Once upon this here time here, there was great unrest in the world.
The various empires, imperiums, kingdoms, duchies, satrapies, slave-colonies, mining conglomerates, and Truth Ministries were all flustered, disconcerted, and discombobulated.
Some were even nonplussed and frankly, flummoxed.
Others were openly terrified, like deer caught in the dazzling lights of a speeding and democratic pantechnicon barrelling down upon them. Odious fright-pee coated their legs and dropped to the ground like the crystal tears of freedom.
The cause of this universal unease were the actions and utterances of His Imperial Greatness, God Emperor Trumpus the Grand Orange, the First of His Name.
This disquiet had been brewing (some might say festering) since his almost unprecedented and entirely unexpected Second Ascension to the Eagle Throne in the Year of 20 and 25.
God Emperor Trumpus’s First Ascension to the Eagle Throne occurred in the Year of 20 and 17, and event which pleased one-half of his subjects, and mortified the other half. Some wept tears of glory and gratitude, others wept tears of despair and anguish. These tears were all bottled and sent to the God Emperor to have with his hamburgers.
The misery-filled subjects had been fully expecting the long-awaited Ascension, and thus Blessed Continuation, of the Klington Dynasty, which they first encountered in the form of Lord Rapey Bill, Stainer of Dresses, and man-wife of the redoubtable Dame Illary the Shrill, Hammer of the Undesirables.
Sadly for Dame Illary, her man-wife, Lord Rapey Bill, had left the realm’s subjects discomfited when his rule ended. The stain of his sour Arkansasian seed and his desire for conquest and subjugation was simply too big a penis to swallow, no matter how keen his intern, or indeed his subjects, might be.
Dame Illary was thus not raised to the Eagle Throne.
Accordingly, God Emperor Trumpus came to rule, and while many bad things happened in that time, nothing truly terrible occurred despite the cacophonous predictions of all the manifold Ministries of Truth.
To interested observers, it appeared the God Emperor was confused by his newly-acquired power, and had inadvertently surrounded himself with snake-tongued and lily-livered courtiers who dripped poison, lies, and bad advice into his imperious ears.
Upon his subsequent descent from the Eagle Throne, the world was briefly pleased to behold the advent of His Deranged Delwarian Majesty, King Joseph Buythem.
Unfortunately, his rule was compromised by an aged, withering, and compromised cerebral cortex. Court gossip would have us know this was caused by his son, Bunter, a crazed and feral drug-fiend and buyer of whores, who’d spent much of his time being feted by the Bat Empire in order to be able to afford the whores.
Demented with lust and chemicals, Bunter would regularly urinate into his Lord Father’s medicinal potions, and such was the poisonous puissance of a man whose blood was largely made of meth, horse-tranquiliser, and arrogance, King Joseph’s cerebral cortex began to fail.
God Emperor Trumpus saw this. God Emperor Trumpus rejoiced. His Second Ascension was assured. Such was the consternation and confusion within his opposition, the best alternative that could be offered was a barren and witless fishwife. She was of questionable pedigree, and entirely the wrong colour.
“Brown is bad,” declared the God Emperor. “Orange is the colour of Greatness.”
The last time a ruler of this hue ascended the Eagle Throne, nothing happened. And no-one wanted nothing to ever happen again. Fuck, as they said loudly at the time, that shit. Where is the Greatness?
And it became very obvious, very soon into God Emperor Trumpus’s Second Ascension to the Eagle Throne, that things were going to happen. All sorts of things. Great ones, apparently.
In fervid anticipation, the satrapies of Europia immediately rushed to bend the knee. They understood quickly the best way to deal with this Second Ascension was to shower the God Emperor with flattery and gifts, and to praise his name and deeds.
In this way they hoped to remain his good graces and continue to receive his benison. If they were fortunate, they could come into his presence, acknowledge him as “Daddy”, and praise the way he had tastefully remodelled the White Castle’s throne room. It was a vision of gold and white, with flags, banners, and standards, and small models of things that pleased the God Emperor, like war-planes.
And these graces and benisons was sorely needed by the various quasi-rulers squatting toad-like among the ruins of fallen empires and broken kingdoms of Europia. For they were at war. Sort of.
Far to the east, the Ancient Always Adversary had re-appeared. Stirred from its slumber once again by the venal machinations of Europia’s jackal-like barking, the Imperium of the Bear was again was forced to respond to the threatening yelps from Europia.
In the arc of time, there have been many attempts to subjugate the Imperium of the Bear. But that Imperium is vast. And rich. Its people are stoic and hardy and can live at temperatures of 60-degrees below Fuck-Off. They rejoice by drinking spirits made from the peel of potatoes grown in soil enriched by the blood of their enemies.
And if it is ruled by strong and determined individuals, making assault upon its lands is invariably doomed to failure. When it was briefly ruled by a degenerate drunkard at the close of the last century, it was plundered and violated like a Tunisian dock-whore. Many windows were opened. Many clumsy fools fell from them. The bears feasted and rejoiced.
But in this time, the Imperium of the Bear is ruled by a different man. It is ruled by the Imperator Vladimir the Deathless, Lord of the Slavic Horde and Shield of the Rus, and he beheld with great consternation what was being brewed for his people by Europia with the support of the Eagle Throne.
