondrous and Everlasting Change."
This tidal wave certainly crashed down with the power and pain of a full blown tsunami. The man who was behind this atrocious act was King Allen Marshall The 1st. He wore not a crown encrusted with beautiful jewels, but a crown stained with the blood of his defeated opposition and encrusted with chunks of their bones and teeth. It served as a menacing reminder to the people he presided over what would happen if there was even a shimmer of dispute or any sort of display of unchecked free will. Now, this king did have a beautiful queen who often times sat beside him while he was mulling over his own conceited and blown up idea of himself while sitting in his magnificent throne. However, his queen had not a fraction of the uncontested power of the proud dictator. She sat upon a splintery wooden stool with a faulty leg that frequently caused her to topple over and bang her head against the finely paved but painfully hard concrete floor of the castle. This provided much amusement to her anything-but-compassionate counterpart. Yes, this behemoth of buffoonery got a ludicrous chuckle out of the suffering of anyone but himself. Nobody dared to question, doubt, or interfere with his enjoyment, because at the snap of a finger he could have his unpaid, malnourished slaves execute anybody he wanted in any kind of gruesome fashion he desired at the time. No one was an exception to his strict policy of dealing violently with any defiance or displeasing action or spoken word against him. He could never be happy unless his personal utopia of pampering was functioning on all levels. As a matter of fact, the policy was engraved upon an iron tablet with precise precision by his goons and was hung upon every structure in the kingdom for all to clearly see every time they opened their eyes. It specifically stated: "The unquestionable King may request at any moment to have anybody maimed or slaughtered in any way for any reason he so chooses, including an unfounded grudge, disliking of one or more persons, or for absolutely no reason at all." This particular commandment struck fear in the hearts of the lowly peasants who trudged through the trashed and diminished neighborhoods they were assigned to, and inspired a will to keep in good favor with the King or anyone acquainted with him. But alas the random massacres against his own people never ceased.
On a good day, the king would hang a couple of misfits who he heard muttering a snide remark about him or his rules under their breaths. "Insolence" such as this was intolerable in his eyes, and filled him with a burning rage. On a bad day, he may have several entire families drawn and quartered while he watched to cheer him up. His society was entirely subject to his unpredictable mood swings.
But it wasn't just his mood that fueled his violent fantasies.
The king saw himself as a pioneer in the world of art. He considered his creative and inhumane methods of torture, humiliation and killing as articulate masterpieces. One day he had a painter paint a portrait of an unfortunate fellow who was strangled by his own intestines for several long minutes until his life finally passed. Other times he would have writers concoct a detailed and graphic script of how the aftermath of his grisly acts would be cleaned up, right down to the scrubbing of eye juice off the walls and the sweeping of splintered bones off the floor.
Amongst all these horrors, the average civilian would be carrying out his mandatory laborious duties. These consisted of every possible job to keep the society in order, as well as arduous and often meaningless chores for the king himself. But if this morbid tale is to have any sort of happy ending, then we must talk about what was happening on the low down - unbeknownst to the king or anybody who would squeal in hopes of a reward that they wouldn't even get. On the outskirts of the kingdom were unfinished "burial mounds" - unfinished because instead of the deceased being buried, their rotting corpses rested in piles above ground for the birds to feast on in plain view of the few people who lived out there. The overwhelming stench of the bodies was driving these few people completely insane. The appalling odor entered their nostrils and literally burned layers of muscle off of their brains. This rendered these people a bit more aware and a bit less indifferent to what so many other sad people saw as normal. These poor wretches were far away from everyone else and in a place that not even the king could spend 30 seconds in without puking up his stomach. They were able to quietly begin the planning phase of what they hoped would be a successful endeavor to earn back the freedoms, rights and love that seemed to have existed so, so long ago. In fact the only person who even remembered those times was a crotchety, yet wise old man.
