The next novella I offer for your consideration is a work of fiction, which explores the notion of a global revolution evoked through the concept described in The Last Revolution. The work was originally entitled The End of the World as We Know It, which changed to Revolution 2033, to reflect a frequently recurring sense I have that a global phenomenon, whether ruinous or advantageous, will occur during that year.
I wrote Revolution 2033 in an effort to project a positive outcome, in what I hope will be considered a humorous manner. The humour may seem somewhat cringeworthy, at times, because I wished to express the flawed nature of so many politicians; to drag them from behind the facade of perfection they attempt to create, which so often crumbles to reveal flawed characters, and draw attention to the fact they are only human, after all.
The president in Revolution 2033 is neither Donald Trump nor Ronald Reagan, or any president, past or present. President Ronald Pump is rather a melange of presidents, who exudes qualities not entirely unlike those who have and do govern the majority of our kind, and will continue to do so, unless the world’s political climate changes to employ ambassadors who reveal the true nature of humankind, rather than a melting pot of flawed characters and the endless political parties they represent; each at war with another, rather than working together in harmony, with the intent of creating a peaceful paradise on Earth.Chapter One of Revolution 2033
King Ronald Pump walks upon a sea of craniums, stretching towards a shimmering horizon, where a magnificent castle stands sparkling in damp, sunlit air.
He treads carefully upon the heads of his subjects – not through any sense of respect, but to prevent his silk stockings from becoming snagged on their bristles. He wishes he was wearing shoes, but knows it would hasten the decline of his popularity if his wish were to come true.
Rather; he wishes his subjects would shave their heads every day, as he has countless times during his seemingly endless journey to his castle. In fact; King Ronald Pump would like them to do exactly as he says regarding all of his wishes, because he expects to be obeyed ....
A shrill, piercing whistle penetrates President Ronald Pump’s regal rest, which encourages him to jerk into a sitting position while producing a loud, unexpected honk of morning gas. Buster, his loyal pet beagle, reacts to the sound as though a klaxon announcing his master’s awakening, and greets Ronald by gently slapping his face with his wet, floppy tongue.
“Buster! No!” – Ronald commands, while flapping a hand to shoo his companion away and poking him in an eye as he does so, and then – “STOP!” – to his voice-controlled alarm clock, which whistles persistently and increasingly louder.
“Oh! .... stop .... stop .... stop .... STOP .... GODDAMMIT!” – Ronald shrieks, before sweeping the device from the bedside table and onto the floor.
Silence reigns after a sizzling whistle.
Ronald flops backwards onto the king-size bed and draws the thick, silk-enveloped duvet over his head, closes his eyes, and attempts to drift back off to sleep, so he may reach the castle of his subconscious, for it seems of the utmost importance that he should. The dream’s damp, sunlit air smells of farts, so he tosses the duvet back, bounces on his bottom out of bed and hurries through to the presidential bathroom, where he steps out of his finest linen pyjama trousers.
“Shit!” – Ronald murmurs, when he bends to inspect a wet fart print within. He absent-mindedly grasps his morning erection and performs masturbatory movements, just as Buster approaches from behind and begins to lap at the crevice of President Ronald Pump’s soiled bottom. Although Ronald is somewhat disturbed by his own judgement, he allows Buster to lap away, since they are alone and he thinks it feels rather nice.
“Ahem! .... Mister President?”
“WHAT?! Oh! How unfortunate! .... BUSTER!” – Ronald exclaims, scoldingly, as he springs upright and turns to swipe Buster’s snout with the trousers – “he was just .... moist gas .... foie gras .... I had .... um .… by accident, you see .... and I was .... or perhaps it was the duck pâté.”
Buster’s poked eye winks wetly at Ronald, while the other offers the kind of innocent, level stare only animals are capable of. Ronald covers his fading erection with the trousers and smiles innocently at the butler.
“I can take those, Sir” – the butler suggests, while grasping the trousers as though a delicate hand proffered to shake. The President yanks a hand towel from a golden loop, secured upon ornate tiles within the spacious bathroom, and slides it under the trousers before releasing his grip on them.
“Ah, yes. If you wouldn’t mind. Unusual occurrence. Never happened before. As I said, it may have been the duck pâté or foie gras …. mmm …. rich food .... something off, anyway .... duck eggs.”
“Indeed. Happens to the best of us, Mister President.”
“Really? Has it happened to you?”
“Well, no, Sir. Not since my childhood. But having worked in a great many ....”
“Yes, yes. I understand” – Ronald snaps. “Well, if you could just have these cleaned and dried by this evening. They are my favourite pyjamas, and I find it difficult to sleep while wearing others.”
“Of course, Mister President” – the butler replies, and strides elegantly, with practised ease, backwards from the bathroom and out of sight.
Ronald slips from the pyjama shirt and into the shower, where he waits until the jet of cold water from the showerhead rushes comfortably warm. Ronald frowns at Buster, who sits on the tiled floor of the bathroom, observing him, while occasionally tilting his head to one side and winking. Ronald remembers a strange sex scandal from decades before, involving a British Prime Minister and a dead pig; the Porkgate scandal, or something of the sort.
“Ugh!” – Ronald exclaims, while drawing the shower curtain closed and turning his back towards Buster. “I am a man and I like ladies” – he assures himself, as he begins to twiddle with his manhood.
He closes his eyes and conjures images of past lovers, but their flaws disturb his fantasy. A piteously unkempt bikini line, as though a desirable residence where the gardener has died. Unbalanced bosoms; as obvious and dramatic as the planet’s wealth divide. A bottom upheld by a standing mistress, yet seeming as though it is trying to sit. Nipples that look like old, fluffy, wrapper-less sweets one finds in the corner of one’s pocket.
President Ronald Pump’s erection rises and falls like the swell of a stormy sea. He doesn’t even bother to bring his wife into his fantasy because they haven’t made love for the best part of a year. He had always been put off by the loud coital farting that had turned so many near orgasms into fits of giggles.
“Why did they always occur then, at that precise moment?” – Ronald wonders aloud. He stops masturbating to cast a bewildered stare into nowhere, hose soap suds from his disillusioned dong, and blow loud raspberries that reverberate around the tiled shower room.
Chapter Two of Revolution 2033
President Ronald Pump’s morning meeting is with the Secretary of Defence and his aides. Ronald sits fully dressed upon his bed and slides a hand between the mattress and bed base, until his fingertips touch a book he has hidden there. He grasps it, pulls it out, regards the cover for a moment – A Basic Guide to Politics – and flicks through the pages until he arrives at a chapter entitled The Department of Defence.
Ronald’s father, who had been the President of the United States before him, had given it as a Christmas present some years before. His father knew Ronald didn’t know much about politics, which is the reason he had given him the book, but Ronald had sensed it was a hint too.
Ronald had always wished to please his father, Ronald Pump Senior. In fact; it was almost all he had wished for. Yet; nothing he did ever seemed to. Making millions juggling palm oil shares had done little to impress him, and neither had making a fortune selling baby milk formula in developing countries. So, the only thing he could think of doing was to run for president.
When Ronald was elected, his father said it didn’t matter that he didn’t know so much about politics because he would pick it up as he went along, as it is with all trades, and gave Ronald another book – Politics in Greater Depth – but he had left that in his bedroom at his childhood home.
Although the book he chose to take to the White House is nothing more than a basic guide, reading it had enabled him to fool the American public into believing he knew enough about politics to be eligible to run for president, and he had managed to impress his father too, by being elected, so he considers the book invaluable.
Overall, Ronald thinks being President of the United States isn’t such an effort. Most of his speeches are written for him, so all he has to do is answer questions at press conferences, which he learned by watching his father on television as he was growing up. As far as Ronald could make out, it was just a matter of repeating more or less what his father had said and replacing certain words with others, such as Afghanistan with Iraq, or growth with decline.
“Jeez, people are such fools” – Ronald sighs, as he slams the book closed and stuffs it back into its hiding place.
Ronald may not know much about politics, or the DOD, but he is quite knowledgeable when it comes to weaponry. He has studied facts such as the range of weapons, their destruction capabilities and the top speed of tanks. He knows pretty much all the basic statistics, and whenever talks within the DOD became tricky, he twisted the conversation to encompass these facts.
Ronald is so knowledgeable because he has been deeply fascinated by war ever since he was a child. When he was young, he had armies of plastic soldiers and spent many hours constructing models of warplanes and tanks. And he had played trump cards with friends, which revealed the statistics for the machinery of war, and usually won. He had memorised the figures by heart – that the A1 Abram’s tank packs 1500 hp of power compared to the Russian T-80’s 1000 hp, for example, and the A1 Abram’s tank is 20 tons heavier than a Russian T-90.
President Ronald Pump feels it pointless to have so many powerful toys and not be able to play real war games, as if they are locked away in a cupboard. However; he knows that all he should do is wait for an opportunity to demand the key for that cupboard, full of so much fun, and hope he doesn’t have to wait too long.
Ronald had been shown around the nuclear bunker he would live in, during a nuclear holocaust, and thought it seemed more than comfortable, so he is looking forward to the ultimate thrill of pressing the big red button, if he is given the chance. Sometimes, he actually pinches himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming, and that his childhood toys really have become the real thing.
He realises he holds a moral responsibility, as President, but knows there are many ways of looking at a situation. He often considers the reasons there should be a Third World War, and those which suggest there shouldn’t, and the reasons for mostly outweighed those against. He considers some as he travels towards the DOD’s offices in his presidential limousine.
“There are too many people on the planet. They produce so much gas that it damages the ozone. Or is that cows?”
Ronald can’t remember, but knows human expulsions are far from harmless, from experience, having encountered an almost constant barrage of hand-farts from his classmates when he was a student, so he considers a reduction beneficial.
“And those Commie bastards are like a great erection, casting a shadow of fear over the world, so we should stamp on that as soon as possible. Then the world will be at peace, and everyone remaining may thank me for it” – Ronald mutters under his breath.
“And it’s just a waste of money to spend so much on weaponry that isn’t used, and training soldiers to fight without them ever being involved in full-scale combat” – Ronald continues – “and all this talk and no action makes America look stupid, so the world will experience America’s might as soon as the opportunity presents itself!”
When the limousine pulls up outside the DOD, Ronald’s legs are jiggling with an uncontrollable nervous energy.
Chapter Three of Revolution 2033
Ronald loves waving at people, and he loves being waved at. In fact; he considers it the best part of being President, next to having his finger on the red button. He hadn’t been popular at school, so he feels the adoration balances things up nicely. Rude finger gestures have been replaced by friendly waves; a sign that he has certainly climbed up in the world – to the top of the world, it may be said. He waves at the small, friendly crowd gathered outside the DOD’s offices and ignores the sea of protesters and haters; he hopes the Commie bastards will soon be dead.
Ronald’s discussion with the Secretary of Defence could hardly be described as such, for the Secretary speaks while Ronald half-listens. During pauses Ronald merely nods his head and says – “yes, mm-hmm” – or – “indeed, indeed” – which seems to pass as an intelligent response, if you happen to be the President of the United States.
Although Ronald isn’t paying full attention, he doesn’t feel an opportunity has presented itself that would allow him to discuss the prospect of a Third World War, so he intends to get through the meeting as soon as possible and return to the White House, so he can continue playing online war games with his gaming friends.
When Ronald’s eyes widen and he sits bolt upright in his chair, the Secretary of Defence senses he has touched a raw nerve, but he hasn’t. Ronald farted, and sensed it was a wet one.
“Excuse me gentlemen, for a moment” – Ronald says, as he rises from his chair and hurries from the room.
“Did you see his reaction?” – the Secretary of Defence whispers to his aides. “He knows exactly what we are getting at, and he’s going to go for it!”
The conference room in the DOD erupts into a symphony of conservative high fives and hisses of – “yes!” – resulting in a cacophony of noise akin to a knot of mating snakes.
Ronald strides down the DOD’s corridors until he finds a washroom, into which he vanishes. He gallops across the tiled floor and into a cubicle, where he slams the door closed, locks it, and drops his trousers.
“Shit!” – Ronald whimpers, as he examines a poop stain on his underwear. He’s relieved it didn’t pass through to his trousers though. He scrubs his underwear with a handful of toilet paper, until all that’s left is a faint brown mark upon the bright white cloth, and exits the cubicle with the air of someone walking from a confession box who had nothing to confess.
Ronald washes his hands, dries them under a blow drier, and after regarding his reflection in the washroom mirror for a moment – to make sure he’s tucked in neat and tidy – he leaves the washroom and heads back to the DOD’s conference room.
