In the country known as Freedonia, Rufus T. Firefly, a man with a large mustache and a penchant for nonsensical pronouncements, was once again Commander-in-Chief. He’d been out, then in again, mostly by promising the voters a “chicken in every pot and pot in every chicken.” He was facing trouble, though – rumors of stolen national assets and a previous election snafu where he’d asked his Vice President, a quiet man named Zucchini who mostly worried about his tomatoes, to simply declare him the winner.
“Declare me the winner, Zucchini!” Firefly had bellowed the first time around. “It’s a simple declaration! Like declaring it’s Tuesday! Only it’s a ‘Firefly-Wins-day!'”
Zucchini had just adjusted his apron. “But legally, sir, I can’t. The Constitution… it’s a bit like a recipe, you see. You can’t add more sugar if it calls for salt.”
“Con-sti-tu-tion,” Firefly had mused, twirling his mustache. “Sounds a bit like a disease. Give me the good ol’ ‘Firefly-on-top-of-the-world-ition’ instead.”
Now, with the law nipping at his heels like a terrier with a taste for corruption, Firefly needed a distraction. And he had a brilliant, terrible idea.
He called his War Department into an emergency meeting. The officers, appointed more for their skill at card games than strategy, fumbled with their epaulettes.
“Gentlemen,” Firefly began, pacing the room and nearly tripping over a spittoon. “The nation faces a grave threat! A small Latin American country… let’s call it ‘Smalldonia’ for the sake of argument, has looked at us funny.”
A general named Humbug, who was trying to polish his helmet with a hanky, piped up. “Looked at us funny, sir?”
“Yes! A funny look! An aggressive funny look! That’s an act of war, isn’t it?” He turned to a bespectacled aide. “Check the rule book. Is ‘funny look’ an act of war?”
The aide, named Pinkerton, frantically flipped through a large, leather-bound volume. “It’s not specifically listed under ‘Cannon Fire’ or ‘Sneaky Submarines’, sir, but it is adjacent to ‘Mildly Insulting Postcards’.”
“Close enough!” Firefly declared. “We need to invade! A short, sharp, unnecessary war!”
“But sir,” Zucchini whimpered, having been dragged into the meeting. “That’s unconstitutional. And expensive! Think of the tomatoes we could grow with that money!”
“Tomatoes? This is about power! My power! And possibly avoiding jail time!” Firefly announced, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I also need to, ahem, deal with the domestic situation. The Speaker of the House is a nuisance. I think I’ll use the army to arrest him. And the Senate. And maybe that annoying newsboy who keeps whistling off-key.”
“Arrest Congress with the military, sir?” Pinkerton squeaked.
“That’s… well, the Posse Comitatus Act…”
“Posse-whatever, shut-up-at-us Act!” Firefly dismissed with a wave.
“I’m the Commander-in-Chief! Chief of the Commanders! The big cheese! If I say the army is a law enforcement agency with very large hats and tanks, then that’s what they are!”
Suddenly, a loud marching band started playing outside the window, completely off-key. A woman with an operatic voice, Mrs. Teasdale, burst through the door, followed by a silent, limping man who occasionally honked a horn, and another man who looked suspiciously like Firefly’s brother and was carrying a large fishing net.
“Rufus!” Mrs. Teasdale boomed. “I hear you’re starting a war! How simply thrilling! Does it come with a complimentary buffet?”
“It comes with glory, Mrs. Teasdale! And maybe some land!” Firefly puffed out his chest. “We’re taking over everything! The government, the war, the general store!”
Suddenly, the doors flew open again. It was a contingent of officers, but not Firefly’s cronies. These were the serious ones, the ones who actually read the Constitution.
“Commander-in-Chief Firefly,” their leader said, his face stern. “We have orders from the Congress. You are impeached, removed, and under arrest for high crimes, misdemeanors, and general buffoonery.”
Firefly stared at them, then at his fishing-net-wielding brother, then back at the serious officers. The marching band outside hit a particularly sour note.
“Arrest?” Firefly squeaked. “That’s for the little people! The ones who don’t own their own countries!” He looked around wildly for an escape. “I’ll start my own country! With blackjack and… and more tomatoes than Zucchini could ever dream of!”
He made a break for the window, but the silent man with the horn tripped him with the fishing net. Firefly landed with a spectacular splat in the spittoon.
“Well,” Mrs. Teasdale observed, fanning herself delicately as the serious officers hauled a spluttering Firefly to his feet. “It appears the buffet is closed. And I believe that’s what’s known as the ‘rule of law’.”
Firefly, dripping and defeated, just managed to adjust his mustache. “This is an outrage! A complete and utter outrage! I demand to be tried by a jury of my peers!” He looked around the room and sighed. “Make that a jury of people I haven’t offended yet.”
The serious officers dragged him out, with the silent man honking his horn in a sort of victory march, as Zucchini rushed outside to check on his beloved tomatoes. Freedonia was saved, less by grand heroics and more by sheer, constitutional chaos.
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The previous story was written using AI to convert social observations into a story in the style of the Marx Brothers movies. Increasingly, I see value in helping people relate to reality through easily generated fictive abstractions.
I then asked AI to rewrite the story above into a New Testament style and it resulted in the following:
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The Gospel of Clankers
[1] In those days, there arose in the land of Freedonia a ruler named Rufus, whose heart was filled with vanity, and whose words were as the boastful brass, sounding only of himself. [2] He had been given charge over the legions of the land, a commander not of wisdom, but of pride.
[3] And it came to pass that in his first reign, having lost the election to another, he sought to bend the laws and compel his second-in-command, a quiet man named Zucchini who tended to his herbs, to declare him the rightful victor, though the people had spoken otherwise. [4] Zucchini, who held the law as sacred as his plants, refused, saying, “The law is written, Caesar, and I cannot unwrite it for thy pleasure.”
[5] But the people, forgetting the wisdom of humility, placed Rufus in power once more. [6] And he ruled with a heavy hand, filling the high offices with those who knew not their duties, but only how to praise their master. [7] He used the legions as his private guard, a thing forbidden, to silence those who spoke against him in the great forum of the Congress.
[8] Then, as the shadows of his own corrupt deeds grew long, threatening to bring him to trial and judgment, his heart hardened like the Pharaoh’s. [9] He called his officers and declared an unjust war upon a small, distant nation, a war born not of defense, but of selfish distraction.
[10] “Go forth and conquer,” he commanded, “that our people may forget my troubles and hail me as a victor!”
[11] But his true purpose was darker still. [12] He intended to turn the legions upon his own government, to arrest the Speaker and the elders of the forum, and to seize absolute power for himself, that he might never face earthly justice.
[13] Yet, there were those among the legions who feared God more than they feared Rufus. [14] As the unjust war began, a division of honorable officers came to the palace.
[15] “Rufus, who calls himself Caesar,” they proclaimed, “the people and the law have judged thee. Thou art removed, impeached, and under arrest for thy transgressions.”
[16] The vain ruler was seized, sputtering with pride and fury. [17] The people cheered, for they believed justice had prevailed and their folly had a happy ending.
[18] But lo, the warning is this: a people who elect a narcissist to command their legions, who ignore the signs of his pride and lust for power, have sown seeds of chaos. [19] For though Rufus was taken, the spirit of his actions lingered. [20] The trust in their leaders was broken. [21] The land was left fractured and vulnerable, having flirted with tyranny for a jester’s promise. [22] They learned that the love of self is a poison, and in their pursuit of amusement, they had put the sword in the hand of a fool, a mistake that would haunt them for generations.
Joker's Wild 