With the Michigan Primary out of the way and the South Carolina Primary on the way, Fredward V. Duck and the Ultimate Warrior are working hard to get their message and the message of the “Why Not” party out to the American voters. Once again the “Why Not” not party was not asked to participate in any of the primaries, not that it would have mattered since they’ve already picked their candidates, but a damn invite still would have been nice. Anyhow in one of the rare free moments that the representatives from the WNP had, Nick Fit decided to interview Fredward and Warrior.
: What up Fredward. First off, I’d like to say thank you for visiting with me on such short notice. We are both men of high importance and very busy schedules. Now that the Michigan Primary is over, how well do you feel you did in securing the the anti-government militia group vote?
:Well, back in my younger, migratory days I used to spend a lot of time in Michigan. Ann Arbor is a hell of a town, Hamtramck was always an excellent area. The down river communities are all wonderful and of course Detroit, Pontiac, Flint, Lansing and Cadillac shouldn’t be counted out. I am sure you know the character of Ash from the Evil Dead series was supposed to be from Dearborn and I mean the people of the U.P. are all from good stock as well.
I think the fact that I was honest in my campaign, I didn’t promise anything I knew I couldn’t deliver on and stuck to the issues that were important to the ANTI-GOVERNMENT MILITIA (AGM). Issues like, “Is that dog a spy for the CIA”, “Will there be tax credits given for the purchase of time foil that is shaped into helmets to block out the governments mind control devices” and most importantly the issue of giving them all rides in the spaceships we have hidden at Wright-Patterson since everyone knows Area 51 is just a clever ruse.
: Hm… Wright-Patterson you say? You know, I’ve heard that bout Area 51.
I know that there was a lot of talk about race. People seemed to be pretty hot about ideas of rampant sexism and racism in this country, what with a woman and a, uh, um… shit, black? I mean, can we still call them black? I know my grandpa used to call them ‘spear chuckers’
back in the day, but I think that’s taboo. So what do you call them, and do you think that the murder of the Notorious B.I.G. was in all reality an assassination/conspiracy? And if so, who do you think was behind it?
:Well I think that the Idea of racist sex calms a lot of people. I mean let’s face it, racist sex has been a foundation of this country since colonial times when an old rich white man has his with a young supple black girl like Tyra Banks or that Rihanna chick. I think one of the reasons that sex and racism are such big issues now is because most of the other major media outlets are trying to keep up with the cunning journalism over at Hey Stupid and they have to make them out to be real issues in order to stir the pot.
As far as what to call people of African descent that is a tough one. I think they can’t make up their minds. I mean if you use the NAACP as a reference then you refer to them as Colored, but in a lot of neighborhoods that will get you punched. I don’t think the like African Americans and more. From what I can tell Negro or negroid is out as well even thought there is the United Negro College Fund, so are jungle bunny, bamboozle, tar baby, midnight, coon, spook, pumpkin pushers and various other names. I would say black is probably the safest choice.
In regards to your question about Biggie, I am of a slightly different opinion than most people. I think that Puffy, Puff Daddy, Sean Puffy Combs, P Diddy or Diddy or what ever the hell his name is this week saw all the hype around Pac’s death and the literal over night jump in sales of anything connected to Pac and decided he needed some fast sales of his own and he figured, if it has to be someone, why not the fat guy.
: Yeah. My hear wept when 2Pac was murdered. I know there’s been a lot of hype about him still being alive and what not, but as far as I’m concerned, he’ll always be alive in the hearts of the millions of fans that he touched.
: Now, I know that you guys are getting geared up for the South Carolina Primary, but do you think that when that’s over The Warrior would be into a 10 round battle to the drunk keg stand cage match? I’m thinking me, him, a couple kegs of Schlitz, mano e mano type of thing. You know, have Don King promote it and what not.
I actually can’t allow Warrior to participate in any drinking matches until we are official in the White House. The problem is that when we were in Sudan, Warrior drank something that a local tribesman stated was a hybrid of fermented vegetables and camel piss with a little gunpowder added for texture. They called it Quadi’mo-Al sadik, or Quadi for short. Well, Warrior finished the entire sheep’s bladder full that he was given and became an absolute madman.