“Is everything alright, Mister President?” – the Secretary of Defence asks, as Ronald enters the room.
“Ah. Yes. I was a little taken aback by what you said, that’s all” – Ronald lies.
“Of course. I understand. But what did you think about the proposal?” – the Secretary continues.
“Yes. A very good one. But it will take some serious consideration, obviously. If you could give me the audio from today’s meeting, I’ll listen to it when I’m back at the White House.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mister President. The topic of today’s meeting was so sensitive that I am only able to give you typed minutes. I suggest you place them in a safe as soon as you return; it’s the only copy there is.”
Chapter Four of Revolution 2033
“There’s that cat again. The one I have been telling you about – the ginger tabby with a laser firing out of its bottom” – Shug says, as he peers from the kitchen window of a fourth-floor tenement apartment to the street below.
“Really?” – Dylan replies, disinterestedly.
“Really” – Shug confirms, while an expression of grave concern races around a face used to communicating a myriad of extreme emotions. “I think it’s a one-off example of a cat’s evolution. You know; something Mother Nature has designed for the future but testing out now? So cats will be able to open tins of cat food with their anal lasers, some day. After all; how will they survive if humankind becomes extinct?”
Dylan’s eyebrows vanish into his curly mop of hair, as he emits a long, tired sigh from the armchair he is seated deep within.
“Mother Nature may have overlooked something, though” – Shug continues – “the laser’s quite weak at the moment, but winter’s coming and the cat’s anus will contract as the weather gets colder, which will condense the laser beam and make it much more powerful, so it may cause damage to the city’s infrastructure whenever the cat prowls around town.”
Dylan turns to look over his shoulder, smiles warmly and says – “I wouldn’t worry about it too much if I were you, Shug. We have more important issues to think about.”
“Yes. I suppose you’re right” – Shug agrees, before grabbing a tattered, dog-eared book from the coffee table, flopping into an armchair and beginning to read.
Dylan heaves what he hopes will be a permanent sigh of relief. He has long since grown used to Shug’s bizarre delusions and hallucinations, which he considers the flotsam and jetsam within the mind of a genius. He only hopes their quest to save the world will encourage laser cat to vanish, before the delusion escalates to the point of obsession.
Dylan and Shug have spent a great amount of time together over the years, developing a website that would allow a true global democracy to develop. Now, it is almost ready to be installed upon the World Wide Web, in every one of the world’s one hundred and ninety-five countries, and in all the world’s languages, from Arabic to Zulu. It is unhackable, indestructible, and has the power to destroy the world’s corrupt political infrastructure and replace it with an alternative, which Dylan and Shug believe will result in a paradise on Earth.
Dylan and Shug have been best friends since they were thirteen, when they had first become fascinated by the notion of changing the world. Now they are in their twenties, and ready to accomplish their mission.
The fascination began after reading a book entitled The Last Revolution on a writers’ site, which they had copied and pasted just before it vanished without a trace, together with the site hosting it. They had considered it odd, and wondered whether its sudden disappearance was due to the intervention of governments.
They printed the contents of the file and bound the pages into a book, which Shug now reads. The essence of the strategy for political reform, which had inspired their young minds, is from chapter two;
’An almost insignificant percentage of humankind began to direct the advance of civilisation some five thousand years ago, in the Sumerian City State, and the scenario persists until our present day. We have grown accustomed to being governed by a tiny proportion of our kind, during this period of time, and may believe this manner of governance will continue until the end of our time, and find it difficult to imagine an alternative.
Even those who live in democracies can see their opinions do not form the societies they live in, because they are not asked for their opinions. They observe the world growing around them, yet have little or no impact relating to its design. In effect, all democracy means is that the majority may choose the minority who supposedly represent them in the world’s political arena, and design the societies they live in, even though the dictionary definition of the term states the power of government is held within the hands of the majority;
Democracy: ‘Government by the people; a form of government in which the supreme power is vested in the people and exercised directly by them, or by their elected agents under a free electoral system.’
The dictionary definition suggests its true meaning, from the point where it began, in Ancient Greece, in around 500 BC. Otherwise known as Athenian Democracy, the system allowed an ever-increasing percentage of the majority to participate in their society’s design.
Although the original manner of democracy seems to have been replaced by systems of rule that use the term, yet seem closer to dictatorships, the form of democracy where ‘the supreme power is vested in the people’ is becoming an increasingly plausible means of governance.
To consider how the Internet may be used to sculpt such a transformation, we should reduce the concept to a basic, simplistic form;
A country’s political system could be transformed, to accommodate true, interactive democracy, by creating a site on the Internet, linked to government, where citizens unite to create the policies and amendments forming their society, and cast votes to determine whether or not they should be implemented.
Should this manner of governance spread to envelop the world’s political arena, a global version of the site should be constructed, which would represent a Global Democracy.
Although it would be modified considerably, a country’s government would remain intact, but instead of politicians dictating how a country’s people should live, they would be orchestrating the will of the masses.
The elected representative of the people, such as a president or prime minister, would act as an ambassador, reflecting the will and nature of their country’s people, rather than the political party they represent and their own self-serving interests.
Before considering the concept in greater depth, we should name the website, which would connect to existing governments, so we may relate to it with ease. Let’s call the global version of the website the Consensus of World Opinion – the CWO – pronounced ‘quo’, as in Status Quo, and differentiate between it and the sites existing in each country by adding the country’s suffix – the cwo.fi – and so forth.
We should also consider the website in a physical sense;
If one imagines the CWO as a bicycle wheel, with its centre – the hub – as a central forum, where citizens cast the votes that decide whether policies or amendments should be implemented into their society, or not, and offer opinions regarding society in an all-encompassing sense, and in the global version of the site; the casting of votes that determine whether or not policies and amendments should be implemented on a global scale, to become universal law, and to address concerns regarding global civilisation as an entity.
The spaces between the spokes of the wheel represent smaller forums, each of which relates to a particular element of society, such as public transportation, healthcare, education, and so on.
Within this system of democracy, when a citizen is eighteen, they would be given the right to voice an opinion relating to their profession. For instance; a dentist may offer an opinion regarding the environment within which they, their colleagues and patients interact. The same would be true for all professions. Teachers, professors, mature students, and those conducting research within the field of education would create the education system, and so forth.
Each forum should be overseen by a minister or secretary. For example; the forum relating to education should be overseen by an elected representative, who would act as the minister or secretary of education.
Opinions should be restricted to one per person, which may not be edited once they have been submitted. This would prevent confusion, and the forums from becoming flooded with opinions. Opinions should also be submitted anonymously, so a following would not be generated through social influence.There should also be a maximum word-count of around one hundred words, so opinions may be read in a short space of time.
A simple voting system of ‘like’ and ‘dislike’ would reveal an opinion’s popularity, and allow popular opinions to rise within the forums, and encourage unpopular opinions to sink to obscurity.
Once an opinion has reached a certain level of popularity, comments relating to the opinion should be allowed, with the same limiting criteria as opinions and an identical manner of voting, which would indicate the popularity or unpopularity of comments. In this manner, a policy or amendment would be created.
The most popular policies or amendments should be harvested by the ministers or secretaries overseeing the forums, who would present them in the central forum for the approval or disapproval of the country’s citizens, which would be determined through the same manner of voting.
In essence; the purpose of the CWO would be to create a country’s society through the interaction of a country’s people, and a global civilisation through international debate.′
The book went on to explain how governments would be unable to defend their dominance, because the police and armed forces would be able to voice their opinions too, as any citizen may theirs. The concept had excited them so much that they had developed a basic model of the CWO on their home pc. They had both left school at sixteen, so they could dedicate themselves fully to their mission, and now, in 2033, Dylan and Shug are ready to launch fully functional CWO websites all over the world.
Chapter Five of Revolution 2033
Once back at the White House, President Ronald Pump throws the minutes of his meeting with the DOD onto the bed, which flops open to random pages, and begins to undress. He tosses his soiled pants into the wastepaper basket, and bends down to pull off his socks.
Buster waddles across the room, clambers onto a leather upholstered chair, and begins to lap at President Ronald Pump’s poopy posterior with his wet, floppy tongue.
“BUSTER! .... REALLY .... NO! .... not again!” – Ronald commands, half-heartedly, while observing, with a sense of uncomfortable wonder, his expanding manhood.
At this unfortunate moment, Ronald’s wife enters the room and says – “hello darling, I decided to cut my vacation short so I could be with yooooo-hoo-HOO! …. WHAT?! .... B-u-r-r-r-r-o-N! .... BUSTER! .... RONALD!!”
Ronald spins on a heel, slaps Buster’s snout with a sock and shrieks – “DARLING!”
Helen Pump strides across the room towards her naked husband and grasps his semi, while guiding Ronald’s hand under her skirt. “Take me, darling, it’s been soooo long” – she whispers hoarsely into Ronald’s ear.
“Umm .... I can’t, darling, I just have, um, recently, you see …. masturbated, I mean, and I’m not as young as I used to be, and I .... should shower, because um .... a sort of problem with duck pâté or eggs.”
Helen’s mood enjoys a dramatic transformation. “WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!” – she screeches, and then in a barely audible hiss – “you become aroused while Buster licks your bottom, but you don’t want to make love with your wife? What kind of man are you?!”
Ronald slaps his hand over his forehead – “NO! Buster was licking my bottom because I was taking my socks off .... I did a .... um .... an accidental .... or foie gras, possibly…. and then .... I …. well .... never mind” – he moans with incredulity – “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Chapter Six of Revolution 2033
As a statement of irony, Shug and Dylan have linked the launch of the CWO websites to a red button, identical in appearance to those which would be used to launch nuclear weapons. Dylan’s hand rests upon Shug’s, which hovers a few centimetres above the glowing red circle of hope for the world.
“Ready?” – Dylan asks.
“Ummm .... I’m not sure. Maybe we should go through everything one last time, because once it’s out there ....”
“I know” – Dylan sighs – “it’s out of our hands and into the hands of the people. But we’ve checked it a thousand times, Shug, you know it’s flawless.”
“Still” – Shug says – “better safe than sorry. Let’s make sure all the forums are active.”
So, they begin to check the forums, starting with the CWO sites in each country, and concluding with the global version of the CWO.
“Okay” – Shug says – “now the central discussion forums, but first read the chapter from The Last Revolution describing them, for old time’s sake.”
“Chapter four. Although most of a country’s policies and amendments would be created within the forums representing the various elements of society, there would be some topics that relate to society as a whole, which would be addressed within the CWO’s central forums. Equally; there will be concerns that affect the whole of humankind, which should be addressed within the central forum of the global version of the CWO – once true democracy has become a global phenomenon.
For example; the world’s heavily imbalanced division of wealth concerns a great many people now, as it may in the future, and not only those who work within the field of finance and economics. An opinion regarding this topic may read;
’20% of the world’s population own 94.5% of the world’s wealth. This leaves the remaining 80% with only 5.5% to share between themselves.
To help redress this imbalance, a progressive taxation system should be introduced. Also, the debts of all countries should be annulled, which would allow the world a clean economic slate.’
Incidentally, this opinion amounts to 53 words.
Since there would be issues regarding the development of societies and global civilisation that are moralistic, such as the example above, the central forums should be overseen by representatives of religions, who should assist in guiding societal growth and global civilisation’s advance in a moral sense. To represent atheist and agnostic in this quest, philosophers should form an element of the central forum’s hosts.
To ensure peaceful debate, religious leaders and philosophers should strive to respect one another’s opinions, and those of the people they represent. Religious leaders should encourage peaceful equilibrium between faiths, rather than attempting to convert the masses to religion and those of other faiths to their own, and philosophers should offer guidelines determined by common human morality, rather than questioning the existence of God.
If the governments of our past would have had a board of individuals representing religious and common morality, it seems reasonable to assume their opinions would have prevented the enslavement of the African people, for example, and their continent from being divided as though a cake among villains. Neither would it have been considered morally agreeable to treat peoples such as the Native American Indians, Asian Indians or Australian Aboriginals in the despicable manner they were. Hitler may not have risen to power, should Germany have had a board of such individuals.
It seems fair to assume the world would be entirely different, if the advancement of global civilisation would have been morally sound. Maybe there would be no racism, if it had been so. On the contrary, even. In fact; it may be almost impossible to comprehend the differences between such a world and the world we live in.
Yet; it was not so. Our world has been constructed on a foundation of immorality, which has led to the unstable, divided global civilisation we currently inhabit.