This old man rocked back and forth in his chair on his porch for hours on end, meditating to strengthen his mind and will, as well as to develop new twists in the tremendously daring plan that had been years in the making. His name was Walter. His son Nicholas and his daughter Nicole were slowly dragging the mangled carcass of an elderly man toward the porch, leaving a trail of smeared blood in the hot sand that burned and blistered their bare feet.
This poor family was running dangerously low on daily living necessities. The only shoes they owned were worn out with many holes, and the laces had disintegrated long ago. Their clothes were tattered and stuck to their bodies with sweat. The sweltering heat of this far out region had nearly warped their minds. If they stared directly at the sun for more than 10 seconds it would melt the skin off of their eyes. Their ribcages were bulging through their red, peeling skin due to malnutrition and near starvation. Their only source of water was a hand operated pump in the back of the dinky shack that served as their residence.
With a dry gasp Nicholas and Nicole dropped the feet of the body and collapsed on the ground, panting. Walter could barely lift himself from his rocking chair as he took a slow puff from his hand carved wooden pipe that his grandfather had given him. His old bones ached with every small movement he made, yet he managed to hobble over and inspect the corpse. It took his aged and rotting brain entire minutes to process everything he saw in front of him. He could scarcely remember what he was even looking for. His kids ate some expired jarred vegetables and drank tall cups of warm, bacteria infested water and waited. Finally, after a long grunt to get his fragile jaws working again, Walter managed to utter his approval of the specimen before him.
"This will do...this will do."
Walter's kids brought out a large, hollowed out wooden stick with a pointed end and stabbed it as hard as they could into the heart of the corpse. Their minimal strength barely managed to puncture the already soft and green flesh. So Walter grabbed hold of the stick as well. After a solemn count to three, they brought it down again with the combined force of six faltering arms. This small labor left the trio shaking violently, but the anticipation of what they hoped would happen next brought them back to their senses.
Walter and his children had long been excavating ancient clay buried deep beneath the sand on which their house was built. They had torn up floorboards and burrowed a deep tunnel using rusted forks. All the hours of work had helped bring them to this bad health. The searing heat of the sun added to their weakened state. No trees or buildings blocked the constant sunshine from beating down on our heroic trio.
After digging up heaping mounds of this heavy clay, the family had refined it with a mixture of distilled water and lemon juice to give it a tiny electric vibe. They now dumped this clay through the hollow stick and it slid into the dead heart of the body. This clay contained thin traces of an ancient chemical known now as "Super Awesome Juice." It was believed that this was what had powered the much sought after feelings and mindsets of that undeniably untainted pinnacle of human existence from Walter's childhood. As expected, the juice repowered the heart of the dead man. Slowly his corpse transformed into a living, breathing, uninjured person.
This person raised his hand and wiped his crusty eyes, which soon grew teary as he realized he was alive and filled with an overwhelming tingly feeling he had never dreamed of feeling before. He then felt super powerful, swiftly springing up onto his feet and letting out a proud roar louder than the loudest lion on the planet. "I-I-I feel young! I feel happy! I'm freed from the depression of my entire meaningless life in this horrible country! Who are you? Oh, how you've helped me! Come! Let us parade across the land and sing merrily! My heart is full! My mind is clear! My eyes are wide open, and I'm as awake and energetic as I've ever been!" After he realized what deplorable conditions his saviors were in, he gasped, but then chuckled. "Have no fear my brothers and sister! Hear! Drink my tears of joy!"
He poured his magical tears out and the thankful family drank until they could not drink any more. They couldn't remember the last time their thirst had truly been quenched. The man, who said his name was Terry, heaved all three of them up onto his shoulders, then ran with the speed of a cheetah through the piles of corpses. For each breath he took, another person was reborn with superhuman powers. Walter heartily laughed and yelled, "Where are we headed?"
Terry, with his army of people with newfound life following closely behind him, said "We're going to do something that should have been taken care of a long time ago," happily yet seriously.