I smelled the bladder and instantly recognized the scent of 151. Apparently that’s what the “Quadi” actually is. The locals there apparently just make all that other shit up to keep people from drinking it. Well, needless to say Warrior went off into a rage and swore he was going to try and find the remains of Indiana Jones. He just kept screaming “Bones of Jones”. No one understood.
:Of course, I do NOT accept this brainless, disgraceful invitation. FUCK NO, I do not. You can rescue yourself, Nick. Do your own damage control. I’ve no ear for your begging anymore. Only if you were on fire would I help you — it’d just be too hard to resist pissing on you. Open mic? Then let it truly be open. Let your audience have some fresh air. Flush the toliet bowl once. Let them hear something intelligent, decent and truthful for once. Give them, Nick, what they want — just like you are always bragging you do. Let them be proud for just a few moments that the energetic, intense and colorful Ultimate Warrior they loved when they were little kids didn’t become a self-pitying, disappointing, broken-down has-been like all the other brittle-minded skeletons traipsing around your flower garden or now buried in forgotten about graves.
:What the fuck?! Who the fuck let you in here?! Look you psychopathic jabbering nut case, I don’t know what the fuck your deal is but you need to do some long hard thinking about where you are. As a man, I mean.
Children and geeks in their mid twenties the world over still respect you. And you come in here on some wild tangent about… about… what the fuck are you talking about anyway? Jesus. None of that even made any sense. In fact, nothing you’ve ever said makes any sense. Dude, even George Bush makes some sense from time to time, but you, you’re a fucking lunatic man. Seriously, you are one whacked out individual. Now get the fuck out of here before I sick my ferrets on you. The big one is trained to rip out a mans Achilles tendon. Go on, get!
: QUEERING DON’T MAKE THE WORLD WORK! Feel The Power Of The Warriooooooorrrrrr!!!!!! The frequencies in my head are not known to normals! Listen fatso if you open your mouth this year, I’ll shove this Special Edition Warrior Winter Wonderland Pinup book down your throat and say… ‘Paybacks are hell, aren’t they Uncle Joe! Nick Fit carries with him a self-imposed vision. Characteristically a jolly courier of yuletide happiness, yet in the universe of Desctrucity we are fortunate he is seen differently in the mind of some. Intense concentration, extreme undivided attention. Humanity [collectively] calls it focus. To me, the ‘us’ in foc[us] connotes ‘we’; a collective, a group. I don’t accept that. I do not find it inspiring. I changed the spelling (its meaning, to me) to suit myself, to use as a self-motivational cue embodying the fact that ‘Life is Lone.’ I am — as each of us truly are — in charge and control of myself. In my mind during those bouts of intense concentration, extreme undivided attention I motivate myself with: “Take care of you and yours, Warrior. Find your Foke. The telling of the story happens from two points of view. The first is a take action, aggressive, outward expression (a can of butt-kick is getting ready to be opened) point of view and secondly, an introspective, intuitive, inner-self, let’s-think-this-through point of view.
: Let me apologize for my running mate here. He is a little upset because Mitt Romney said that Warrior would make a worse vice president then he did intercontinental champion. So I mean, clearly you can see why he is so touchy.
:Oh. Wow. Did he really say that? Shit, I’m sorry Warrior. I guess I came at you a little harsh. Now, why don’t you go to the game room and play the new Smack Down Vs. Raw. We made a charcter for you. He’s got full attributes. And it’s on a huge 8 foot by 14 foot television. I have a hook up in LA, used to work for NASA. It’s total space age tech, man.
Real hush hush shit.
: You are forgiven. I shall let you live.
:Wow… man, where did you find that guy?
:Oh, The Warrior and I met in the winter of 1987. I was living in Alaska then with some friends and when the weather turned I decided to fly back home. I was in flight over the great north woods when I decided to land for a while. When I touched down I saw a strange figure kneeling in the snow. He was ripping the heart out of a bear he just defeated. We got to talking and became friends. Over the years I became impressed with strength, character and public speaking ability. I mean what he said never made much sense, but he said a lot and it got people fired up, which is what is truly important in the political arena. When it came time for me to choose a running mate, the Warrior was a nobrainer.