However; an opportunity has presented itself, which would enable humankind to unite and create the fair, peaceful, benevolent world that would have been, should the construction of global civilisation have been overseen by the morality of the human race, rather than the questionable intent of a minority, whose actions passed unchallenged.”
Chapter Seven of Revolution 2033
Helen flops onto the presidential bed, as Ronald heads through to the presidential bathroom to shower. She hasn’t made love with her husband for almost a year, and her sexual frustration is reaching a climax. Helen closes her eyes and drifts back to memories of her teenage years, when she was still a virgin, but had spent many hours of every day pleasuring her boyfriend, and he, her.
Her boyfriend had left her with lasting memories of her first orgasms, whereas Ronald’s efforts to bring her to a climax orally had left her feeling as though her pussy were an unpleasantly flavoured lollipop, with pubes stuck on it, which Ronald would attempt to noisily dislodge from his throat during the event, and the few times she had reached a climax during intercourse it was announced moments beforehand by a fanfare of farting, rendering the experiences best forgotten.
‘Why did it always occur then, at that precise moment?’ – Helen wonders, while briefly opening her eyes to cast a puzzled glance at the ceiling and blow a series of loud raspberries. Helen wishes she hadn’t married Ronald, and if his father hadn’t been the President of the United States at the time, she wouldn’t have even considered it.
Helen tries to empty her mind of such thoughts, and replace them with memories of her first sexual encounters. Feeling increasingly aroused, Helen slips off her panties and begins to masturbate.
The President, freshly showered, opens the bathroom door and says – “hello darling, did you say something?”
He is met by a scene which leads him to become instantaneously aroused. He leaps onto Helen, who arches her back and groans in a manner which suggests she will divorce him if there is one farting sound.
Buster, who has recently acquired a taste for human poo, and seeing a double opportunity to obtain more, kicks and wriggles his way up onto the bed and begins to lap at the animated undercarriage of his master and mistress.
“Aaaaaah …. ooooo .... m’lem m’lem m’lem .... BUSTER .... NO! .... Darling! .... Please make Buster stop!” – Helen manages.
“I can’t!” – Ronald lies.
The butler, seemingly cursed by the ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, enters the room as the lovers near orgasm, before quietly backing out and clicking the door closed.
“Prrrrrriiiip! .... aaaaah .... ha ha ha! .... BUSTER! .... m-lem, m-lem .... phruup .... p-i-i-i-p! .... ooh .... aah …. ho ho ho!”
Buster, the coital farting, their giggling, and his wife’s pleas to make Buster stop are putting the President off so much that he begins to read the DOD’s minutes, still lying spread out on the bed, in an effort to distract his attention from the phenomena.
‘The only option may be to direct a top-secret strike against Russia.’ – he reads.
Ronald’s eyes widen with disbelief, and he springs off his wife at the precise moment of his orgasm.
“PAAARP! .... WHAT?! .... squirt .... W-h-o-o-o-o-a-A! .... NO WAY!”
A squirt of semen lands on the document. He ignores Helen’s shout of exasperation, grasps the minutes and reads them with his mouth drooping increasingly wide open, before throwing the document back on the bed and hurrying through to the bathroom for his third shower of the day.
“WHOOAARRGGGHHH! .... MEN!” – Helen shouts, furiously, as she vigorously attempts to bring herself to a climax with her hand.
As her will to succeed diminishes, the DOD’s minutes grasp her attention. She takes the document and grimaces at the semen soaking into the paper. “Not the kind of thing the President of the United States should have in his possession. He’ll just have to get another copy. I’ll burn this when I get to my parents” – Helen reasons, as she folds the document lengthways down its middle and stuffs it into her handbag.
When the President returns from the washroom, his wife has gone.
Chapter Eight of Revolution 2033
“Okay. Everything’s in place in the central forums, including the sub forums where church elders and philosophers will be able to consider the moral implications of proposed policies and amendments” – Shug says.
“And all the forums relating to the various elements of society are active” – Dylan elaborates.
They sit within a contemplative silence, for a moment, before Shug shrieks;
“Imagine! This forum, where those involved in education offer their opinions, will be the new Department of Education! The combined intelligence and reasoning of teachers, professors and mature students will be of far greater value than that of a handful of politicians who don’t know jot about teaching, and barely remember being a student, in what would have anyway been an elite school. The world’s civilisation will take a quantum leap forward! Everything will make sense, at last!”
“I know!” – Dylan agrees enthusiastically – “the combined intelligence of humankind will outshine the fragmented stupidity of a bunch of bickering politicians! And when members of the armed forces are able to voice their opinions, instead of being used as though they are as thoughtless and unfeeling as the weaponry they operate, it will prevent wars! I can’t believe this is happening!”
“Me neither!” – Shug shouts, ceiling-wards, with his arms spread in adulation – “every form of governance will simply vanish, and a fusion of political philosophy will develop through planetary debate! It will bring an end to the threat of a Third World War, or any wars that arise as a result of the conflict between different political concepts!”
Shug and Dylan stare at each other, with mouths comically agape, before collapsing into helpless fits of laughter, because they have had the same conversation many times before, and have spoken as though it had been rehearsed.
Yet; this time it’s different. They stop laughing, understand exactly what each is thinking, lurch forward, and slam their hands upon the red button at precisely the same moment.
Chapter Nine of Revolution 2033
Although Helen Pump managed to bring herself to a climax, some hours after Ronald had left, the orgasm was almost unpleasant, since her fantasies were constantly invaded by a flatulent reality. So, she calls a friend and arranges to shop with her, to soothe her sense of frustration.
‘Well, this friend hardly deserves the title’ – Helen thinks, while she is being driven by a convoy of bodyguards to upmarket downtown. ’Every conversation revolves around money and her tiresome calculations. How much each bubble in their Jacuzzi costs to produce. How the price of a single drinking straw from a pack in Selfridge’s differs considerably from Walmart’s. How much it costs a year in razors to shave her legs, armpits, bikini-line and around her stupid nipples, and her endless deliberation; wondering whether she should go ‘au naturel’ and save the money instead. How much she saves a year by using a single sheet of toilet paper rather than two. How much this and how much that. WHOooo-ooaaarRGH! SHE IS SO BORING! Anyway; maybe that’s why I chose her to shop with. I really don’t want to talk about what happened today.’
Helen continues her inner dialogue until the limousine pulls up beside her friend, whom she greets, before stepping out into the street and entering a boutique. Helen admires the clothing, while her friend shuffles sideways beside her, frowning at the price tags and saying – “ooh! That’s expensive!” – over and over again.
Helen selects an elegant evening gown from a rack and says – “I’m going to try this on, darling” – before walking into a changing room and swinging the curtain closed.
A red carrier bag sits upon a chair in the changing room. ‘Oh! Someone forgot their shopping’ - Helen murmurs, as she takes the bag and peers inside. Helen’s unsuspecting psyche is slapped by nine inches of electronic latex cock. She gasps, raises a hand to cover her mouth, glances over her shoulder and reaches for the vibrator. She gingerly lifts the contraption to her nose, between thumb and forefinger, and sniffs it. Although her face has adopted an expression to prepare for the worst, the vibrator smells of latex; brand, spanking new latex. As she revolves it within her fingertips, she sees a pristine price tag stuck on the testicles, which suggests, along with the smell, that it has never been used.
Helen has never used a vibrator, and even though she had often thought of getting one, such a commodity is difficult to procure as the President’s wife. Helen pops the latch on her handbag and tries to stuff it inside, but the Chanel purse is crammed to overflowing. With her attention and sensibility grasped by the vibrator, Helen takes the DOD’s minutes from her bag and tosses it into a wastepaper basket sitting in a corner of the changing room. She jams the vibrator into her bag, snaps the latch closed, gathers the evening dress into her arms, and passes through the curtain feeling as though she has just robbed a bank.
Chapter Ten of Revolution 2033
President Ronald Pump glowers at Buster. “Have you eaten it; have you?” Ronald knows enough about a dog’s body language to assume Buster’s slumped position and innocent, level stare suggests he hasn’t, so he resumes his search for the DOD’s minutes.
He lifts the mattress, but only finds his book, and he looks under the bed too, where some dust dogs play lazily in a breeze created by the air conditioning, but finds it isn’t there either. Ronald racks his brains to consider increasingly bizarre possibilities, until he gives up and sits on the bed.
“Well. There’s no way Helen would have taken it. She never touches anything to do with my work, unless she’s become a Russian spy .... ha ha!” – Ronald laughs, nervously, as he begins to consider the possibility that the minutes may have been stolen by one. Ronald doesn’t want to call Helen because his phone lines are tapped – incredibly, he had always thought, by his own government – and he doesn’t want his colleagues to learn of his incompetence either, so he decides to wait until she returns before he asks whether she has any idea where the minutes might be.
As Ronald struggles to unearth further possibilities from his troubled mind, it suddenly dawns on him that the only other person who enters his room during the day is the butler. Ronald considers himself an impeccable judge of character, and senses there is something decidedly odd about the butler – something he doesn’t like; mistrusts, even. In fact; having pondered over every possibility, regarding the missing minutes, he concludes the butler must have taken them, and wonders what he should do in order to retrieve the document and have the butler unmasked as a spy.
Ronald reaches the conclusion that he should come clean with the DOD, and say the minutes have been stolen by the butler. He reaches for the handset of his presidential telephone, and requests the operator connect him to the Secretary of Defence.
“Stolen, yes, that’s correct. Yes, of course I put the minutes in the safe – he must have cracked the combination. Yes; the butler. You should get here as soon as possible with a swat team, and recover the document as soon as possible. Yes, of course I will stay in my room for safety’s sake. Thank you. Goodbye.”
President Ronald Pump replaces the handset upon the cradle, heaves a sigh of relief, and stretches out on the bed with his hands tucked behind his head. He calmly observes the ornate ceiling as a melange of noise thunders in his ears – helicopters landing upon the helipad, the sound of boots thudding along carpeted corridors, gruff commands and shouts that seem only primal. Ronald is happy the drama will soon be over. He slips a hand inside his trousers and plays with himself, while imagining the absolute, ultimate thrill of orchestrating the Third World War.
Meanwhile; Helen Pump instructs her driver to take her to her parent’s house, where she plans to spend the evening in her room, playing with her new toy. It will take hours to get there, but she imagines the wait will be worth it.
Chapter Eleven of Revolution 2033
Beatrice’s Boutique, where Helen Pump found the vibrator, has closed for the day, and Henry, the owner’s son, is busy cleaning it to earn some pocket money. He is forty-two years old, and smokes weed from the moment he wakes until he retires to bed, so the extra money comes in handy.
“FUCK YOU! I WON’T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME!” – roars in his headphones, as he directs a vacuum cleaner from one changing cubicle to the next; pausing only to empty the wastepaper baskets and fit them with clean bags. When he lifts the basket in the changing room Helen Pump had occupied, he notices it seems unusually heavy, so he peers inside, to see if the weight might be the result of something interesting contained within.
“A MAGAZINE! .... C-O-O-O-L!” – Henry shouts above Rage Against the Machine, before stamping on the vacuum’s on-off switch and twisting his head from side to side, while pulling and tugging at the headphones, to disentangle them from a forest of dreadlocks.
He plonks himself down upon the chair, and reads the title on the bound pages of watermarked DOD paper;
‘Minutes of Meeting between the Department of Defence and President Ronald Pump’.
Henry’s mouth drops open.
“FUCK! Is this for real?!” – Henry shrieks, before whispering – “ssshhh, this might be some real heavy shit!”
Henry knows exactly where to take it. He stuffs the document into his beltline, jogs across the shop’s floor towards the back door, yanks it open, and runs down a narrow alleyway, with a cool breeze fanning the sweat gathering on his troubled brow.
After a deeply paranoiac subway journey, and a sprint through an East Side city slum, he reaches a standstill in front of a door nestled among a seemingly endless row of old tenement buildings. Henry presses a button corresponding to his friend’s apartment, and waits for a connection.
“Yeah. Friend or foe?”
“FRIEND! Thomas! it’s me; Henry. Open the door, this is serious shit!”
Henry shoulders the door open, on the prompt of a click and buzz, and ignores the tirade of crackling speech from the intercom as he runs down the hallway and begins to stride up the stairs leading to Thomas’s apartment, two at a time.
A suspicious eye observes him through a long, narrow gap, created by the jamb and the door – secured slightly-open by a hefty length of chain – which drops and swings in short, pendulous strokes, when the door creaks open to reveal Henry’s grinning friend.