Meanwhile, King Allen Marshall was just awaking from his beauty sleep. His elderly butler brought him a large meal on a spotless silver platter. It consisted of roast beef, a turkey, pizza, an ice cream sundae, swordfish, steak, and a peanut butter and onion sandwich. The butler then extracted the cork from a large slender glass bottle of Crystal champagne, and delicately pored it into an exquisite and flamboyantly fancy jeweled goblet.
The King greedily devoured all the food in one gargantuan bite, and let out a tremendous belch that shook the magnificent chandelier on the ceiling above. He then swirled the goblet a bit, and an unsatisfied look stretched across his face. "Hmmm...I believe I would like to wet my throat with a, how do you say, different drink today..." Then he grinned mischievously from ear to ear and gave a frightful look to the butler, who was trembling in his socks. The king slowly picked up the fillet knife he might have used to cut his swordfish. He studied it briefly and then barked "Hold out your arm!" The butler closed his eyes and obeyed, fearing for his life. With a speedily vicious slash, the king cut deep into the bony wrist of the butler. He then splashed the champagne from his goblet all over the wound and the butler howled in searing agony as the king burst into a girlish giggling fit. He held his goblet under the butler's wrist to catch the blood gushing down from it. Once it was full, he took a long swig, gurgled it in his throat and then smashed the goblet on the butler's face. The butler fell to the ground in a hysterical fit of sobs.
As King Allen Marshall admired the misery he had bestowed upon his innocent minion, the ground suddenly began quaking with such an obnoxiously loud force that his ears began ringing sharply. The chandelier swung and fell, squashing the butler and breaking his ribcage. The plaster began to fly off the walls in chunks and ornaments fell from their areas of precarious placement. The King furiously shook his massive hairy fists with displeasure as the butler produced squeaky moans from deep within his punctured stomach. Throughout the castle screams and shrieks could be heard from every direction as Terry and his army battled through the king's array of armed soldiers.
Terry clapped his oversized hands together upon a loyal soldier’s head, busting it inward like a small watermelon. He ripped off another soldiers arm and beat him senseless with it. His allies took out entire squads with a few charged up pimp slaps. It was all necessary to ensure that once this war was over, the king could never return to power in any way, shape or form. Terry, Walter and the kids stampeded like mad bulls towards the king's master bedroom.
King Allen Marshall was mortified. He was awestruck with the thought of what may happen next. He frantically tried to convince himself that everything was going to be all right, that he was a good person...but he lost the battle with his irrational conscience. He threw a terrified tantrum and wailed like a little school girl. He regretted all the unborn babies he had gobbled up for breakfast that morning. He stomped his feet, tore out his hair, then his mustache and his beard. His salty tears stained his pale face. He punched himself, bit himself and bashed his head against the wall hysterically.
Terry smashed through the massive iron brigade that was the door of the King's room. He screamed wildly "You have committed a treacherous crime against humanity, you foul b******! You must now pay for your dastardly deviances! You are the epitome of evil! You must die NOW, and as we dance upon your grave we shall reclaim our freedoms, our land, and our dignity! Have you anything to say before we fatally defile your worthless being?"
The king stuttered and finally moaned "N-No...I...I DESERVE THIS AHAHAAAGH!!!"
Terry turned to his army, smirking. "Have at it! Let this day mark the restoration of the goodness of the human experience on this planet. Let this beast's death be as cruel, painful and inhumane as anything that shall NEVER happen from this point forth. This is the final time we fight fire with fire! Indulge in your brutish primal savagery now, so that everything to come will be peaceful and serene! Unleash your inner animal for one time only upon this despicable monster!" With these words everyone rapidly tore the king limb from limb before he could even squeal in pain. After that display of bewilderingly belligerent and boisterous badness, the world would enjoy Terry's promises of a blissful humanity. All of the slaves were freed and given a second chance at life. All the peasants were bestowed a boost into an equal society that would reign for years upon this country. Until Columbus arrived anyways.
AND THE MORAL OF THIS STORY IS PAYBACK STINKS!