:Now that is an interesting story. Really quality shit there Fredward.
But back to the political realm. I’ve noticed that your campaign trail isn’t littered with the bodies of those you’ve stepped on on your way to the top. Likewise, you don’t have any publicity ads that smear or attack the character of your opponents. In fact, I haven’t seen any television ads for you at all. I find this interesting, and was wondering if you have human or fowl reproductive organs.
:Well that is an interesting question. They are duck organs. Argentine Lake Duck to be exact. In case you were wondering the Argentine Lake Duck has a penis that’s the length of it’s entire body. Also, It is corkscrew shaped, both mine and that of the Argentine Lake Duck.
:Oh my God. That’s incredible. Can I see it?
:Now that’s hardly appropriate, but…yes. There. Look at it in all of its magnificent corkscrewed glory. What’s that smell. I think I may have shat myself.
:Oh… Dear, God. It is magnificent! And so is that smell! Jesus, what an awful odor. Oh man… I’ve got to get a picture of your schlong. E-Rokk’ll never believe this fucking shit. You don’t mind, do you? I promise not to show The JaGe…
:This will in no way help my campaign.
:Well it certainly wouldn’t hurt it! This is Hey Stupid history in the making, man! Bah! Fine… never mind. But E-Rokk’ll never believe it when I tell him. You’re going to have to show him next time you’re in town.
Ok, I’ve only got a few more questions for you. I’ve got to feed the hookers here pretty soon. On the issue of illegal aliens: What is your stance on granting citizenship to the thousands of Venusians and Martians that have been living in this country for the past few eons?
:As long as they are willing to vote right? I mean hell, that’s a few less votes I would have to pay for. I know a lot of people complain about the illegal aliens taking their jobs, but there is some stuff they are just better suited for. For example, show me a human that can lift eight tons with his mind like a Martian, or how about the fact that Venusians and their baker’s dozen vaginas? Thirteen poons to one prostitute makes for a very efficient whore house.
:Fuck yeah! That’s what I’m talking about man… God, you are so right on, man. I can see why you’re the people’s candidate. You know, I’m not really much into politics. In fact, I’m only doing this interview because E-Rokk’s off in Bangladesh, I think, or some place like that. He said something about “Gathering his minions” and left with nothing but a suit case full of condoms, dildos, and banana hammocks, and Levi jeans.
Which is odd, because he normally wears Wranglers. Any way… man, I’m getting kind of fucked up off this Saki. Yeah. Shit, sorry. Ok, next question. You ready for this? I’m gonna fucking blow your mind, man. Ok, strengthening the American economy: If you had to pick between blowing all your cash on a weekend in Reno hopped up on the finest Columbian cocaine and Scottish Whiskey with Kim Kardashian, or if you literally had a nickel for “every time someone said (blank)”, which would you choose?
:Well, I know what most of my opponents would say, they would say the nickel. Even my own advisory staff would tell me to say the nickel because of how damaging a weekend spent high, drunk and gambling while having my corkscrew slobbed by that filthy ho would be. The truth is though, I would take the weekend, and here’s why. The nickel every time someone says “blank” would in fact be a tax, and one of my firm beliefs is that the American people don’t need any more taxes. In fact, I say we should lose taxes on liquor, beer, cigarettes and lottery/gambling winnings because they only affect the working man. Instead lets increase the tax on luxury items and really put a hurtin’ on the exceedingly wealthy.
: Wow, Fredward, you’re my kind of guy, you know that? Truly, you are a political genius and visionary of the most extraordinary kind. But hey listen dude. I’ve seriously got to take a massive shit, so I’m gonna cut this short. It’s been cool talking with you and shit, though. Is there anything you’d like to say? If there is, make it quick, will ya. I’m fucking prairie doggin’ it over here.
:No I will let you drop the kids off at the pool, take the Browns to the Superbowl, talk to a man about a horse and ride the porcelain pony.
: Ah… fuck. Man. I just shit myself. God damn it. This was my last clean bathrobe. Megh. It’ll harden up eventually and I’ll scrape it off later. I’m gonna go check on that Asian girl, make sure she hasn’t gotten out of her box. Hey, do me a favor though, and make sure the Warrior didn’t rip off any of my shit.