New Year’s Retribution 5



The less said about the normal functioning of that rally, the better. People who worship a god who claims to be the only one in existence are already iffy for me, and more so when they have to talk about it all the time. Like a teenager who has to add in every conversation that he’s got a huge cock, or that he’s straight, or that he likes black people. Then you get people who start deifying a living being, and we start getting into cult status. You take almost anything written in a religious book and have it be spouted by some living person who wants you all to worship him, and it’s amazing how much less people trust it. Of course, it’s a bit worse for them that pretty much everything known about the old toothless general indicates he’d have reacted very badly to the idea of being worshiped the way these folks do. The guy had a hell of a lot of integrity to turn down being Ruler for Life. I think we’ve previously established that I wouldn’t do the same.

I know, it sounds like the typical political rant from me. It is, kinda, but it’s also about history. It’s like going back and saying Thomas Jefferson didn’t like owning both his political appointments and his girlfriends, or that Andrew Jackson would have been totally ok with Southern secession. For those who don’t know their history, that second one would have made an awesome alternate history.

Anyway, these creepy jack-offs weren’t exactly in the spirit of the day. This guy in a tight and tucked-in shirt gave a speech about how the Civil Rights movement and all its marches divided America. There was also a panel about fighting back against PC culture by reclaiming all English language, including quadroon and mulatto. These fucking Apple owners are getting out of hand. I thought it was the console wars at first, but then I remembered it’s the PC users in that one who claim to be the master race. Ridiculous. I was the master race.

Petty squabbles of humanity aside, there wasn’t much entertaining to the whole place. The firing range they put in there didn’t even have live targets in it, and the clothing looked like something Paul Revere shat out after a night of booze and French hookers.

It proved quite a pain waiting until things had whipped up enough. Let them all get even more fervent after canoodling with people who only share their own opinions. Allow them to delude themselves into thinking “I am normal.” I certainly got that vibe from the surprising number of anti-super shirts and signs around. One person sold t-shirts with a shotgun image on it and the words. “We don’t call the cops or capes.” Another one had a target. “Look, up in the sky! A target,” it read.

I’d like their enthusiasm more if I didn’t know it was all about replacing one group of heroes motivated by foolish altruism with another group motivates with political orthodoxy. Before too long, that leads to people kidnapping the children of minorities, forcing them to fight and kill and rape until they’ve trained one up to be a mindfucked puppet of their agenda. At least until he runs into a bunch of real heroes one day who cause the safe little illusion he hides in to break apart, and then his handlers try to blow him up with explosive toilet paper.

Moving on, that theme of normality stuck with me as I stepped up to the podium on the main stage, interrupting a performance by a trio of young white girls singing a spiritual. They had these vases of lilies on stage, too, like it was supposed to be a garden instead of a place for entertainment. And it was about to get entertaining. I needed to rile some people up. And if there’s any way to rile someone up, it’s with my best Charlie Chaplin impersonation.

“In the spirit of unity, I am up here now to tell you what you all need to hear. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be an emperor. That’s not my business. I don’t want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible; Jew, Gentile, black man, white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each other’s happiness, not by each other’s misery. We don’t want to hate and despise one another. In this world, there is room for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way. Greed has poisoned men’s souls, barricaded the world with hate.”

A bit of murmuring had started up in the crowd, and not the good kind of murmuring. I know that kind. The words picked out in that kind of are more along the lines of “I’d like to suck that fine man’s dick,” or “I want to pull him behind back and shake his hand,” and other sentences like that. Hard to hear the specifics with them all talking at once. These mutterings were more hushed, like people were wanting to do something illegal. Something they knew they weren’t supposed to be proud of.

“To those who can really hear me, I say do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And as long as men die, liberty will never perish. Don’t give yourselves to these unnatural men, machine men with machine minds and machine hearts!” Not that there’s anything wrong with machine men, minds, or hearts, mind you.

“You are not machines! You are cattle!” It totally ruins the flow, but at least a few of them in the crowd were a bit iffy on not being cattle. What else do you call blank-stared mammals who stand around doing nothing but chewing tobacco cud? “You are men! You have the love of humanity in your hearts. You don’t hate; only the unloved hate, the unloved and the unnatural. Don’t fight for slavery. Fight for liberty!”

By this point, I’d spotted a few guns out, some of them from security, but none of them pointed to the crowd. Odd how that works. Here I’m talking about hate and bitter men who fear progress, and this crowd of people who claim to be all about unity and God are getting offended. Just out of nowhere.

I didn’t get any further into my stolen speech because security decided to play football, and I was the ball carrier. Bad form, though. Way too high. I’d say that was their first mistake, but I do believe they made many, many more leading up to the point. Included among that would be trying to assault me, of all people. That sounds like a leadup to a fun session of cathartic violence, but I have appearances to worry about. So I ran. The crowd followed.

Now, if it wasn’t obvious by now, quite a few other people objected to a group like this holding such a meeting in Empyreal City, saying the sorts of things they assumed were said. They were outside. It’s not like they surprised me being there. I saw them. I counted on them being there.