He’d warned them in days gone by. “Do not do this!” he said. “You have sworn to my predecessors you would not advance to my borders. And yet, you are there. Your weapons are arrayed and pointed at our hearts. You declare we must be defeated and torn asunder. You inveigle and intrigue with our neighbours, and poison them with the ancient evil of Crazed Adolphus the Slayer. You have forgotten that it was we who sundered his capital, trampled his war-banners underfoot, and broke his legions. You have forgotten it was we who paid the highest blood-price for his defeat. But we have not forgotten it. And we say to you again, that he who comes to us with a sword will die by the sword. We will fuck you up. I promise.”
But they did not heed the Imperator’s words. They thought he was bluffing. They imagined his people weak and dissolute. If served hardship, such people would quickly overthrow him, they reasoned.
So, they came at his people. And then he came in the defence of his people. And all that Europia had hoped for did not come to pass. But blood had to be spilled so the world would grasp the seriousness of the matter. So, a war that is not a war was being conducted on the edge of Europia.
This not-war began when Joseph Buythem sat upon the Eagle Throne. His Majesty had slept through much of it, awakening only to make bombastic threats, or walk off into a forest. He’d also wondered how the finest and most expensive weapons of his kingdom all seemed to burn in the same fatuous way upon the blood-soaked steppes of the now expanding Imperium of the Bear.
When the God Emperor Trumpus ascended the Eagle Throne, little had changed, and yet much had changed. Europia had beshat itself in angst and despair. Despite its best efforts to Ensanctionate the Imperium of the Bear, it had instead shot itself in the face, and plunged itself into the drain of de-industrialisation.
It had done this by declaring the energy the Imperium had been providing it for decades, was now Evil, and would no longer be accepted. Europia would now be acquiring its energy, which would be Good Energy and not tainted with Evil, from the Eagle Throne at a price the Eagle Throne would set, and which would be several orders of magnitude more than what Europia had been paying before.
But that did not matter, because as we have understood, that energy was Good. And what price can be set on Goodness?
The Imperium of the Bear shrugged and sent its Evil energy to the vast and mighty Bat Empire, the semi-barbarous Mughal Dominion of Brahmins, Kshatriyas, and Many-Limbed Elephants, and all the many other provinces that don’t care if their energy is moral, because it cannot feed its people with moral energy.
Europia continued to screech in protest and write cheques it could not cash. It threatened to send legions it did not have, armed with weapons it had not yet made, to die for Presidentus Holodomor Zedlinskyyy, and a regime that had redefined and perfected corruption, greed, and golden toilets.
Spousal-abuse victim and Petit Napoleon of the Franks, Macron the Granny Pumper, would emerge from his fragrant bath of Eau Sauvage to declare his readiness to deploy upon the field of battle the instant the battle had ceased.
He was joined in this cause by Caretaker Keir of Almost Islamic Brittania, and Chairman Merz of Bismarkia, who had placed his wardship of the Jolly Blackrock Uberconglomerate on hold while he sorted out the kingdom his father once proudly served in the Adolphian Legions.
Together, these satraps continue to hope and call for the destruction and fall of the Imperium of the Bear, which they’re being told is even now advancing upon them brandishing rusted entrenching shovels and hand-thrown missiles powered by washing-machine chips. And dying in the billions.
All of them declared in shrill unison their legions would be deployed in battle the second all the battles had ceased, and thus win glory for themselves.
Upon beholding this great unrest, God Emperor Trumpus immediately agreed to the slaughter of 100,000 slaves which his best friend and mentor, Archduke BB Netanyahoo, told him had to happen. If it did not happen, then the God Zionia would be displeased and shit upon the endlessly-beset-by-pesky-slaves Duchy of Israelia. Blood sacrifice to mollify displeased deities is a crucial matter of state survival in many parts of the world. And rightly so.
How the slaying of 100,000 Israelian slaves could bring glory to and advance the many causes of God Emperor Trumpus was obvious. Though maybe not immediately. Because the God Emperor works in mysterious ways, does he not? And it is not anyone’s place to question his ways and deeds. Ours is to praise and hail his name.
Pleased with himself at this sacrifice, God Emperor Trumpus did not rest. He decreed some of his purely decorative missiles currently hedging his white-and-gold Emperor Cave (where he could touch them and whisper to them) could be used to discipline the many slave-filled states bordering the Duchy of Israelia. He had been told some of the Caliphas, Sultanas, and Imammas, were getting fractious, and perhaps acquiring strange ore from the planet Pluto. They said it was for medicine, but the God Emperor was wise to their snake-tongued lies. He promptly corrected their views about medicine with his missiles, and set their slippered feet on the path to Greatness.
He then beheld his work there and declared it to be good and great. But he was not content. He had acquired a map. It came in a decorative tube and once it was unrolled upon his mahogany War Table and explained, the God Emperor instantly understood where further Greatness was urgently needed.
His steely gaze beheld the size of the lands ruled by the Eagle Throne, and he quickly felt it was not enough. He then made a pronouncement, and this pronouncement echoed around the known and unknown world.
“See all this shit? See that? That funny blob there. That land is where the green polar bears live. And that is now mine. And from there to here, where I currently rule, and then all the way to down to here where they grow all the tacos and lawn-mower servants and house-cleaners, and then further down here where all the bananas come from, and where I know felonies have been committed by speedboat drivers and oil wells – the worst kind of oil felonies I have ever seen. Felony Oil we call it, and then further down to here where all the drugs are harvested, bad drugs, the worst killing drugs ever, and where there is also Felony Rare Earths and other things, like monkeys, well, that’s all mine now. Praise Jesus and me.”
And then we all kinda lived happily and not so happily ever after.
