Things aren’t going so well. Enough beating around that bush, right? I’m sure I inspired a lot of confidence in my dear readers last time with all my talk of the economy and so on. I even figured out another way to better motivate my naked religious dancers in the Middle East: threaten to kill the worst-performers. I think it’s bringing people together.
But that’s not all that’s going on. Let’s start with the nightmares. Everyone gets them, even me. Ya know, a handful of times a month, more often in certain conditions. Stuff that reminds me of now and back in the old world. Like this one I had, I was leading an army of zombies, but then they all turned on me, except they had superpowers and I couldn’t stop them all, even with the motorcycle I had in the dream. It had a chrome battering ram built in to the front instead of a light, and the head of the ram was a hand giving the middle finger.
Now, normally this kind of thing isn’t so much of a problem, even with the increased frequency, but the method of maintaining my power complicates things. It’s not just me waking up punching. Plus, it’s way more confusing when you actually wake up in someone else’s body and have to remember to get back to your own. Or waking up as multiple people. Which can be dangerous for other people in bed with that person. I swear, some people shouldn’t be seen naked. And sometimes I’m those people.
For those times when I’m not, my imagination is tempted to run wild like Hulkamania did back before Hogan got caught on tape being racist in bed with another man’s wife. Sadly, I’m a lot less fun right now. It’s one of the reasons why I resent Venus even as I force her into boobtastic outfits and chain her up close to me. When I have to concentrate, I can be as perfectly warped as any normal person, regular people often being inherently circumspect in desires.
Regular folks will say “I swear I’m going to be rich someday” or “It’s a sure-thing investment!” or “I pray God will bless me financially,” but think it’s absolutely crazy if someone goes, “I hope I get lucky and become rich somehow.” It’s all in how you word things to them, which is a bit upsetting to the mentally ill. They probably don’t like their problems compared to people who speak their mind or to folks like myself, which the regular folks would know if they hadn’t decided to clamp car batteries to crazy patients’ nipples and call it therapy.
In that way, I’m disappointed to see that people don’t know a good thing when it takes over the world. I’d probably try to rub the point in Venus’s face just because I can, but she ran off. Yep. Woke up and the chain was cut through. Where does she hide those wonderful toys? Eh, I can think of a couple of spots where a woman can hide things of variable size, especially if they’re in some sort of elongated shape.
And people keep resisting. I get that some folks feel you can’t force people to change, and they think that progress just means bad shit happens faster, but I’ve seen otherwise. I could spout off some conquerors and empires from my world, but I understand that one to be quite a bit different from this one. And anywhere this little blog of mine goes, it’s probably to a nearby universe with a great deal of similarity up to a certain point. Plus, I’ve become a fan of my adoptive home. Don’t tell anyone.
So, sure, you can’t force people to change their beliefs, unless it’s Hellenism. You can’t mandate fairness, Hammurabi. You cannot radically change the future of the world with nothing but a tiny bit of conquest, Mongol Khans. Traditional destructive religious practices can’t be forever ended, even by someone as bad as Spanish Conquistadors.
And so I am opposed. In Japan, they put down last year’s insect-based monsters who wished to take over, but now they’ve got another batch popping up who want to destroy everything. Something about being the Oni of Discordant Melodies or something. I saw one the other day, through the eyes of someone over there. The monsters look like musical instruments, except for the minions. They thin, either all white or all black, and have limbs that look like they’re made of lots of wires in the shape of arms and legs. They’ve already got someone opposing them, the Ongaku Rangers, but I have to support them to make sure. Anyone whose goal is the utter destruction of all other life on earth is stupid, but they only have to succeed once. Ya know, because then everyone will be dead. That’s a tough one to come back from, barring time travel. And that’s awkward, because then you might just be going to an alternate reality, full of copies of the real people you saw die. And I’d like to say that’s none of my business, but as the King of Earth, my duty is as clear as my need to dress up as Elvis for Halloween.
See the sacrifices I’ve made? People question whether or not I’m just some madman who wants to control everything, but I’m willing to help out a group of Rangers. It actually makes me feel a little disgusting, like right down around my balls. Still, they ought to be grateful for that artillery strike. That shamisen didn’t fuck around when it came to stringing them up.
Other bad guys have also tried to be a problem, but most of them tried to get their hands on the nanites, too. Hephaestus/Faustus used them to bring some villains back from the dead back when they were sending others of the superpowered criminal persuasion after me, so some very jealous folks have been exposed. Plenty of others just wanted the protection and security of pumping tiny machines they don’t understand into their bodies. Eh, I shouldn’t sound so smug about that, or people will confuse me for an anti-vaxxer.