“Man! Am I .... huh .... happy to see you!” – Henry manages, with his hands upon his knees and his face turned up towards Thomas.
“Happy to see you too, dude! Come in, come in! Hey! Have you heard the news? Websites have popped up all over the fucking world, man, so the people can work together to construct global civilisation through true democracy!”
Chapter Twelve of Revolution 2033
The swat team pounce on the butler, pin him to the ground, twist an arm behind his back, and scream pretty much the same thing at him all at once, but in dissonance with one another, so all the butler hears is an unintelligible, deafening babble of noise.
“What?!” – the butler manages to gasp, before a knee is added to the space between his shoulder blades to increase his discomfort. The swat team repeat their cacophony of uninterpretable demands, as the pressure from the knee increases. The swat team’s captain strolls towards the scene and drops to one knee beside the butler.
“Are you deaf?” – he asks.
“Almost; now” – the butler wheezes, which is followed by a further twisting of his arm and increased knee pressure, resulting in a wince of pain and a series of popping sounds from his upper body.
“We believe you have something of great sensitivity belonging to the President” – the captain hisses.
“I don’t know what you’re talking abow .... ow .... ow .... ow .... aaah .... HAAA!” – a loud crack emanates from the butler’s rib cage and a tearing sound from his shoulder, before the butler whispers – “yes .... y-e-e-e-s .... alright. It’s between the bed’s mattress and base in my room.”
“You’re a Russian spy, aren’t you?” – the captain continues.
“What?.... NO! .... A-a-i-i-i-i-i-e-E! .... Y-e-e-e-e-s-S-S! .... YES! .... OW! .... Oooow .... ow!”
The butler wheezes a final sigh and dies.
“Shit!” – the captain grumbles, before gathering the blank expressions of the swat team within his gaze and nodding in the direction of the butler’s quarters. The team jog off in a marching step, as President Ronald Pump peers tentatively around the door jamb of his presidential suite.
“Um …. everything okay?” – he enquires.
The swat team captain springs to his feet, salutes, and says – “yes, Mister President, Sir. The document will be retrieved shortly. All is in order. The butler was a Russian spy, as you correctly judged him to be. Well done, Mister President Sir, if you don’t mind me saying?”
Ronald observes the crumpled form of the butler lying on the hallway.
“Um .... No! Not at all, not at all. Say away. Erm .... is he okay?” – Ronald asks.
“No, Mister President, Sir. I’m afraid he’s rather .... well …. quite dead at the moment. It took some time to relieve him of the information we required, and he gave way under duress.”
“Oh. How unfortunate” – Ronald replies, while rubbing his chin, as if doing so generates an expression of regret.
“Well, at least everything’s in order. Thank you, captain. Good work, good work! Goodnight!”. The President awkwardly returns the captain’s smart salute, before they turn in opposite directions to do entirely different things.
The swat team captain marches along the hallway and up a flight of stairs leading to the butler’s living quarters, while Ronald presses his knees together and waddles hurriedly through to the presidential bathroom, where he drops his trousers and releases a torrent of diarrhoea.
The captain is met by his team, who stand in a circle encompassing the team’s sergeant, who holds a memory stick between thumb and forefinger as though it were a dead mouse.
The captain frowns – “I thought we were searching for a paper document?”
“Yes, sir. That’s what we were instructed to look for” – the sergeant replies – “but I suppose the butler destroyed the document and copied it onto this, so it would be easier to smuggle out of the building.”
“Yes, you’re probably right, sergeant, but keep looking for the original paper document, or evidence of its destruction, while I take this to the President.”
Chapter Thirteen of Revolution 2033
CWO websites are active all over the world, but it seems no one really knows what to make of them, so they sit for the greatest part undisturbed on the World Wide Web.
“What is it, exactly?” – Henry asks Thomas, as he browses through the forums of America’s version of the CWO.
Thomas smokes a joint and frowns heavily, while skimming through the minutes of the DOD’s meeting with the President. “I’m not entirely sure – some kind of plan to bring the world together in true democracy, to create paradise on Earth, and this seems to be its paradox. Do you realise what you’ve found here? If this is real, you have stumbled upon a top-secret plan to start a Third World War!”
“No fucking way! Let me see!”
Thomas and Henry sit together until morning breaks, smoking joints and carefully reading through the minutes. They finish reading at exactly the same time, look at each other and shout – “FUCK!” – simultaneously, before springing to their feet, as if the sofa had burst into flames.
“Where are we going?” – Henry asks, as they pull on their shoes. “To The New York Times’ office, to see my dad” – Thomas replies.
On their way, Thomas calls his father and arranges a meeting. “No, dad, not in a café. It has to be in your office. No, I’m not wearing a suit because I never do, and Henry’s with me too, and he isn’t either. What do you mean ‘do I smell?’ No more than usual. Does Henry smell? I don’t know, dad. I don’t go around sniffing my friends. No, dad, stop asking so many questions. This is big, big news. I can’t say any more. Just trust me, okay?”
Once they have reached Eighth Avenue, and seated in Thomas’s father’s office, Thomas throws the DOD’s minutes onto his father’s desk. His father picks up the document and turns it over in his hands.
“Looks like a genuine Department of Defence document” – he says. “The official stamps look the part, and the watermarked paper is almost impossible to forge. Where did you get this?”
“That doesn’t matter; what matters is this” – Thomas replies, as he takes the document from his father and flicks through the pages until he finds the minute’s most controversial print. Thomas’s father lets out an involuntary gasp of disbelief as he reads – ‘the only option may be to direct a top-secret strike against Russia.’
“I’m going to contact a friend I trust who works in a laboratory and have him check this out, to see if he can prove its authenticity. In the meantime, don’t say anything about this to anyone. I’ll make an anonymous call to the Department of Defence, to see if their reaction reveals the truth of the matter!”
Chapter Fourteen of Revolution 2033
President Ronald Pump is on his way to a meeting with the DOD, in his presidential limousine. He is extremely excited, and hums Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s version of ‘War’ throughout the entire journey.
‘WAR! .... scooby-dooby-doo-be-doo .... what is it good for? Have a fruity muffin! Play it again!’ – he sings the lyrics in his head, as he remembers them, to accompany his humming.
Once inside the DOD’s building, he is met by a graven faced Secretary of Defence, who grasps the President’s elbow and guides him to his office, where he closes the door and asks the President to sit down.
“What is it” – Ronald asks, as his mood sinks – “is there something wrong?”
“I’m afraid there is, Mister President, Sir. It seems the minutes from our last meeting have been leaked to an anonymous journalist, who claims to have them in his possession.”
Ronald jumps to his feet. “But that’s impossible! The swat team’s captain gave me the document today!”
“Yes. Well. It seems the paper document wasn’t recovered, or evidence of its destruction. All we could think of doing at the time was to tell the journalist that the document is fake.”
“Well. That should work, shouldn’t it? I mean, there’s no way anyone could prove the paper version is genuine, could they? And couldn’t we just demand the document be returned to us?”
“No. I don’t suppose anyone could prove its authenticity without a doubt, although it’s nearly impossible to forge DOD documents. We can’t demand its return because we don’t know which press office has it. The call we received was traced to a phone booth, so it could have been anyone. This is a very tricky situation, Mister President. Anyway, let’s go through to the conference room and discuss our last meeting. We can use the document on the memory stick for reference. You brought it with you, didn’t you?”
“Yes, yes. Of course.”
The conference room is packed with members of the DOD. A giant screen hangs in the room, where the document will be projected. Ronald takes the memory stick from his pocket, inserts it into the USB port of a computer sitting on a table, and sits next to the Secretary of Defence, who is nestled amongst a gathering of DOD aides.
The screen in the conference room lights up to reveal a continuous loop of film – of the President in his bathroom, apparently arousing himself while Buster licks his bottom, and his flatulent intercourse with his wife, with Buster licking them both. The eyebrows of those in the room rise to identical heights, as if they had been taught an expression of astonishment in military academy.
“Body cam” – the Secretary of Defence mutters, as the President of the United States lets off a long, wet fart he knows everyone has heard, and has passed through the cloth of his trousers.
Chapter Fifteen of Revolution 2033
Pasi, Thomas’s father, sits in his office with his elbows on his desk and face resting in his hands, while massaging his temples with his fingertips, in an effort to dispel a throbbing headache. “What’s the world coming to?” – he mutters. He finds himself hoping that the DOD’s minutes are fake, as the DOD insisted they are.
“If they are fake, the world may manage to maintain its precarious balance, for the time being, at least” – Pasi reasons, as he turns his attention to the in-tray on his desk, to see if there’s something relatively trivial he could write about, to take his mind off the source of his cranial discomfort.
As he reads through a report detailing an eruption of websites, encouraging the planet’s populous to form a global democracy, he finds himself quite enthralled by the idea. ‘After all’ – Pasi thinks – ‘what kind of morons have been running the country? And all others, come to think of it, for thousands of years. Surely, if everyone got together and used their wit, reason and intelligence to create the planet’s civilisation, the result would be a fair, peaceful world, rather than a corrupt hell hole on the brink of a nuclear war.’
However; as he reads further into the brief, he sees it has been labelled a breach of America’s security, and press offices have been advised to write articles that suggest the CWO sites have been constructed by a terrorist organisation, in an attempt to undermine the world’s governments.
Pasi’s heart sinks.
“What am I thinking anyway? It would never work, even if it is a genuine attempt to construct a New World Order.”
Pasi’s thoughts are disturbed when his friend from the laboratory strides into the office and tosses a plastic snap-bag onto his desk, containing the DOD’s minutes, and begins to disclose the results of the lab tests in a hoarse, urgent whisper.
“Yeah, Pasi, the document seems genuine, but there are no tests that could determine its authenticity for sure. But one thing that seems to prove it is are the results obtained from a substance found on some of the pages.”
“What substance?” – Pasi asks.
“Sperm. And what’s more; we ran the results through a DNA database. You’ll never guess whose it is.”
“No? So tell me”
“The President of the United States’.”
Pasi recoils in horror – “um .... what .... the …. fuck?!”
Pasi’s friend stands for a moment, with his head bowed in thought, before muttering – “Don’t worry, Pasi, my lips are sealed” – and leaving the office.
Pasi places the minutes back into the snap bag and gingerly grasps its corner, as though it were full of dog do, before dropping it into a drawer and turning his attention to the report regarding the CWO websites.
‘Or maybe it is time for humankind to unite and change the world’ – Pasi thinks – ‘before it’s too late, and we are all destroyed by a handful of incompetent, perverted morons.’
Chapter Sixteen of Revolution 2033
“It’s not safe to go out today” – Shug remarks.
“I know; so you keep saying. Not only has the power of the cat’s anal laser increased tenfold, because the weather has been cooler of late, you say it has been manipulated by the dark side and has become evil” – Dylan replies.
“Yes; Evil. And its power is spreading to other creatures. Vermin like mice and rats have lasers firing from their bottoms now, and although they’re smaller creatures, the lasers are more powerful, because their tiny arseholes condense the beams. Their anal lasers are slowly cutting through sewage, electricity and water lines in the city, which will soon result in absolute chaos” – Shug continues, with rapidly increasing angst – “and if this scenario doesn’t end, it may escalate to a point where laser creatures destroy the entire planet!” – Shug shrieks.
Dylan heaves a sorrowful sigh. Although he had been wishing this particular delusion would end, it has all the hallmarks of another obsession. The last time it happened, Shug believed a secret police force, deployed by government, were rampaging through the city giving every activist a wedgie so violent that it affected their gait, which prevented them from taking part in protest marches.
“Well, is there anything that can be done to stop it happening?” – Dylan asks, hopefully.
Shug’s face lights up. “Of course! Every problem has a solution! All we have to do is capture Laser Cat and fit it with foil pants. The pants will reflect the laser back to whatever part of the cat’s anatomy is generating the laser beam and bugger it up, which would render all laser creatures harmless, since they are all interconnected and the ginger fucker is the source of power.”
“Okay” – Dylan replies, with as much enthusiasm as he can muster – “I’ll capture Laser Cat and fit it with foil pants. Which one is it?”
Shug grasps the shoulder of Dylan’s shirt and guides him towards the kitchen window, from where he points to the street below and says – “that one there. The ginger tabby with a laser beam firing out of its arsehole. But be careful, the laser’s powerful.”
Dylan rummages through kitchen drawers until he has a roll of tinfoil and Gaffer tape, and exits the building wearing welder’s goggles for protection, on Shug’s insistence, while Shug dons a pair of sunglasses and returns to the window, from where he hopes to observe Laser Cat being rendered powerless.
