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Subject: {ASSM} MIB Ch.10 by Rachael Ross (See Ch.00 For Codes)
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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.
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