Message-ID: <58031asstr$1218870604@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Path: l33g2000pri.googlegroups.com!not-for-mail From: rache <rache696@yahoo.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <d1a38dcd-73fe-407c-822b-7dfb219a6696@l33g2000pri.googlegroups.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 16 Aug 2008 02:44:34 +0000 (UTC) Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com Injection-Info: l33g2000pri.googlegroups.com; posting-host=222.127.245.29; posting-account=JabuVAoAAACpzQZHTRyS7ub3Un5mIVxy User-Agent: G2/1.0 X-HTTP-UserAgent: Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 6.0; Windows NT 5.1; SV1; Embedded Web Browser from: http://bsalsa.com/; InfoPath.2),gzip(gfe),gzip(gfe) X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 15 Aug 2008 19:44:33 -0700 (PDT) Subject: {ASSM} MIB Ch.10 by Rachael Ross (See Ch.00 For Codes) Lines: 344 Date: Sat, 16 Aug 2008 03:10:04 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2008/58031> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: newsman, dennyw Monsters in My Bed and Other Stories Chapter 10 - New World Order Copyright 2008 Rachael Ross All Rights Reserved "Nationalism is power hunger tempered by self-deception." - George Orwell "Nationalism pays for my shoes." - Empress Tiffany ========= "Madam President?" I looked up to see Henry, my White House Chief of Staff frowning and looking at his watch. Pointedly. He'd have stared at his wrist for an hour, just to be sure I saw him doing it when I finally looked. "Everyone is waiting," he said. "Fuck 'em," I shrugged and went back to playing the Sims on my computer. "It's your State of the Union Address, Ma'am. We have to go," Henry was always telling me what I had to do. "Everyone's waiting. The nation is waiting." "Really?" I'd sort of forgotten about the nation part. I looked at Brian, all six foot four of him. Delicious hard chiseled statuesque Greek God underwear model-turned-Secret Service agent Brian...and he smiled and nodded. "I have your speech right here and..." blah blah blah Henry was a good guy, but man did he talk too much. I'd inherited him, sorta. ---- I hadn't asked for the job. Being President of these United States. After the Third Civil War the office had become largely hereditary and when my Uncle Stewart had suddenly died of frostbite during the misguided Yukon Campaign of '67 I'd been plucked out of 10th grade and thrust into politics. It wasn't much of a change, except the food was a little better here. The best part was I got to bring my friends along. Like Trevor, my boyfriend, I'd made him the Secretary of Transportation cause he had a really cool car. I'd lost my virginity in that car. And Becky, who was my best friend and captain of the junior varsity pep squad, I'd made her my National Security Advisor, because she was blonde and evil. She was always plotting something. I was neither blonde nor evil, just apathetic with my long black hair and deep brown eyes. I'd been a 16 year old hottie a few months before, now I was just the sexiest President ever. Except for that old Kennedy guy, but I wasn't gonna get my head blown off just so everybody would love me forever and ever. I sort of needed my head and so that was why I was just a tiny little bit paranoid maybe. That and the fact that I'd been diagnosed with Axis II Depression and borderline Multiple Personality Disorder. But nobody needed to know about that, really. It was an Official Secret, much like my Uncle's chronic syphilis problem had been and still was. Classified for the next 100 years at least, locked up with whoever killed Kennedy. That was cool. ---- "My fellow Americans..." I was starting my speech in front of the Senate, Congress, the Supreme Court, the Joint Chiefs, a gazillion reporters, and every media outlet available to mortal man. It would have made me nervous except for one little fact...I knew something they didn't. "...and so, by Executive Decree I have decided to change the office of President of the United States to that of Immortal Empress of the Americas and Most Glorious Protector of Earth." I looked up and smiled for the cameras. The Senate was very quiet and the usually rambunctious Congress was staring at me with their innumerable mouths collectively open. "In order to facilitate a peaceful and timely transition from a 'Democratic' government..." (I made little quotes with my fingers over my head) "...it is most obviously necessary for the safety and security of the American people to rehabilitate those individuals and organizations most responsible for our recent failures as a nation." I gave a little nod and a regiment of my personal Secret Service bodyguard 'SS Tiffany' stormed the chambers and began arresting politicians. ---- "Well Peter, it's very interesting that Pres...excuse