Screeching, shouts of pain, and a flurry of flashing foil and ginger fur attract a crowd of bewildered onlookers, who watch the commotion until Laser Cat has shot off, unharmed, yet wearing foil pants, which sparkle and glint in the afternoon sunlight, and Dylan has vanished back inside the tenement block.
Dylan bursts through the door of the apartment and collapses into an armchair, where he sits staring vacantly at the ceiling, while spots of blood drip from his lacerated forearms onto the linoleum floor.
“Excellent! Well done Dylan!” – Shug sighs, with his hands clasped to his chest, before jumping and jumping and gyrating from room to room, while singing songs of revolution in a high pitched, cracked falsetto.
Dylan shuffles forward to the edge of the armchair, and begins to flick from one CWO site to the next on their pc, to see if a global democracy has started to form yet. He is disappointed to see the response is slow, to say the least, and suddenly overwhelmed by a deep sense of depression. He slumps back into the armchair, covers his face with his hands, and thinks;
‘What if we’ve just been wasting our time all these years? What if Shug and I are simply delusional, and the author of The Last Revolution the same? Maybe it was nothing more than the ranting of a lunatic, and we were too young and naïve to realise the notion of a global democracy was nothing more than wishful thinking? Or perhaps the notion is sound, but the apathy of the masses will prevent an intellectual uprising. Maybe humankind are conditioned to be governed, and most will only gaze out of the door that has been opened for them; too afraid to venture outside, because they are used to their confinement. Maybe the comfort of familiarity, and the fear of change, will render all our efforts in vain?’
Chapter Seventeen of Revolution 2033
President Ronald Pump sits on the bed in his presidential suite, after his embarrassing meeting with the DOD, and lifts the handset from the presidential telephone. He’s determined to find out what has happened to the DOD’s minutes, and since the butler hadn’t taken them, it only leaves one other possibility; that his wife had, which means she’s a spy, or an anarchist who’s trying to bring down government from within.
He dials her cell phone number, knowing full well the call will be intercepted, and waits for the connection.
“Ah, hello darling. I was just wondering; you didn’t happen to take anything from the room before you left …. something belonging to me, perhaps?”
Helen Pump slaps her hand over the mouthpiece and mutters – “fuck!” – before removing it and saying – “oh, do you mean the minutes from your meeting with the Department of Defence? Are they important? Can’t you get another copy? It’s just that they were a little .... um .... soiled. I was going to burn them when I get to my parent’s house, darling.”
Ronald Pump slaps his hand over the mouthpiece and mutters – “fuck!” – before removing it and saying – “um, no, darling. I’m afraid it was the only copy. Erm, where is it, exactly?”
Helen Pump slaps her hand over the mouthpiece and mutters – “fuck!” – before removing it and saying – “well, it’s in my handbag, darling. If it’s the only copy, I’ll give it to you when I get back tomorrow.”
Ronald Pump slams the receiver down in its cradle, while Helen Pump frowns at her phone, wondering why they have been cut off. Helen punches out the number of her friend, who she had been shopping with that day, with the intention of asking her to drop by Beatrice’s Boutique and recover the missing minutes.
“Hell-o-o-o, Jennifer, how are you? What? Goodness! Yes, that is a little steep for an anal bleach. Listen, darling, the reason I’m calling …. what? Oh! Seventeen dollars and forty-nine cents? Well, yes; callously expensive for a replacement toenail ....”
Suddenly, a car that had been travelling behind Helen’s limousine speeds up, overtakes, and swerves in front; forcing the limousine to a screeching halt. A group of Helen Pump’s bodyguards spring from the car and jump, hop, sprint, piroette and leap towards the limousine, before wrenching open the passenger door and dragging Helen out and onto the roadside.
“Oh My God! What on Earth is going on?” – Helen wails.
“Your handbag, if you please, Mrs President” – a bodyguard demands, as he snatches her purse from her grasp and pops the latch.
“Now, wait a minute! You have no right to .... to .... boo …. hoooo!”
When the bodyguard reaches inside the bag and removes nine inches of latex cock, his expression of total astonishment is quite apparent, even though a good deal of his face is hidden by giant, mirrored sunglasses.
Once Ronald Pump has been informed of the consequence of his wife’s interception, he sits on the bed in his presidential suite, overwhelmed by confusion and his mouth hanging open in disbelief. He is jolted back to a sense of reality when a globule of spit falls from his mouth and lands on the back of his hand with an almost inaudible ‘plip’.
Chapter Eighteen of Revolution 2033
Pasi reclines in his office chair, and allows his mind to transport him back to his homeland of Finland, to dream of swimming in lakes as warm as bathwater and as still as mirrors, and sit in saunas that cleanse body and soul. Birch trees shimmer in breezes pleasant, and the beautiful smiles of the nation’s women send his spirit sailing for heaven’s gate.
Pasi sighs and opens his eyes. He misses Finland, and the Finns. He plans to return to Finland when he retires, but that’s fifteen years away, and sometimes the homesickness becomes almost unbearable. Pasi thinks there is something paradisiacal about Finland, and something else that prevents it from being a paradise on Earth. He believes the influence of the rest of the world has tainted Finland’s purity, and wonders what Finland would be like if the Finns had remained oblivious to its existence.
Pasi slips from his musings and reaches towards the pc in his office, to see if there is a Finnish version of the CWO. There is, but it doesn’t seem to have created a great deal of interest. There’s a discussion taking place in the central forum, between a church leader and a philosopher, and it seems a policy is in the midst of being created in one of the smaller forums too. Yet; Pasi thinks it would only take a nudge to start the ball rolling, and for Finland to become one of the first countries in the world with a true, interactive democracy.
Although his freedom as a journalist has been withdrawn in America, Pasi wonders whether the restriction applies in Finland, and if it didn’t, it meant he would be able to write an article for the Helsinki Times, for which he had once worked. He also wonders whether he would be able to further encourage interest in the CWO by releasing the minutes from the President’s meeting with the DOD, without it backfiring and starting a Third World War, or being caught doing it and imprisoned for treason.
After spending some time in deep contemplation, Pasi thinks a combination of a newspaper article, and release of the minutes, may be enough to evoke a global revolution. But he feels a sense of confusion, because his loyalties are torn. He has a degree of patriotism for his adoptive mother land, and allegiance towards its government, so he doesn’t rest comfortable with the thought of being devious, but he also has a sense of duty towards the people of America, and feels he should reveal the truth concerning the CWO and the DOD’s minutes. Remaining neutral as a journalist had always been a challenge, but never so pronounced as now. And he is a human being too, who dreams of a peaceful, fair world, as so many do, and wouldn’t wish the opportunity to create such a world to pass unnoticed, no matter how fantastic the notion may seem.
Pasi reaches into the drawer containing the minutes, snaps the bag open and empties its contents onto his desk. He takes the document by its spine and watches the pages open – as if with a will of their own – to the stained pages within. Pasi’s eyes drift towards the sperm stained text;
‘The only option may be to direct a top-secret strike against Russia.’
He takes a pen and shorthand notebook, and begins to write an article for the Helsinki Times.
By evening, the article is finished, and because of the time difference between America and Finland, it reaches The Helsinki Times’ offices in Finland’s morning. Although Finland’s government has issued the same press restriction, together with all other governments of the world, a loophole has been left unattended in Finland, which allows press offices from other countries to submit their work, so The Helsinki Times agrees to print Pasi’s article in the next day’s edition of the newspaper.
Chapter Nineteen of Revolution 2033
The swat team swarm through Beatrice’s Boutique and to the changing rooms, from where they roughly extract two screaming, semi-clad, middle-aged ladies, before ripping the changing room’s curtains from the rails, throwing wastepaper baskets out into the hallway, and smashing the changing cubicles to splinters with hefty kicks from their heavy boots.
A wide-eyed sales assistant, with her hands clasped tightly beneath her chin, inches towards the team, while saying, with practised efficiency – “hello! May I help you, or are you just browsing?”
“WASTEPAPER BASKETS!” – the swat team scream in untimed unison.
“Um. No. I’m afraid not” – the sales assistant replies, while casting a terrified glance from one soldier to the next – “but there’s a Walmart two blocks away. I’m sure you’ll find they sell them there.”
The swat team captain thrusts his face to within an inch of the sales assistant’s and hisses – “we want your wastepaper baskets. Where are they?”
“Well, they are there, on the floor, where you have thrown them, but we don’t sell wastepaper baskets. Um .... but you can have those if you like. If you need them in a hurry.”
The swat team spend a day raking through trash containers in the narrow streets behind Beatrice’s Boutique, until it dawns on them that the minutes may have been taken from the bins by one of the cleaning staff, of which there is only one.
Chapter Twenty of Revolution 2033
The Helsingin Sanomat – The Helsinki Times – is held within the hands or viewed on the Internet by a considerable percentage of the country’s population, as they sip their morning coffee, because it’s Finland’s only broadsheet newspaper.
Pasi’s article sits on the front page, and has been written with an almost childlike enthusiasm, yet balanced by intelligent reasoning. By lunchtime, the forums within Finland’s version of the CWO – the CWO.fi – are swarming with life. The central discussion forum has attracted a number of church elders from various religions, and a group of philosophers have gathered to represent atheist and agnostic. An extract from The Last Revolution is posted in the central forum, which acts as a reminder of one of the forum’s reason for being, it reads;
’There is also the question ‘does humankind have morality without religion’. Perhaps it could be argued that humankind would not have been receptive to religion, if we did not, or have searched throughout the ages for a meaning to existence that runs deeper than the mere physicality of survival.
Perhaps common human morality led humankind to search for its source; for God. Maybe, if we would have been free to roam the planet as we pleased, from the earliest days of our migration until the present, unhindered by borders, the concept of God would have become a topic for universal debate, and one philosophy would have formed to encompass belief, rather than endless religions, since it would have surely seemed common sense to assume there is only The One God, or Gods, watching over us all.
Maybe, in time, this theory will emerge within the global version of the CWO, when there are representatives of the world’s religions overseeing the development of global civilisation in a moralistic sense. Perhaps they will agree that the various religions are the result of considering the phenomenon of God on a planet divided by borders, culture and language, and that Jesus and Muhammad are prophets representing the same God; that Allah and Yahweh are one and the same.
Discussions between religious leaders, and words of wisdom from those who follow a faith, and those who do not, would surely prevent wars created by religious conflict;
‘There is only one religion, though there are a hundred versions of it’
George Bernard Shaw
‘Like a bee gathering honey from different flowers, the wise accept the essence of different scriptures, and see only the good in all religions.’
The Srimad Bhagavatan
Perhaps religious leaders will arrive at the conclusion that God wishes humankind to live in peace and harmony, with love and respect for one another, all life, and the planet itself, regardless of faith. To exude qualities such as kindness, caring, and a wish for fairness and equality in the world. To be compassionate towards those suffering hardships, and to treat another as one wishes to be treated. And maybe those who do not believe in God will wholeheartedly agree with them, because they will reach the same conclusion through human reasoning guided by common morality.
However; whether this is God’s wish, the wish of those who believe in God, or simply a wish the vast majority holds dear, regardless of their beliefs, it seems we are unable to fulfil this wish within the world we currently inhabit.′
Discussions continue to gather momentum within the forums, and by late evening a model of Finnish society is beginning to develop through the interaction of Finland’s adult population, from healthcare to education, and care of the elderly to relations with Russia.
Finland’s government is becoming deeply concerned.
Chapter Twenty One of Revolution 2033
King Ronald Pump’s walk upon the heads of his subjects has left his silk stockings in tatters. It’s taking so long to reach his castle that their heads are covered with a forest of sharp bristles.
“Ow, ow, OW! .... GODDAMMIT! .... I HATE YOU!” – King Ronald shrieks, as his feet become unbearably raw. A hand appears among the sea of craniums with a middle finger raised, which is followed by another, and another, and another, until there are as many middle fingers as heads.
King Ronald is overwhelmed by a sense of panic and confusion. He knows he must reach the castle soon, and scans the horizon to recover his sense of direction, but the horizon is obscured by a dense mist and his castle is nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly, hands begin to clasp the trousers of his favourite, finest linen pyjamas – pulling them down enough to reveal a manhood shrunken from fear.
“No! Stoppit, stoppit .... STOP IT AT ONCE! .... I COMMAND YOU!” – King Ronald screams, as he struggles to prevent the pyjama bottoms from being drawn to his feet by the clasping hands.
