Category: Parody & Satire

Lady Denmark was thrilled to host the annual gathering of the world’s richest. She had been chosen to host for two reasons — her housekeeping staff, who kept the Denmark mansion impeccably clean, and because she was so trustworthy.

She wasn’t as honest as Jennifer Iceland, nor as honest as that leggy blonde bombshell, Lola Finland, but Lady Denmark was known to be almost as upright as Bob Zealand. (Bob was a bit of a slob, but otherwise an okay sort.)

The novel entertainment was put on by a group of children from some nation that she’d never heard of — probably poor as dirt — but they could dance really well. Then a string quartet on loan from that lovely Lord Sweden started playing. Drinks were served, and the glitterati enjoyed the evening; laughter and the buzz of cultured conversation filled the air.

Then Jean Canada arrived. You could tell because the stench of cigarette smoke preceded him. He gazed over the crowd with bloodshot eyes, and they settled on her.

“Oh dear,” she whispered to Jennifer, “He’s coming over here.” Lady Denmark and Jean had once been good friends, but he’d really let himself go in the last few years, and they’d been fighting about a footstool he’d once given her.

Jean Canada slumped his way over, ash dripping from his cigarette all over Lady Denmark’s once-immaculate carpet. He was a bit drunk, and weaved a between the revelers. Then Gunter Germany distracted him. Gunter was dressed in an impressive Italian suit, and groomed to perfection, but everybody knew you couldn’t trust him. He pulled Jean into a conversation, clearly conducting some kind of shady business deal.

Oh thank god, thought Lady Denmark. If Gunter kept him occupied, the evening wouldn’t be a total bust. At least Jacque Belgium had sent his regrets.

Then she heard the boom-box, smelled the hideously unrefined stench of cigar smoke, and she knew the party was ruined.

Uncle Sam had decided to come after all.

Inspired by:
Suzuki pollution rankings — Canada 28 of 30 | Transparency International corruption index — Canada slips to 14 of 17 | Cigar by darkripper

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The Bailiff announced: “all rise for the Reverend Judge Solomon Dungry.”

Dr. Tundra watched as the Reverend Judge entered the Court. The inquisitor was a tall, cadaverous man, with piercing blue eyes and lips that were so thin, you could only see them when he scowled, which he did most of the time. He took his seat, a low bench next to a tall cross on his dais, and said: “everyone but the accused may sit.”

“That’s you,” Dr. Tundra’s Writ-appointed lawyer told him — a well-meaning man, but weak, and clearly a cog in this fundamentalist system.

“You are accused of three counts of heresy, Dr. Tundra,” the Bailiff read from a clipboard. “One — you have purposefully taught the heretical notion of evolution. Two — you have posited another Supreme Being than Our Christian Lord, God. Three, you have called this False God the Flying Spaghetti Monster.”

“How do you plead?”

“Not guilty of course,” Dr. Tundra said. “But may I ask, am I not entitled to a trial by jury?”

The judge stood up, as did the rest of the Court. “No, heretic, you are not.”

“But doesn’t the Constitution grant me –”

“No, it does not. Before I pass sentence,” the Reverend Judge said, “may I ask what possessed you to do these things? Surely you knew of our Holy Writ before you came to America to teach?”

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