me, I mean Empress Tiffany," the political analyst for CNN smiled apologetically into the camera. He did it on purpose though, obviously. "Put him on the list too, Brian," I was eating Doritos and playing with my boyfriend's cock while we watched television. "It's very interesting that she didn't exactly say what form of government we were transitioning to," the analyst continued, as if that were penetrating and insightful. "And how about her plans to redistribute the wealth, do you really believe the rest of the country will accept that sort of..." the talking head searched for a word, or maybe he just didn't want to say it. "Bribe?" the analyst smiled. "Definitely on the list," I accidentally squeezed Trevor's dick a little too hard and squirmed beside me. "Oh, be still." "Well Bill, that's your word, not mine," the anchorman looked a little pale, as well he might since all the newsies had gotten the new laws concerning sedition, mutiny, and treacherous misrepresentation of national policy through the exploitation of mass media. "It is what it is," the analyst shrugged and I glanced at Brian and he reached for a phone. "Well, I must confess that hearing her report the facts, that 5% of our nation's population control 80% of its real wealth was a little staggering. When you consider our unemployment figures, the ever increasing costs of social programs like welfare, Medicare, and social security, don't you think a redistribution is warranted?" The CNN guy was making it clear that he had listened to my speech very carefully. "I like that guy," I was stroking Trevor's penis like it was a little puppy. "Certainly some people will think so, but this isn't a solution to the problem by any means, in fact..." he was cut off suddenly as two large men dressed in SS black appeared, "...Hey, what the..." There were probably a few more Secret Service guys in the control room because the cameras didn't move, even when the analyst was executed with a 9mm bullet to the back of his head. Someone off camera handed a paper to the shaken anchorman, who was positively white with fear and stained with blood. Still, he managed to do his job. He was a genuine professional. "Uh, this just in..." he licked his lips. "CNN regrets the recent comments made by political analyst William Forsythe and in no way condones or agrees with the views expressed. His malicious and subversive lies were obviously intended to damage the American people and our great nation, and sources inside the Justice Department assure us that a full and complete investigation into Mr. Forsythe's activities is now underway. Once again, CNN and its affiliates wish to apologize to our viewers and to our Glorious Leader, Empress Tiffany." "Did you write that, Brian?" I looked over my shoulder at the man. "No Ma'am, that would have been Emily Fullbright I believe," he said. "She's the watch commander down in Atlanta." "Fullbright, huh?" I smiled "Not bad. Is she a party member?" "Of course," Brian nodded seriously. "She took her oath last month." "I don't remember her," I frowned at that, but then again I'd had over a thousand SS agents swear their lives and deaths to my personal security over the past few weeks. "Good job." "Thank you, Ma'am," Brian didn't smile, of course, but I knew he was satisfied. ---- The fact was that the redistribution of wealth was just a fancy bribe. Americans, being Americans, would never tolerate anything but the great democracy of our forefathers...without proper incentive. It's pretty amazing what people will surrender in the name of greed. I'd commissioned a study at Princeton, the Institute for Advanced Studies specifically, to find the very best and most promising method of staging a coup in the United States. So far those huge brains weren't letting me down. "I know we can't just give all the money away," I stuck out my tongue at the man. "It has to be reinvested, used to stimulate key industries..." "What?" I stared at him. He was secretary of the treasury. Bob something or other, and supposedly pretty bright, but I had my doubts. "Are you stoned, Bob?" "Excuse me?" he looked over his glasses at me. "I have to give the money back, stupid," I shook my head. "What do you think? All those rich people are going to sit still while I give their money to welfare mothers in Peoria?" "Give it...Back?" He was hopeless. First he said I couldn't take it, then after I did take it he was trying to tell me I could keep it. "It's a loan, Bob!" I giggled. "I see..." the old guy rubbed his bald head. "Like it or not you just can't take away a few trillion dollars or so from the people who make the world work. They get a little pissed," I stared at him. "Didn't you go to college or something?" "Yes, but..." "I need the armed forces too. They have more guns than I do, but they just