As he bends over, as a consequence of attempting to halt their descent, he notices a poop stain within, at the very same moment he sees Buster descending gracefully from misty heavens in a wicker dog basket upheld by a bunch of multicoloured balloons.
When Buster begins to lick his bottom, King Ronald develops an erection he has no control over.
“O-h-h-h-h .... n-o-o-o-o!” – King Ronald wails.
The sea of faceless heads roar with laughter – “Ha ha ha ha! .... Pervert! .... Pervert! .... Perrrvert! .... Perrrrverrrrrt! .... prrrrrrrrrrrrr ........”
The low drone of President Ronald Pump’s new alarm clock permeates his consciousness, and stops instantly upon the wave of a hand. Ronald kicks unkindly at Buster, who has been lovingly licking the soles of his feet for the best part of an hour, before resting in the stillness of the room, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling and fiddling with his fading erection.
He had taken a day off, to recover from the day before, and rest in an effort to quell his lurching stomach, but the effort had proved to be in vain in all respects. Contemplating the whole scenario over and over had encouraged his sense of embarrassment to worsen considerably, together with his diarrhoea and flatulence, and the nightmare has served to increase his sense of distress too, leaving Ronald feeling quite wretched.
The presidential telephone’s shrill ringing disturbs Ronald Pump’s unpleasant peace. He twists towards it, fumbles for the receiver, drops it on the floor, shouts – “GODDAMMIT!” – and flops from the bed to rest on all fours. He stretches a hand under the bed and searches for the handset, while emitting a loud, long, wet outburst of early morning flatulence.
“Prrrr-i-i-i-i-tttttt .... wh-ii-i-i-i-i-iii-p .... pip - POOP! .... F-ff-h-uusssshh .... TOOT! .... thropp .... PARP!”
Finding it isn’t there, he follows the cable, which passes between his legs to Buster, who wags his tail while holding the receiver in his mouth, directly behind President Ronald Pump’s pumping posterior.
“OH! GODDAMMIT BUSTER!” – Ronald shrieks in disbelief, while swiping at Buster’s nose and grabbing the receiver from his mouth.
“Hello. Yes. This is Ronald Pump, President of the United States?”
Ronald frowns, while listening to strange, muffled rustling sounds until a voice answers;
“Yes .... good morning Mister President, Sir .... um ... ah .... ha-ha-ha! Your colleagues have requested your attendance at a meeting with them, and members of the Department of Defence, in the cabinet room at noon .... mmmphh!”
Click .... Prrrrrrrrrrr.
Ronald casts a puzzled glance into the receiver’s earpiece, before replacing it upon the phone and rising from the floor.
He showers, shaves, dresses, trots to the bathroom, frowns his way through another episode of torrential diarrhoea, undresses, showers his stinging bottom for several minutes, dresses, and exits the presidential suite precisely fourteen minutes late to be able to arrive on time for his meeting.
Ronald enjoys the privilege of being late. If he would have been fourteen minutes late twenty years ago, for prep school, he would have been held down by prefects and had a tube of toothpaste squeezed into his bottom.
Chapter Twenty Two of Revolution 2033
Pasi sits in his office and flicks through the pages of the DOD’s minutes over and over again, enjoying, in a curious manner, the paradox of the cooling breeze and horror of its contents. He is almost numb with shock after discovering the effect his article in the Helsinki Times has had, and wonders if he has just played a part in evoking a global revolution.
He knows the DOD’s minutes would give a considerable push to a ball that has already started to roll, but he is gripped by fear as much as excitement. Pasi checks, as he has every ten minutes or so, to see how Finland’s true democracy is developing, before scouring the press to see if anyone has written an article relating to Finland’s government’s concern.
Finding nothing, due to what he imagines are more press restrictions, he ambles into the corridor to pour coffee, before returning to his office, where he draws tiny pictures in the corners of the DOD’s minutes’ pages. He flicks through the minutes, and watches the animated cartoon he has created – of a matchstick man wearing a top hat, masturbating over the Earth, and the destruction of the planet when he ejaculates on it.
A chill runs down his spine. He has a feeling fate delivered the minutes to him, since most journalists working in America would have either handed them back to the DOD, or have been unable to create an article for a major newspaper in another country. He feels proud of his son, Thomas, and Henry, and knows they took an almighty risk when they brought the document to his office.
Feeling as though he would be letting Thomas and Henry down, fate, the human race, and quite possibly the planet itself, he takes the document and begins to scan its pages, with the intent of circulating it on the World Wide Web.
Chapter Twenty Three of Revolution 2033
The swat team smash through the door to Thomas’s apartment, sprint through it and surround Thomas and Henry, who are confronted by a group of shadowy, shouting figures, and a number of gun muzzles pointing in their direction.
“But! .... which one?”
Thomas and Henry’s sudden, vigorous, dissonant aerobic routine arrives at an abrupt standstill when the the swat team spring towards them and pin them to the floor with knees, boots, fists and elbows, while the captain surveys the scene with his hands on his hips, as if contemplating a burger menu.
“What? .... yow! .... OW! .... hey man! .... take it .... e-a-a-s-i-i-i-i!”
The captain takes a sudden, long stride forward, drops to one knee, leans towards Henry’s upturned ear and screams – “WHERE IS IT?!”
Henry’s eyes pop wide open and his ear rings like a bell, which prevents him from hearing anything else the captain says to him, because his other ear is pressed firmly to the ground. He sees the captain’s lips moving, and his expression becoming increasingly angry, but he can only guess why. He doesn’t know whether it’s the Drug Squad, about to search the apartment for a three ounce stash of Purple Haze, or a government force looking for the DOD’s minutes, so Henry says nothing. He observes the captain’s face flushing an increasingly deeper red, and throbbing veins appearing on his forehead, moments before sensing the captain has grabbed his nose and is twisting it upside down. Henry passes out when his nose dislocates.
The captain screams – “GODDAMMIT!” – grabs a nightstick from his waistline and jabs it with all his might into the crack of Thomas’s bottom, which encourages Thomas to emit a high-pitched shriek that makes the swat team laugh.
“IT ISN’T FUNNY!” – the captain roars.
The captain grips the nightstick with both hands and springs towards Thomas’s head, crouches and screams;
“WHERE .... IS .... IT?!!”
“OKAY MAN!” – Thomas yells, while his buttocks visibly clench the cloth of his trousers.
“It’s in the freezer compartment in the cooler! In a pistachio and almond .... or is it a cookie dough .... no .... wait .... a mint crisp .... white chocolate .... tutti frutti .... no .... forest fruits .... fudge .... no .....”
The swat team’s captain’s eyebrows arch and cup in confusion, as though he is being offered a choice of ice creams, before lurching towards the cooler, yanking the door open, reaching into the freezer compartment and removing an ice cream box containing three ounces of prime quality weed. He glowers at Thomas and leaps towards him, with his nightstick raised above his head, like a matador going in for the kill.
Chapter Twenty Four of Revolution 2033
President Ronald Pump strolls into the cabinet room at the White House, precisely fourteen minutes late for his meeting with his colleagues and those of the Secretary of Defence. Their stern expressions encourage him to cast glances from hand to hand, in search of a tube of toothpaste.
“Um .... is there some kind of problem, gentlemen?” – Ronald asks.
“Yes, Mister President, I’m afraid there is. Websites have appeared in every one of the world’s one hundred and ninety-five countries, each of which encourages citizens to participate in creating a model of their country’s societal infrastructure” – a Presidential aide explains.
“Should the models prove superior to actual societies, the citizens of each country may attempt to overthrow their government’s political system and demand that a true, interactive democracy be installed in its place” – another continues.
“And if each attempt proves successful, the world’s political systems will collapse, and be replaced by a true, interactive global democracy!” – yet another expands, while waving his hands about in a deeply agitated, yet conservative manner.
“We are talking of a Global Revolution, Mister President!” – a wide-eyed aide concludes, while tugging his tie weakly, like a drunk priest on a bell-rope.
President Ronald Pump shifts from foot to foot, while radiating a lop-sided grin around the room.
“Yes, I know. You have told me already, and I thought it had been taken care of. I thought we had instructed the press to create articles warning American citizens that the websites have been designed by a terrorist organisation to undermine government?”
Ronald hopes his lack of concern is contagious, so the meeting will end, and he can spend the rest of the day recuperating from embarrassment, diarrhoea and flatulence.
One of Ronald’s colleagues steps forward and hands Ronald a copy of The Helsinki Times, and says – “the article on the front page” – before stepping back to observe Ronald’s reaction to it.
Ronald begins to read the headline. “On-ko Mah-doll-ista Ett-ä Voi-mme Muu-tt-aa Maail-maa?” – and bursts out laughing. “Well, this is gobbledegook! Double Dutch! Whatever it is, no one will be able to understand it!” – Ronald exclaims gleefully.
“Um. No. Sorry. My mistake. That’s the Helsingin Sanomat; the Finnish edition.”
Ronald’s aide takes the newspaper from Ronald’s hands and replaces it with the English version, which Ronald begins to read, with a finger passing beneath the text and his lips silently forming the words.
“Yes, but Finland” – Ronald says, once he has read a mere fraction of the article – “is some tiny island off the north coast of Africa, isn’t it? Next to South Africa? So we hardly need to consider that as a threat to the planet’s political climate. I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you. Is there anything else? I have some important work to attend to back at the presidential suite.”
The room fills with expressions of surprise. “No, Mister President, Sir. Finland is a member of the European Union and borders with Russia. If the system is adopted in Finland, it may spread across Europe, America, and the whole planet – a snowball effect that would destroy the world’s political infrastructure and leave a global democracy in its wake!” – a colleague explains.
The Secretary of Defence says – “a word in private, if you please, Mister President” – before leading Ronald out of the cabinet room and into a corridor.
As they stroll side by side, with their hands clasped behind their backs and heads bowed in conspiracy, the Secretary of Defence says – “the subject of our last meeting ....”
Ronald’s face flushes red with embarrassment. “Ah, yes! Highly unfortunate. Not what it looked like .... I was .... the duck pâté, I think .... or the eggs, perhaps .... something off, anyway .... and Buster .... well .... or foie gras .... I was taking my socks off. No! .... wait .... that was another time .... not on film, thankfully.”
The Secretary of Defence frowns deeply for a moment before hissing – “n-o-o-o! The real purpose of the meeting! When we were considering the option of a top secret strike against Russia? I think we may have to act fast. It will distract attention from the CWO websites, give us time to dismantle them, and show the world the indestructible might of government!”
Ronald’s face ignites with delight. He straightens up, places his hands over his heart, and says – “you mean a Third World War?! That would be fantastic! I mean .... unfortunate, although sensible .... um .... our only option .... possibly. Inevitable, I suppose. Logical.”
The Secretary of Defence stops and cringes visibly. “Shhh! Mister President, Sir. Please keep your voice down. The walls have ears!”
“Yes, yes, of course” – Ronald whispers, as they resume walking down the corridor, with Ronald running an outspread hand across the patterned, low relief wallpaper, as though searching for ears.
“Yes. That is what I mean, Mister President; a Third World War” – the Secretary whispers. “I only hope the minutes are recovered, because if they aren’t, and become public knowledge, when combined with the CWO websites; our plan will be foiled.”
“Oh. That would be most unfortunate. Well. Let’s keep our fingers crossed. Otherwise, much as I might wish to, I can’t argue with your reasoning. I will leave you now, and return to my suite to consider the notion in further detail.”
President Ronald Pump and the Secretary of Defence shake hands, before walking off in opposite directions. The Secretary of Defence returns to the cabinet room, where he begins to discuss a strike against Russia with his colleagues and the President’s aides.
Ronald sits at his desk, in the presidential suite, with his head skewed to one side and tongue sticking out, while enthusiastically working on a colourful drawing he had started the evening before, depicting the Third World War.
Chapter Twenty Five of Revolution 2033
The swat team burst through Pasi’s office door a second after Pasi pressed ‘enter’ on his pc, which spread the DOD’s minutes of meeting all over the World Wide Web, and at the precise moment he presses ‘delete’ to erase all evidence he has done so.
The swat team hoist Pasi from his office chair and pin him face-down on his desk, while the swat team’s captain thrusts his nightstick warningly into the crevice of Pasi’s bottom.
“IF YOU DON’T TELL ME WHERE IT IS, I’M GOING TO POP YOU A BRAND-NEW ASSHOLE!”
The captain screams, having found the threat worked well with Pasi’s son.
