Chapter 55

Good song. Thank you, Chuck Berry.

Junior was anything but sweet ... but she was working on it.

Three years previous, she had just about ruined the United States as a world power because of the crap they had tried to do the her home. When it was over the country had to find a new residence for the new President and a new house for the military because both places were residing in the Atlantic and Pacific.

The Surrender ... not Treaty ... the US is shit for brains about keeping treaties and Junior knew what the Social Services was like ... the Social Services used to be the Bureau of Indian Affairs and they fucked with the Indians 'til Hell wouldn't have it.

After the tribes got their warriors law degrees, Rolex watches and leather briefcases and started slamming the courts with lawsuit after lawsuit and made them stop it.

Things started to look better for the tribes but like shit for the BIA and Jacques Marie Émile Lacan predicted the need for a Bureaucracy may cease to exist but the bureaucracy will never go away ... they'll just find something else to do. The huge bureaucracy of the BIA started moving into child care ... citizen childcare.

Taking tribal children and stuffing them in 'schools' to teach them how to be good second class citizens. Teaching them all right. Teach 'em how to drink and take a pecker up the ass ... just like the Catho-lice ... and telling them it was all in the name of god ... except nobody in charge knew the name of that deity and they for sure never read his book.

For awhile Junior had kept half an eye on the Country and the United Nations had a peacekeeping force at the Princessapality ... until he met a sweet Swede, married her and moved to Sweden.

Well, it came to pass that the call went out to the American people to be registered and vote on whether or not the surrender was real or a figment of imagination. Business had suffered and wealth was leaving America and entering the Princessapality. States were opting to join the Island Nation and taxes were being LOST! Lost to a pissant Island nation that had never recognized their true masters!

NO WAR WAS EVER FOUGHT UNLESS IT WAS ABOUT SOMEBODY'S POCKETBOOK.

The nation ... the NATION ... was being systematically looted by soil that was two miles long and half a mile wide.

HOW DARE THEY!!

You good people of the United States are going to have to PAY more than YOUR FAIR SHARE in TAXES to make up for the shortfall...

Unless we do something about it.

The vote was do something.

Actually, it wasn't ... but the polling places were run by stooges, the polling booths were rigged and no one was willing to admit that they voted against it. What ever 'IT'

happened to be.

Spies reported that the General Admiral of the last humiliating defeat was absent ... had been absent ... and located in Australia. Spies reported that the Princessapality was preparing a bang-up reception for the birthday girl. Spies reported exactly what their spymasters wanted. The island was defenseless.

Minutes after the blast that obliterated the tiny island and a child of the ambassadors of every UNITED NATIONS Signatory, the news was leaked that 'reliable' sources had screamed in the ears of the Fed Alphabet soup that the island was building a terrorist dirty Improvised Explosive Device and it had accidentally detonated. Sadly ... those whistleblowers were not available to confirm the emailed photographs of the little house in the very middle of the island ... they had perished but their wives and children would be cared for by a grateful nation. Obviously photoshopped, the pictures were published by the captive media for days. Even the Canadians knew better.

Junior appeared over the smoking hole.

Whoo Boy Howdy!