People might compare this to, say, The Joker. Where does he get all those wonderful toys? How does he know this is going to happen or that people will act this way? Because people can be very predictable. Some people are just going to be assholes, the way the scorpion always stings whatever carries it across the water. And some people are going to object to that sort of thing. Not many. Not a majority. But some. And if not, I would have just bribed people to be there anyway. Probably with booze and French hookers.

So as I ran out, I appeared to be Charlie Chaplin rushing out toward protesters, leading a mob of angry white people against a more diverse crowd. Oh, and I was pointing. As expected, mistakes were made interpreting all this by the protesters. And then the two sides met like a flabby version of 300. All I needed was one of those ab-tastic guys to stand up, flip around a full head of hair, and say “I can’t believe it’s not Sparta.”

With this sudden outbreak of violence underway, I dropped the Chaplin act and instead dialed in a more generic look. It took the discs a second to compensate, but I had carefully ducked under any blows as both sides took out their frustrations on each other. When I crawled out of what seemed to be the front lines, I looked nothing like the tramp I’d appeared to be when I ran out.

I expected these new heroes to show up any minute, and they didn’t disappoint. It was more like any second for the one with the things on his legs and the jumpsuit. He raced out and pushed one old lady with a huge hat away from a younger fellow with a shaved head and a star-spangled shirt. Someone from that side of the lines rushed forward with a sign and the would-be hero punched him in the mouth. Busted his hand open doing so, too.

That wasn’t so much a problem for the reinforcements who showed up. A pair of young men doubleteamed this guy who pulled out his rifle, only for the a guy in a mask with giant mechanical hands to grab it from them and knock them both down with one punch, also to the heads. Pistons hissed and drew back into his knuckles as he offered the gun’s owner his weapon back and a hand to his feet.

A gout of flames forced protesters to back off, caused by a man with an arm encased in a flamethrower. That can’t be healthy. Lots of heat in all those things. The arm might be a prosthetic replacement. He wore a fireman’s outfit to protect the rest of his body. Not too much could protect his reputation once I got a picture of him turning up the heat on people.

Yeah, I was taking it all on. Getting a good view. And these guys were playing ball, too. One of these guys had a pair of whips that slid out from the underside of gauntlets. He went for the dark and brooding look, with a grey costume and blue cowl and cape. And according to this photo I took, he whipped an old fleeing black man.

Moments like this really go back to something I’ve said before when I quoted a Mongolian dude about how if there’s a God believed in by my victims, then he’s using me to punish them for their sins. In this instance, it’s more a matter of these people are the sorts, primed by their beliefs, to do some really fucked up things. That they look even worse when I begin working against them just goes to show it. I mean, as much as someone might think I corrupt people with my likable sociopath’s personality, have I ever ingrained it into people?

I’ve forced people to compromise, but I never controlled them so thoroughly that they’d do such acts without even thinking it was wrong. I never used mind control to make people think it was appropriate to attack and even kill protesters. I never ran around teaching children to associate manual labor with a derogatory term for people of a different skin color. I never forced someone to think it was a good thing to walk up and grab random people by their sexual organs. In many ways, these institutions are far more evil than I have ever been. They’ve killed and hurt more people over a much longer period of time than I ever have.

Truth be told, I had a short supply of sympathy for the other side as well. An army of protesters coming out to oppose people who won an election. If most people were really so opposed, so outraged, this victorious meeting of Revolutionary War fetishists wouldn’t exist in the first place. They’d be off on the sidelines somewhere, grumbling about another loss and jacking off in Mexican-made tricorns to Chinese-made flags. And if I can take joy in the one group being corrupted into becoming oppressors, then I can also take joy in another group whose willful apathy made it happen. I rub my fingers together playing “My Heart Bleeds For You,” on the world’s smallest violin while people who refuse to have anything to do with politics erupt in sudden anger that politics turn against them.

So of course, when it was time for all of this to be reported on by news media of all sorts, the headline showed superheroes beating up protesters who were defending themselves from an angry convention. Breaking news: this former Civil Rights marcher’s nose against the hand of a man with metal wings and small jets strapped to his back. The Daily Stormer’s hit new writer, “Totally Not Hitler,” posted it five different times in the same article, even.

Sadly, the story where most of the convention vendors’ profits were stolen during the whole brawl didn’t rate nearly as much attention. Tsk, tsk. I mean, if greed is part of the problem, I might as well try to actually help, right? I’m working with heroes now, after all. These are the actions of someone technically staying on the right side of the law(as far as anyone knows)!



6 thoughts on “New Year’s Retribution 5

  1. Pingback: New Year’s Retribution 4 | World Domination in Retrospect

    1. Psycho Gecko Post author

      I never made any typos. But if I did, they were huge typos, awesome typos, the best typos in the world. I’m a person that very strongly believes in academics. They say, ‘Is Psycho Gecko an intellectual?’ Trust me. I’m, like, a smart person.

      (In serious news, thanks. Typos corrected, and I even found some others there, so it all worked out)

  2. Pingback: New Year’s Retribution 6 | World Domination in Retrospect

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