“Oh. You mean the minutes of meeting between the Department of Defence and the President of the United States?” – Pasi replies, calmly.
“Yes” – the captain mutters, somewhat disarmed.
“They are over there, on top of the filing cabinet.”
The captain removes his nightstick from Pasi’s crack, the minutes from the filing cabinet, and the swat team; Pasi from his desk.
As Pasi is escorted from The New York Times’ offices by the swat team, the telephone rings in the presidential suite, where President Ronald Pump is vigorously colouring in a mushroom cloud.
“Yes, the President of the United States speaking. Oh! The minutes have been recovered. Well, that’s wonderful news. Yes, goodbye!”
Ronald places the phone on the cradle, smiles contentedly, observes the drawing, stands, and heads towards the presidential bathroom, where he intends to masturbate.
Chapter Twenty Six of Revolution 2033
The circulation of the DOD’s minutes on the World Wide Web is directly proportional to the rising popularity of the CWO websites. The threat of a Third World War has hung over the planet since the end of the Second World War, almost ninety years before, so everyone has become used to the prospect, and most have simply hoped, wished or prayed it wouldn’t happen, as the generations before them.
The realisation it was just about to, combined with the possibility that the majority of the world’s population may be able to unite and prevent such an unspeakable calamity, results in an uprising of the people incomparable to any other.
The central discussion forum in the global version of the CWO hosts a flawless translation system, so each may understand another, and for the first time in history, countless millions of responses make the message quite clear, regarding humankind’s attitude towards a nuclear war;
‘No war! The world wishes to live in peace!’
Messages of love and hope spread throughout the Internet, from country to country, and continent to continent. The Communist Bloc and Capitalist Bloc become people who wish for peace, rather than nations standing on the brink of war. Comments compare the phenomenon to the destruction of The Berlin Wall, and Christmas day during the First World War, in 1914, when troops from both sides stopped fighting to play football and sing carols.
The world doesn’t sleep, as if the collective consciousness of humanity has insomnia through sheer excitement and the anticipation of a bright, new, peaceful future. The forums for the armed forces are alive with discussions between troops from all nations, who only wish the world could live in peace, which they have always believed they have been fighting for, or have been prepared to, for peace on Earth has been the ultimate quest of every soldier throughout the course of history.
The unknown soldier becomes known. The enemy becomes a person, rather than a figure painted on a wooden board used for target practice. Every new friendship between the troops of nations weakens their resolve to murder one another, and the comments of civilians reminds the soldiers that the majority of their so-called enemies are brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, children and grandchildren – people who only wish to live in peace, and whose only involvement in war is their fear of it, and destruction by it, should it occur.
Chapter Twenty Seven of Revolution 2033
The Secretary of Defence calls President Ronald Pump in his presidential suite, where Ronald is reading the chapter entitled War in a Basic Guide to Politics.
“Yes, Ronald Pump, the President of the United States speaking” – Ronald says, as he slams the book closed, picks up a pen, and begins to draw a horrified expression on the face of a soldier whose head is exploding, on his drawing.
“Red-April-May-Day! Button System Alert! Global Intervention! Death Scramble For Peace! Permission Request! Urgent, Urgent, Urgent! Grimshawk! Awk! Awk! Awk! Ka-kow! Ka-kow! One, Two, Three - Krack-off!”
The Secretary of Defence barks at Ronald, who removes the receiver from his ear and grimaces at it, before replacing it on the cradle and continuing drawing.
“Wrong number” – he mutters.
The phone rings again. Ronald answers it, and is met by the same barrage of seemingly meaningless words.
“Who is this?” – Ronald asks impatiently.
“The Secretary of Defence! I got cut off the first time!”
“Oh! Yes! Ah-haaa! The secret code for the commencement of the Third World War. Completely slipped my mind, I’m afraid” – Ronald replies.
“Shhhhhh!!” – the Secretary of Defence hisses. “It’s a secret code for good reason! So, you heard? Do I have your permission? The world as we know it is collapsing into chaos and disorder. We have to act NOW!”
“Oh! Absolutely! Yes! Scramble all jets! Alert the navy, soldiers, that kind of thing. Bombs! Lots of bombs! Tanks! Oooooh .... how exciting! Let’s meet in the cabinet room in ten minutes. I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” – Ronald shouts gleefully, before slamming the receiver down, folding the drawing and putting it in a pocket, and slipping the book between the mattress and bed base.
It is no mere coincidence that the Russian President Gladamere Putitin issues an order to scramble all fighter jets at precisely the same moment.
Chapter Twenty Eight of Revolution 2033
Both Presidents’ orders are obeyed. Fighter jets meet in skies to fly in tight formation, with ally and enemy forces indistinguishable. They fly over the North Sea to Britain, to perform stunts for stunned British spectators – with contrails of red, white and blue forming symbols of peace and messages of love.
A convoy of fuelling planes enables their journey across the Atlantic to America, where they paint ‘peace’ in the sky above the White House. Crowds of spectators cheer when a lone Russian jet breaks formation to write WW3 in blue against a blanket of white cloud.
Shug and Dylan run from their apartment, down stairs and out into the street, where people have gathered to celebrate the end of fear and intimidation. Relief floods across the planet, and it is only when fear has left do people realise the effect it has had on their lives. The fear of a Third World War – which almost everyone had placed in the back of their minds – has been removed, as though a troublesome tooth that has spoiled the enjoyment of every meal.
Some grasp their heads within their hands, as though disbelief might cause them to explode. Others run, as if they have just been released from a lifetime of confinement, and there are those who sit crying with pure elation, and an unfathomable sense of relief.
The world falls into a stupor, as if drunk on possibility. Hope has erupted like a volcano, creating golden rivers of joy that sweep everyone off their feet and carry them to a world of imagination. It seems as though a heavy, opaque curtain, obscuring an uncertain, frightening future, has been swept aside to reveal a peaceful, harmonious paradise on Earth.
Time is released from the confines of fear, to flow into a future where an orchard of hope begins to grow, heavy with the fruits of chance. Shops are left unattended, but no one loots them. Money is passed from customer to vendor with a sense of puzzlement, as if it is being used for the first time. The constraints of life are swept away, to leave everyone’s minds naked and open to suggestion.
A new world has been born, as though the game of life is waiting to be invented, and the old, hateful game, designed by a mere handfuls of humans, which everyone had grown tired playing, has been destroyed by love and logic.
Chapter Twenty Nine of Revolution 2033
President Ronald Pump and the Secretary of Defence stare through a window in the cabinet room of the White House, and watch helplessly as their world crumbles to dust. WW3 – which the Russian fighter jet painted in the sky with a blue contrail – dissolves into the clouds, as President Ronald Pump unconsciously crumples the drawing in his pocket.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” – Ronald asks no one in particular.
“No. There are too many of them” – someone answers. “Politicians are only a tiny minority of the Earth’s population.”
Ronald slumps into a chair and begins to cry. “All my dreams have vanished. There is nothing to live for” – he whimpers.
An arm settles on Ronald’s shoulder. “There will still be politicians. Governments will remain intact. It’s just that the people will design societies now, and global civilisation too, and really, when you think about it, that’s what democracy is, or should be, when considering its roots in Ancient Greece.”
Ronald lowers his head and says – “but it won’t be the same. I don’t like being told what to do. I like to be in control. I will just be like .... a .... a .... people!”
The room falls into a sorrowful silence; a paradox of the joy of the populous.
Ronald farts loudly. It’s wet and he doesn’t care.
Chapter Thirty of Revolution 2033
Before this day, the word peace, when used as a term to describe the manner in which humankind attempted to co-exist, had a unique meaning, since the threat of war was deemed necessary to maintain peace between nations. It had always seemed as though war and peace were inextricable; as if one could not exist without the other.
Now peace drifts alone, down streets, from village to village, town to town, city to city, and across seas and oceans, to envelop the entire planet in a comforting embrace. Every sound has a different timbre, and each voice a pleasant, friendly tone. People carry on with life as usual, within systems they have grown accustomed to, but with a feeling all is only temporary. The faces of kings, queens, presidents and prime ministers peer uncertainly from bank notes, as if from a period in history already extinguished.
CWO forums all over the world are constantly active, and discussions relating to how the world should change take place in homes, schools, workplaces, bars, and on the streets. Teachers sit with students during breaks to discuss the education system, while shop workers and farmers consider the absurdity of so much food being thrown away, when it is produced to feed people, not vermin and insects living on dumps.
Once, such discussions drifted into apathy, because they seemed pointless, since the opinions of the majority weren’t taken into consideration, even though so many believed they lived in democracies. Now, they are filled with vibrancy and meaning, as if every thought and idea has developed a substance it did not possess before; a quality that will allow dreams to manifest in reality.
Crime figures have slumped dramatically, as though a proportion had been committed through a lack of respect towards corrupt systems, and those who benefited the most from them, which has suddenly changed to become crimes against one another; against humankind, and the fair, just, peaceful world all are striving to create.
Ticket collectors on public transport feel guilty giving fines to passengers travelling without a ticket, and let them off, to engage instead in conversations relating to how the system should change. Should it be free, and the cost covered by taxes? Or by a higher tax on petrol, which would have the added benefit of dissuading people from using their cars? Should taxes even exist?
The planet’s conversation topics have changed overnight. Internet games are left unplayed, and celebrities are almost forgotten. A new meaning to life is being revealed. The light of reason illuminates the game of life created by politicians; exposing every weakness and absurdity of their creation, and replacing them with thoughts of what should exist in their place.
Chapter Thirty One of Revolution 2033
All over the world, CWO sites connect to governments to form true democracies, while politicians adjust to the idea of orchestrating the will of the people, rather than imposing their will upon them.
President Ronald Pump isn’t adjusting very well. He is cheered slightly by his stomach returning to normal, and one might think he would be delighted by a flood of cards wishing he remains President for his full term of office, but they don’t make him happy at all. On the contrary; in Ronald’s opinion, being asked to remain in office when power, influence and the ability to create war has been removed is like being ravenously hungry, and finding the only thing on the menu is poop soup with croutons made from balls of rolled up toilet paper.
Ronald feels horribly depressed, and decides to travel to his childhood home for a vacation. When he arrives, he retreats to his bedroom, where he begins to play with his toy soldiers, model warplanes and tanks, but he feels silly. They seem silly. He puts them down, sits on his bed, lowers his jaw onto cupped hands and contemplates his old toys. He sees them for what they really are; pieces of plastic, symbolising the barbarianism and vulgarity of the recent past.
He sighs, and wanders over to a bookshelf from where he takes ‘Politics in Greater Depth’ and flicks through the pages before replacing it on the shelf. It seems meaningless. Everything seems meaningless. The majority of the world’s population may feel their lives have greater meaning, but Ronald feels his is suddenly devoid of purpose.
He doesn’t understand the concept of the CWO at all. “If you don’t have power and influence, who will listen to you in the forums?” – Ronald says to himself. “You would have to come up with a good idea the majority agrees with, and that isn’t politics! Politics is all about telling people what you think they want to hear, and then finding ways to go back on your word without it looking like you’ve been lying, so everything stays the way it is. The system may not be perfect, and I don’t understand it, and I don’t think anyone really does, but it works, and replacing it with something that hasn’t been tested seems foolish.”
After considering the CWO for some time, Ronald begins to feel concerned for America’s people, and their lack of understanding of politics. “Maybe I should stick around after all, and help them with the changeover to civilian rule” – Ronald muses, and the more he contemplates the idea, the more inspired he becomes.
“That’s one thing the people don’t understand – what goes on behind the scenes; the intricacies of politics, which is something they should know. They should have someone guiding them. I may not know everything, but I know more than most.”
Ronald is filled with a new sense of purpose. He takes Politics in Greater Depth from the bookshelf and begins to read it carefully, with a finger running beneath the text and his lips forming the words, with the hope he will glean insight regarding the difference between minority and majority rule.
Chapter Thirty Two of Revolution 2033
Pasi, Thomas and Henry are released without charges being brought against them, and press restrictions are annulled, which allows Pasi to write daily articles for The New York Times, following the development of America’s new societal order, and the advance of global civilisation .
Since the duties of his presidency have changed, President Ronald Pump spends an increasing amount of time working in his new office, rather than lounging around in the presidential suite. He takes Buster to work and pats, hugs, kisses and strokes him, instead of slapping, poking and shouting at him, and often apologises for the times he has been unkind. Ronald’s relieved they have managed to remain friends, and their relationship didn’t develop any further than what is considered respectable between a man and mans’ best friend, although he wonders if the outcome may have been entirely different, should power have corrupted his mind. He shudders involuntarily when he imagines newspaper headlines entitled ‘The Bustergate Scandal’.
