This article is dedicated to a man whom the world should revere.
Indeed, you have rightly guessed that I speak of Glenn Beck, whose prowess is demonstrated in this video.
Oh, Glenn Beck. What a man.
So for all you Glenn Beck lovers out there: the first installment of my 8,909,897,000-word historical novel praising Glenn Beck. Enjoy.
New Beginnings: An Objective History of Glonnie Buck's American Revolution
A 8,909,897,000-word historical novel by Caffeine Bubbles
One: Sewing The Seeds Of Revolt
“I just love my country...,“ choked Glonnie Buck as he stared straight into the camera lens, his glittering blue eyes releasing a cascade of tears, conveying all the hopelessness of his soul and the purely unselfish affection he felt for the US citizens who would later be watching his programme on Fox, a can of beer in hand and a wholesome Walmart ready-meal rested on their plenteous bellies. Yes, that was the illustrious American dream as they and Glonnie saw it… but it was at risk of being shattered into oblivion by evil hands. “... and I fear for it.”
Ever since the dishonest rise to power of Obamin, the malicious socialist Muslim Kenyan who had claimed to want to reestablish the US’s economic and social welfare but who had in fact destroyed everybody’s hopes by turning the nation into a Communist dictatorship, nothing had been the same. In the early months of his administration, a deadly virus – Socio-Political Hypochondria – had mysteriously swept the entire country, threatening to kill off a significant proportion of the population, and more particularly people who had an inclination for tea and grand old parties. Those who had contracted the virus continued to dwell in terror of rotting away, but an act of God had somehow made it possible for them to live, albeit while suffering from horrendous side effects, including baldness, paranoia, halitosis, and deteriorating sexual potency.
Glonnie began to sob into his heart-patterned handkerchief while retaining every ounce of his eminent dignity. A dribble of golden snot trickled out of his right nostril… a symbol of American despair and of the chaos that had ravaged the land. He wiped it away quickly and put his sodden handkerchief away. He solemnly stood up from his chair in the manner of a great monarch who had just finished making a distinguished speech, like Dumbledore III of England (yes, he remembered the name he had read in “An American Guide to European History” by Bill O’Reillo.)
“My fellow Americans,” Glonnie called out in his melodiously patriotic voice, his thick blond hair glowing in the studio lights, his graceful, well-endowed physique radiating the heat of revolt, “the situation has become more than we can bear. My 'circle theory' has now been proven correct, although I genuinely wish it hadn’t, and –.” He was interrupted by another sob which rose up in his throat, his face contorted in disillusion. “We –.” The pain was too great, he was at a loss for words. “We must -.”
He looked up to the ceiling above, envisioning the blue skies over them and repeatedly blinking to chase the tears from his eyes. Glonnie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he fluttered them open, his glare of steel pierced the camera, inducing a fierce desire for insurgency in whoever looked upon him. “We must fight.”
Copyright © Caffeine Bubbles, Brussels 22/07/10
