Sunday, July 23, 2006

The Imbuggeration of Ronald Rexona

[…we turn now to page 2317 of the 19th. Edition of the Absolute Truth and skim down a couple of kilometers from the top – we see that it was at this precise moment in official history that Ronald Rexona was anointed king dick and Supreme Hole of Arrogance. Please note, the scenes described here are as they are seen from a metapsychic viewpoint and are not to be understood as what actually happened in the Third Galaxy. It should be understood as a sort of terrible parable of how Ronald Rexona screwed the Mother of Freedom and transformed her into the Bitch of Babylon… ]



On that actual and dreadful day, the sun burnt like magnesium in a violet sky above the great square where the Imbugeration of the Supreme Hole was about to take place.

The square is filled with thousands upon thousands of those invited to participate in the event. Each and every one there has been invited because of some personal contribution in helping bring about the ascendancy of the Supreme Hole to power. Or, to put it another way, every Arrogant hole of any significant political and/or economic power is either here today, or has sent a trusted deputy.

A man on the stage below the dais is speaking into a microphone and as his words echo across the great square, he requests them to raise their right hands in salute. He then leads them in the Pledge to the Supreme Hole: “Because I believe in Arrogance...” the crowd repeats the phrase with a deep rumble. The litany continues: “Because I believe in Freedom...because I believe in Liberty and Democracy...because I believe in The Great Potato!”

As they repeat the empty phrases, the rumble of the crowd of holes increases thunderously, concluding with bone-rattling roars as the final phrases explode, spraying spittle from contorted mouths:

“I therefore solemnly swear support for Ronald Rexona and pledge to do anything in my power to ensure that he becomes and continues to be the Supreme Hole of Arrogance!!!”


Then, as up-tempo music blares from the loud speakers, the attention of the crowd is now drawn to the large raised dais in the middle of the stage. Appearing suddenly among clouds of multicolored smoke shot through with rock-show laser beams, Ronald Rexona appears dramatically, in fact symbolically, as he ascends, from below, through a cleverly arranged system of elevator and hidden trapdoor. His appearance is as if by magic. It was almost as if he had risen directly from the mysterious Chambers of Secrecy – which may very well have been the case!

A roar of approval from his fellow holes greets him as he strides across the stage, smiling his famous, smirking smile...

“Friends, I greet you one and all! Today is the day we have been looking forward to! The world has become our pearl, our fridge full of goodies, our trash can of desire!”

Coming down from the dais and moving closer to the edge of the stage, where the Great She Goat is tethered with enormous chains, he continues:

“As we all know, there are only two things you need to know in order to get ahead in this world: you need to know which ass to lick – and which ass to kick!”

A fainting odor of mercaptan hangs in the air as Ronald Rexona with grim, yet excited concentration approaches the Goat. Having already performed the first part of the Unspeakable Ceremony, with slow, ritual determination he then withdraws the frightful Roasting Rocket Rod of Power from the Great She Goat.

The Great Goat, struggling to free itself from its torment, bellows in terrible, animal pain. Dozens of men holding restraining ropes are trampled to death under darkly-stained hooves as the murderous beast lunges against its bonds.

The Rocket Rod is covered with gobs of a darkly strange substance. The air, already full of a horrible stench, becomes nearly opaque with the almost overpowering smell.

After a few disorderly moments, as bodies are quietly removed, the square is filled with the kind of hushed, yet electric silence which only a large, tense and expectant crowd can give. The silence becomes excruciating, breaths are bated as Ronald Rexona slowly raises the Rod of Power and holds it above his head with both of his hands. Gobs of the dark substance fall and splatter at his feet. He runs his forefinger down a few inches of the length of the Rod and gathers some of it, the consistency of freshly baked liver paste, into his mouth...

Licking his lips, he once again smiles his famous, smirking smile and says in a voice strangely modulated, “It is good – it is very good!”

A roar rips from the mobbed throat of the crowd like the thunder of metal sheets being pounded with dry bones...


After a pause, he smiles once again and with his famous ape-like pout he shouts “It is very, very good, and there is enough for everybody who wants to play my game!”

The crowd screams with sheer ecstasy and pure delight as Ronald Rexona once again grabs the Rocket Rod of Power with both hands, raises it above his head and swings it around and around, slinging the dark substance to the four winds.

The multitudes of holes, gaping darkly red, devour the obscene manna, if possible, even before it hits the ground:

“Snuffle! Grunt! Snork! Snarl!”

After the Immolation Ceremony, the Supreme Hole and his lesser Wizards of War descend through the cleverly concealed trapdoor and hidden elevator down, down, down to the delicate comforts and Cthulhuic ambiance of the Chambers of Secrecy. There, far below clicking relays, subterranean trains and underground parking lots, where no one can hear or interrupt the bone rattling screams of pain and giggles of delight – the Supreme Hole and his Wizards cast ever wilder and obscene spells so that the National Security of Arrogance might grow – grow in splendor, excellence and luxury...

1 comment:

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