His relationship with Helen strengthens day by day, until they are as happy as newly-weds. Rather than frantic, their love making is slow and tender, and they reach orgasm together without a sound, apart from those expressing their pleasure and love for one another.
Although his power as President has been short-circuited by America’s citizens, Ronald enjoys arriving at work every morning, and looks forward to seeing whether any new policies or amendments have been created. His new office houses a giant, circular upholstered bench, in front of which screens run, side by side, with each representing one of the CWO’s forums. Ronald slides around the bench, from one screen to the next, observing debates, and sometimes he does it so fast that his bottom gets hot from the friction.
Of course; this is a task one cannot perform alone, which is why the screens are monitored by various Secretaries of State. The Secretary of Education follows discussions between people such as teachers, principals, professors and mature students, while the Secretary for the Environment keeps track of scientist’s concerns for the planet’s welfare, and the development of policies that will ensure the betterment of its health.
Sometimes, Ronald has to stop sliding along the bench to hop over a Secretary, so engrossed in their work they don’t have time to jump out of his way, which, despite the inconvenience, may have the upside of preventing Ronald’s bottom from bursting into flames.
Every screen within the room is blue-grey, which suggests discussions are still in progress. When a screen glows crimson, it will indicate that a policy or amendment has been created. Although there has been a great amount of debate in the forums, this hasn’t happened yet. The screens have formed an endless blue-grey ring since they were installed, until one day, the circle is broken by a single band of crimson.
Chapter Thirty Three of Revolution 2033
The Secretary of Finance springs from his station, hurries over to Ronald and grasps his shoulder so tightly it makes him yelp.
“Whoop! I’m sorry, Mister President, but it seems we have our first amendment, and it’s a biggy! I think it should be presented to the global version of the CWO, so its implementation may be considered on a global scale.”
The Secretary of Finance hands Ronald a printed copy of the policy, which Ronald begins to read in his easily imitable manner.
’20% of the world’s population own 94.5% of the world’s wealth, leaving the remaining 80% with only 5.5% to share between themselves.
To help redress this imbalance, a progressive taxation system should be introduced. Also, the debts of all countries should be annulled, so the world will have a clean economic slate.’
Beneath the main body of the policy, there are comments relating to it, which describe the progressive taxation system in detail, ranging from a low tax for those on minimum wage, to a high tax rate for those with high earnings and considerable assets. Although the figures in Ronald’s bank balance shrink considerably in his imagination, he is surprised by both the simplicity and clarity of the amendment. Ronald had become used to thick dossiers detailing policies and amendments, which he had only ever flicked through before signing them. Ronald experiences an unusual sense of political awareness; an understanding he has rarely encountered during his time in office, or beforehand.
Ronald’s thoughts are disturbed when the Secretary of Finance asks – “are we going to just accept it?”
“Well, I don’t think we have any choice in the matter” – Ronald replies – “now that we don’t have the military and the police to defend government. They are civilians now, as everyone is. Even we are. And we have a job to do – to assist in making the world a better place – and we should do our work as well as we are able.”
Before he publishes the proposal on the global version of the CWO, Ronald scrolls through the comments relating to the amendment and pauses to click a link to an award-winning documentary about tea workers in India, on youtube, entitled Behind the Mist.
President Ronald Pump’s head hangs in shame after he has seen it. He considers the world as it was, and senses great elation when he considers it is in the process of changing into a peaceful, fair, just world. Ronald is beginning to understand the inhumanity of the political systems of the past, and glances towards the screens in eager anticipation of further proposals.
As the blue-grey band of screens is broken by further flashes of crimson, Ronald feels politics is making sense, at last. Instead of clandestine activity, secrets, lies, deceit and idiocy, politics has adopted a redefined meaning and purpose; to construct a paradise on Earth, which everyone will be able to participate in and observe taking place, since everything is out in the open.
Ronald is picking up politics as he goes along, as his father had suggested he would, and begins to write a book, entitled All You Need to Know about Politics.
Chapter Thirty Four of Revolution 2033King Ronald Pump groans and slaps a hand over his eyes, since the sea of craniums, stretching towards the shimmering horizon – where his magnificent castle stands sparkling in damp, sunlit air – sport a wide variety of coiffures, from Mohawks to Afros, and he doesn’t wish to see them.
“My feet will slip off their heads!” – King Ronald whimpers – “I’ll never reach my castle! I would have to wear crampons and they would totally hate me if I should!”
“OW! STOP IT!” – King Ronald shrieks, when he senses he is being grasped by his subjects and propelled in the direction of their choosing.
“Where are you taking me? Put me down at once!”
King Ronald falls silent when he realises they are transporting him to his castle, and hangs his head shamefully when they place him in front of its grand portal.
“Thank you” – King Ronald Pump says simply, before turning to enter the majestic edifice.
“You’re welcome, King Ronald!” – his subjects reply, cheerfully.
“Goodbye, King Ronald!” – they say, as they wave amicably – “and good luck!”
President Ronald Pump wakes to Helen’s gentle kisses on his cheek, and her hands tenderly massaging his shoulders. “You were having a nightmare” – Helen whispers.
“But I have woken to a dream” – Ronald says, kissing his wife softly.
Once President Ronald Pump has dressed, he and Buster stroll out of the main door of the White House and wander over to an ice cream vendor, who has set up business on the White House lawn. The gates of the White House were opened some weeks before, when it became apparent there was no threat to Ronald’s life, since he is by far the most popular president in American history.
The vendor sees him and shouts – “pistachio and almond, Mister President?” – over the heads of those in the queue.
“Ah, yes! The usual, Enrico, thank you!” – Ronald replies, while being ushered to the front of the queue by a sea of smiling faces.
‘Well’ – Ronald thinks, as he sweeps his tongue around the melting ice cream – ‘at least there are still some privileges one can enjoy as President!’
Before Ronald enters the White House to continue working, he stands at the summit of its steps to smile and wave at everyone. They smile and wave back. Ronald frowns, lowers his head and enters the building, before turning on his heel and popping his head out of the door.
Ronald shouts – “hello!” – while smiling and waving cheerfully. People smile, wave and shout – “hello Mister President! Hello Ronald!”
Ronald frowns and lowers his head again, before lifting Buster into the crook of an arm and slowly climbing the stairs towards his presidential suite, leaving a trail of white spots on the stairs from his forgotten ice cream.
When he enters his suite, he is overwhelmed by a desire to check something out. He can’t place his finger on it, but something has changed. ‘People have always smiled and waved at presidents, but not in the same way they smile and wave at me’ – Ronald thinks, as he begins to search for footage of crowds smiling and waving at presidents of the past, while sharing his melting ice cream with Buster.
As he watches the films, he realises what the difference is. The smiling faces seem almost desperate, pleading and afraid, since everyone knew the president held their very lives and destiny in their hands.
Their smiles and expressions seem to create a paradox, as if their combination translates as – ‘please don’t let us die in a war. Please make sure we do not become homeless or unemployed. Please make sure we are taken care of if we are sick. Please protect us from the rest of the world, because we are afraid of it. We are nice people. Please try to like us, as we try to like you’ – and their waves are almost frantic, as though trying to attract the president’s attention to the message hidden within their uncertain smiles.
Chapter Thirty Five of Revolution 2033
Ronald has worn his way through two pairs of suit trousers from sliding around the circular bench, so he has started to wear jeans and a t-shirt to work. He enjoys monitoring the discussions leading to the creation of policies and amendments, since they are logical and understandable. The forums are working flawlessly, and the blue-grey band of screens in the President’s office are studded with crimson, as if jewels within a ring.
Secretaries are hard at work, with their every moment spent orchestrating the creation of a logical, just society and monitoring the rapid advance of a global civilisation that would be the pride of any planet.
Once it was universally agreed upon, annulling global debt was accomplished with little effort. All it took was a live broadcast of the signing of the policy by a representative from each of the world’s countries. Ronald found this quite fascinating, because he has observed the world’s economy ever since he was young.
War and finance had ruled Ronald’s world, and those of countless others for centuries. Now, war has left peace in peace, and the world of finance has become fair and honest, and therefore easy to comprehend. The progressive taxation system has eradicated the planet’s unfair wealth divide, and allowed an incredible sum of money to be deposited into a new bank; The People’s Bank, which will provide the funding necessary to create the foundation of global civilisation; a foundation that will ensure all the Earth’s inhabitants are housed, fed, educated and cared for when they are sick.
The world’s wealth is further increased by the eradication of tensions caused by political and religious conflict. It has been agreed that a certain amount of weaponry should be kept for the defence of the planet, should such an unlikely situation arise, which a number of troops are trained to operate. Otherwise, global military expenditure has fallen to a mere fraction of its former amount.
The world is advancing at breath-taking speed. Newspaper headlines, which were once dominated by politics, and spoke sorrowfully of war and terrorism, poverty and disaster, now gleefully announce the latest discoveries in science and medicine, since a policy has been created that ensures the availability of researchers should determine the limits of scientific and medical research, rather than financial constraints. Reports of famine are being replaced by articles describing the rapid development of developing nations, and gestures of friendship are displacing acts of terrorism.
Concern for the planet’s welfare, which had once only created a sense of frustration, since it was almost impossible to intervene in political affairs, has become a universal call for action. Ineffective efforts to tackle global warming are being replaced by sound measures to ensure the planet’s health will improve, and excel.
The world is encompassed within an aura of peace once considered naïve to have wished for. Americans abandon firearms and leave their doors unlocked. A dog eat dog mentality is being replaced by pack mentality, selfishness with altruism, and fear with curiosity. People are happy. Their lives have a novel sense of purpose, which they share with every human alive. Each enjoys a sense of pride and joy being human, living upon such an incredibly beautiful, peaceful planet.
Humankind are working with a vigour and sense of purpose unremembered, since it had never occurred. Buildings emerge from the landscape with a sense of permanency unseen since before warfare had the ability to eradicate the most gallant of edifices within seconds. At long last, each live to work rather than work to live, and in the bright light of creation, rather than in a shadow of destruction cast by human stupidity.
Chapter Thirty Six of Revolution 2033
In a future beyond the time of Ronald’s Presidency, a new world continues to evolve. Every absurdity is identified, scrutinised by the majority, and sensible alternatives discovered through debate. The changes are innumerable, and each transports the human race towards a paradise of their creation.
As a measure to reduce carbon emissions, a free public transportation system has been introduced on a global scale, with electric busses, trams and trains, powered by solar panels upon the roofs of the vehicles. And in countries where the winters are cold, rather than endless convoys of lorries transporting tons of dirty snow from town and city centres, these hubs of life are vehicle free, with the resulting clean snow of metropolis transported to parks, to be crafted into sculptures and ice castles for all to enjoy.
Human waste, once pumped thoughtlessly into seas and oceans, is used as a compost to nourish the Earth’s soil; the destiny of all land-dwelling creatures’ excrement since the beginning of time. The task became easy to perform once an aura of happiness began to envelop the world, because human waste ceased to contain contaminants such as residues from antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications, since few were anxious or depressed.
In a move to ensure the planet’s resources are used with consideration, and reduce the amount of waste and pollution global civilisation produces, a policy has been created to control the quality of manufactured goods. Longevity and quality are the key elements in design, rather than a company’s profit. Such changes, along with countless others, has rendered global warming a concern of the past.
As policies are fine-tuned, it is evident the greatest amount of work has been done. People are living their lives with a new sense of direction and purpose, in a global civilisation they have designed.
Now the world’s order is a concern for the entire population of Earth, rather than a responsibility left within the hands of a minority, and in order for the masses to adapt to Civilian Rule, the new system of politics is taught in schools. Students are aware the profession they choose will be conducted within an environment they are able to manipulate, and their society and global civilisation are equally malleable.
The old system of politics is taught in history classes, where students find it hard to believe there was a time when the world was governed by a tiny minority of people, who had the power to control the lives of everyone, and even destroy them, and the planet itself. They find it almost impossible to conceive; how an almost imperceptible percentage of the world’s population were allowed to create a fearful, corrupt, unjust, divided hell on Earth, instead of everyone working together to create a paradise for all who live, and will live.
Thousands of years of a troubled history has reached an abrupt end. Now, pages turn to describe a world of peace and harmony, love and compassion, and equality and fairness. A world constructed through the dreams of humankind; a world the world is dreaming of today.