veggiedog
New Member
Please don't ask me there this story came from. I don't want to know myself. All I remember was considering what would happen if an inanimate object was elected president...
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Dear reader, before you commence to read further, you must know one thing: I feel deep regret for the things that have happened since our president was elected. It was never meant to work out this way. You see, I am at least partially responsible for this mess. And I am very sorry. As of now, I have nothing to offer but my humble apologies, and perhaps an explanation. It's the least I can do.
I blame the alcohol. The stuff seeps into one's brain and makes it all soggy. It was election day, after all. What else could one have expected? Our campaign team had been working nonstop for months. We were sure, with champagne bottles poised as evidence of such, that our hard work would pay off.
Legions of reporters swarmed Community Hall, with their Q-tip microphones, accosting anyone so much as wearing a nametag. One such was brash enough to whisper the names of The Enemy: He asked me how I felt about the competition, and whether or not I was prepared to accept defeat.
I must tell you beforehand, lying is a nervous habit of mine. I snorted loudly to prove my nonchalance. "You mean Johnson and McDonald? You may as well vote for this napkin as those emptyheaded buffons!" I laughed, indicating a napkin I had used to sop up a beer spill. "Even this stands a better chance of winning."
Roses bloomed in the cheeks of the young man. "If you insist," he must have murmured (I'm not quite certain -- my mind was rather muddled to be sure), embarrassed at my drunkeness.
I must inform you, dear reader, that I had no idea he would take it so literally. Or that he was to communicate my message to millions of his viewers nationwide. I mean, how was I to know? If I had, trust me, things would have surely worked out quite differently. It's hardly my fault that the poor boy misinterpreted my exaggeration. If a few amongst the American public finds more appeal in an 'attractive bar napkin' than 'an ancient, balding, myopic politician', who am I to stop it?
Still, you can only imagine my suprise when I read the front-page headline of The New York Times early that Wednesday morning. NEWCOMER NAPKIN SWEEPS ELECTION BY A LANDSLIDE. I positively fainted and a minute later found myself swallowing hospital food a for the next week or so. Those days to this day remain confused in my mind.
The napkin wasn't such a terrible mistake, though. In fact, times were great. We were essentially reliving America's Golden Age -- the legal drinking age had been lowered, marijuana had been legalized, and frat parties replaced final exams. Life was dandy.
That was, of course, before the Dark Age began. I suppose all that beer the poor napkin had been subjected to absorb was beginning to affect his brain. He spontaneously declared war on all countries that had banned absynth. He sold Michigan to Canada because of Detroit's shameful football team. He turned America's schools and public libraries into casinos and bars. Not to mention the big scandal that insued after a woman's phone number was discovered on his underside, alongside a lipstick stain. Everything went downhill after pictures were released to the press.
Of course you know what happened next, dear reader. I just wanted a chance to explain myself. Our poor napkin went a little nutso. He is paranoid about assassination attempts. That is why we are all standing here, awaiting our annihilation. And for the last time, I am truly, deeply, incredible sorry. I did everything conceivably possible in attempt to avoid this, but it was unavoidable. Forgive me now, dear reader, before they pull the lever.
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Feel free to comment. I've never written anything beyond research paper, so please don't be brutal!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear reader, before you commence to read further, you must know one thing: I feel deep regret for the things that have happened since our president was elected. It was never meant to work out this way. You see, I am at least partially responsible for this mess. And I am very sorry. As of now, I have nothing to offer but my humble apologies, and perhaps an explanation. It's the least I can do.
I blame the alcohol. The stuff seeps into one's brain and makes it all soggy. It was election day, after all. What else could one have expected? Our campaign team had been working nonstop for months. We were sure, with champagne bottles poised as evidence of such, that our hard work would pay off.
Legions of reporters swarmed Community Hall, with their Q-tip microphones, accosting anyone so much as wearing a nametag. One such was brash enough to whisper the names of The Enemy: He asked me how I felt about the competition, and whether or not I was prepared to accept defeat.
I must tell you beforehand, lying is a nervous habit of mine. I snorted loudly to prove my nonchalance. "You mean Johnson and McDonald? You may as well vote for this napkin as those emptyheaded buffons!" I laughed, indicating a napkin I had used to sop up a beer spill. "Even this stands a better chance of winning."
Roses bloomed in the cheeks of the young man. "If you insist," he must have murmured (I'm not quite certain -- my mind was rather muddled to be sure), embarrassed at my drunkeness.
I must inform you, dear reader, that I had no idea he would take it so literally. Or that he was to communicate my message to millions of his viewers nationwide. I mean, how was I to know? If I had, trust me, things would have surely worked out quite differently. It's hardly my fault that the poor boy misinterpreted my exaggeration. If a few amongst the American public finds more appeal in an 'attractive bar napkin' than 'an ancient, balding, myopic politician', who am I to stop it?
Still, you can only imagine my suprise when I read the front-page headline of The New York Times early that Wednesday morning. NEWCOMER NAPKIN SWEEPS ELECTION BY A LANDSLIDE. I positively fainted and a minute later found myself swallowing hospital food a for the next week or so. Those days to this day remain confused in my mind.
The napkin wasn't such a terrible mistake, though. In fact, times were great. We were essentially reliving America's Golden Age -- the legal drinking age had been lowered, marijuana had been legalized, and frat parties replaced final exams. Life was dandy.
That was, of course, before the Dark Age began. I suppose all that beer the poor napkin had been subjected to absorb was beginning to affect his brain. He spontaneously declared war on all countries that had banned absynth. He sold Michigan to Canada because of Detroit's shameful football team. He turned America's schools and public libraries into casinos and bars. Not to mention the big scandal that insued after a woman's phone number was discovered on his underside, alongside a lipstick stain. Everything went downhill after pictures were released to the press.
Of course you know what happened next, dear reader. I just wanted a chance to explain myself. Our poor napkin went a little nutso. He is paranoid about assassination attempts. That is why we are all standing here, awaiting our annihilation. And for the last time, I am truly, deeply, incredible sorry. I did everything conceivably possible in attempt to avoid this, but it was unavoidable. Forgive me now, dear reader, before they pull the lever.
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Feel free to comment. I've never written anything beyond research paper, so please don't be brutal!
.)