But there’s always some people. Someone tried to mail me a toy bomb. As soon as I figure out who it was, and I have one or two ideas, then I’m going to break some bones and have them sealed inside a hippopotamus sex doll. Then, while they’re getting some, I’m going to fuck their spouse. Or their mother if they aren’t married. Or their kid. Hopefully a teen or adult kid, too, or this is going to get some people other than me in a hell of a lot of trouble.
This is all starting to sound a little dark and dramatic. Let me start over.
Things are going great. I received a very respectful diplomat from The Claw today, who insisted on giving me lots of stuff I might like, including my very own giant lobster in a tank. I’d heard those things exist, but nobody in the rest of the world ever found proof outside of unusually big claws inside the stomachs of scarred sperm whales. I have decided to call him Huggy. The ambassador, who wore a more regal, robed version of the Claw minion outfit, asked to please speak with his master and consider the use of his knowledge and experience for my administrative needs. Angling to be put in control of more than just his own country, I reckon. Fishing for favoritism, you might say. I’ll consider it. I like Huggy. He reminds me I need to bring Moai over.
I also spent awhile dealing with some wannabe-separatists. North Korea, for example. I have a bit of a grudge with the Kim family, and that didn’t help things. They claimed to have a nuke and said that if they weren’t given better position, I’d face the wrath of mighty missile!
Electric Eye Seoul strolled right past the DMZ, indulging in the time-honored tradition of blasting subversive music for all the North Koreans to enjoy. The Northerners hate that part. I started with “Dance Magic,” when crossing the border, but by the time I dragged little Kim out of his private roller coaster in Pyongyang, I’d gotten all the way to “Party in the CIA” in my North Korean Invasion Playlist. It didn’t even matter that Electric Eye Seoul had less violent adaptations to his environment. It had four arms for better competitive esports, which I justified by giving it different weapons. A laser here, a napalm squirter there, a cylindrical mass of rotating sawblades, and a high-velocity ice cream launcher. Why settle for a freeze ray when I can soft-serve some vengeance?
All of that, unnecessary. High command didn’t do anything, in part because the leaders of the country made sure they had all the best medical care. Their underlings were almost entirely out of my control, but the rule of fear had done such wonderful things to their initiative. They would give their lives out of fear for what the Kim family would do to them if they didn’t obey, but they weren’t about to do something that, for all they knew, would be the opposite of what their ruler wanted.
I’m sure there’s a lesson in mistreating the people responsible for your success somewhere there, but hell if I know. I’m just the guy who stripped down Kim Jong-un to his underwear, made him dance like a ballerina in front of North Korean television, then killed him via ice cream hypothermia.
I don’t know where the ice cream gun has been my entire life. I’d say my dreams, but that night is when I had one where a hero turned on me, beat me up, broke my armor, and tossed me off to some foreign country where I couldn’t speak the language or understand any of the customs. I don’t remember if she looked like Leah or Venus, but it got weird when she had my old friend Good Doctor’s face for awhile. He doesn’t make a pretty woman.
Now, hopefully all this national boundaries shit will go away once people have to divide up along different lines.
Ah, but I’m forgetting about the Quebec people. The bane of Canada for so long, only for me to inherit the problem. They blew up a tv station as a way to stick it to the man. I love sticking it to men as much as the next bisexual person, but this time the man is me. And I do not look like the sort of person I would stick it to. So now I’ve got the Electric Eye from Los Angeles up there in Montreal, cyclopean eye laser read to carve through my enemies.
Unfortunately, they’re not rushing out to fight, and it’s a little difficult to burn down the frozen north until they’re forced out of hiding. On top of that, I’ll bet I’ve got plenty of similar groups who decided that separatist causes are still all the rage. I’ll have to watch out for the Irish, Basques, and the entire Middle East.
No, that wouldn’t do, so I contacted the great factories of India, Japan, and China, and put together a plan. Little flying drones with the ability to carry quite a bit of weight. When some elderly ex-IRA took out a cell phone tower with the non-alcoholic version of an Irish Car Bomb, these little clamp-happy robots swarmed in from where they’d been waiting. It wasn’t that hard to find them. What were they going to do, bomb a police station or church to get to me?
Well, they dug their dirty paws into my personal cereal box for the first and last time! What did they win? A visit to Canada, where they’ll no doubt get along well with people of similar goals as themselves. Or would have, if the Quebec separatists hadn’t assumed I was bringing in my own private army and ambushed them.
I like it when two problems take care of themselves all at once. It made me so happy, I ordered my North Korean army to dance for joy. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Might have to have them practice with the Jerusalem folks. I know this one Sunni cleric who is always trying to be the odd man out, which sometimes happens. After all, it takes two to naked tango.