want the same thing the capitalist want, a return on their investment." "The army, cool," Trevor was walking into the Oval Office with a big pizza in his hands. "Extra pepperoni." "Awesome!" I kissed him on the cheek. "You're such a good boyfriend." "You're a way cool girlfriend, Tiff!" he kissed me on the lips and we made out for like five minutes until Bob cleared his throat. "Look," I wiped the spit off my mouth off with my hand, "they spent gazillions on nuclear weapons, right? And hardly ever get to use them! We need a really good war to get the country going..." "A war?" Becky looked up from the television. "...And not some bullshit little war on terror, or a little fund-raiser like Iraq. We need something massive, Bob. Something that will put World War Three to shame..." "Let's declare war on Italy," Trevor said, biting into a slice of pizza. "Mph ummp agg emph!" "What?" I stared at him. "We..." he swallowed. "We could take them. The Italians." "Why?" Becky turned back around, switching the channel from VH1 to MTV Blast. "What's in Italy?" "The point is that I need something I can sell to the American people. Something we can win," I looked at Trevor. "And not just Italy." "What do you want?" Bob chuckled like he didn't believe me. "The whole... No...You can't..." "Keep going," I nodded, rolling my hand. "You want the whole world?" Old Bob stared at me. "Arma-fucking-geddon!" Becky giggled as she jumped up and down on the couch. This was half her idea anyway; she was way good at that stuff. "Why not? We're a service economy, Bob. We've had a hundred plus years of atrophied national pride," I told him. "The nation is hungry." "We're the nice guys who finish last!" Becky shouted out, getting into the spirit of it, like I knew she would. "We're the modern Jews," Vanity said and we all looked at her, but she ignored us. "Without the stigma of being the assholes that killed Christ." "Oh," I nodded. "That's good." "What the hell does that mean?" Trevor laughed. "I'm Jewish," Bob looked at the girl and she didn't even bother with a shrug. She was busy. "How's my speech coming, anyway?" I called over my shoulder to Vanity. I was hungry too and that pizza smelled good. Vanity Wilson was only 13, but boy could she write. Like Mozart wrote his first concerto when he was 4 or something? This girl had written a Pulitzer Prize winning essay on social discourse and the human imperative to communicate when she was six. If she wasn't working for me I'd have burned her at the stake. Thankfully she was so psychotic that she imagined Hell when she masturbated and had spent the previous 3 years screaming her lungs out in a padded room at Johns Hopkins. All Vanity needed was a proper outlet to express her inner demons, so she was my speech writer. "Which one?" she asked, without looking up. She never looked up, except when Satan talked to her. The rest of us couldn't see him of course, but I for one believed her. "The Will to Power speech," I rolled my eyes. "Oh, pretty good," Vanity said airily. "I sacrificed a cat last night." "Okay...Good," I nodded slowly. "George!" "Yo!" George was my public relations guy and press secretary. He also had the attention span of a five year old with attention deficit disorder. That was extremely handy during those sticky press conferences I'd held after suspending the Bill of Rights. Reporters largely gave up on asking questions once George had the podium. But I had him on Ritalin now, so he was okay mostly. "Put that down..." he was playing with a snow-globe, "...What's the deal with the party?" I asked him. "Ahhh...I'm getting the Hollywood guys to come out in a few days, look it over. You still want to do it at the mall right?" "Yeah, torches and bonfires," I nodded. "Right out there in the Washington Mall, with the grand spire of the Washington Monument behind us." "Beer?" "Shut-up, Trevor," I stifled a giggle. "Big flags and tanks. Make sure the army is in on this. I want a million men, all in black. Oath takings and book burnings and sacrifices. I want virgins, ummmm...Get the graduating class...No, the freshman class from Radcliff. We'll sacrifice them all to...to..." I paused, "...We need deities!" Everyone looked at me. "Staff meeting, right now. Get the cabinet up," I decided. "I want a dozen Gods on our side! Chop chop people! We have a destiny to build!" It was time, finally, for America to embark on a path of global conquest. The time was right; the technology available, all we lacked was the moral certainty and national willpower. But I was here now and so I had plenty of that stuff. All the country had to do was hang on tight. A new New World Order was coming. That's enough, right? rache696@yahoo.com -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>| | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+