a note to readers:
i wrote this story as a sophomore in college (2006 or 2007) back when i was starting to lose faith in our democracy and still capitalizing letters. this is why some of the once futuristic dates already live in the past. still, it feels like an appropriate post for today given the season. hope you enjoy and, as always, god bless america.
America the Fucking Beautful
Debacle & Enlightenment
In the years and months leading up to the election of 2024 a single, hairy issue dominated the nation’s collective conscience. And it wasn’t war and it wasn’t education. It was none of the issues that so often dominated American politics throughout the Second Dark Age. After the Great Election Debacle of 2012 and the subsequent Enlightenment during the twelve years that followed it, the issues most Americans formerly considered “hot-button” found themselves swept under the rug.
The Great Electoral Debacle, the sole incident that led to a total reformation of the electoral system, was simple really. Regina Millson was the early Democratic frontrunner and to many Americans, she really was the perfect candidate. She had no blotches on her personal or public record and she had spent years in the Senate collecting both domestic and foreign policy experience. Yet it was then that her rival, a lesser respected candidate, Terry Rockland, Republican Governor of Mississippi, ferociously struck down any, and all of her political aspirations with one clean blow.
Some three weeks before the election, Rockland somehow came into possession of a series of super-secret photos. All of them featured Mrs. Millson simply being herself. However, one of the photos pictured Mrs. Millson’s whole self. That is to say, it left far too little to America’s imagination. The photo which has been, and will be printed in every history book from the moment it was taken until eternity, is Mrs. Millson laughing as she steps out of her limousine while her mangy pubic hair had somehow managed to find itself freed from the dark recesses of her skirt, and out into the light of day.
Literally the second after the photo was first published (the leak had been handled with the utmost efficiency to ensure the most damage to Millson’s campaign) the entire world was getting its first glimpse of Mrs. Millson’s muff. Many were shocked, some were turned on, but one thing was certain: America was never going to be the same.
In the days after the Debacle, Rockland took a commanding lead. As a man, he wasn’t under the same scrutiny as Millson. After all, during the Second Dark Age men rarely worried about their curlies enough to warrant more than a bimonthly trimjob. Yet, somehow, Millson’s camp had likewise obtained a picture of Rockland’s wildly out of control bush. With nothing left to lose, Millson leaked the picture herself. She was eager to end Rockland’s career as quickly as he’d ended hers.
It worked. Within two minutes Rockland had lost his biggest supporters, not to mention his lead in the polls, in the middle of the pubic hair hysteria he’d helped create. The pundits went wild, the public was captivated, and all of America had been engulfed in the pubic hair hoopla.
Both candidates had seemed to be locks for their party’s nominations, yet now, three weeks later, their respective conventions were frenzied, scrambling to settle upon an agreeable nomination. After all, choosing a candidate that a whole nation could envision itself unifying behind has generally been a game rife with near hits or misses, and anything a candidate did could sway a close election. So there they were, massive conventions of public officials wondering what the hell they could do to win a spot in the White House. It was then that Representative Jerry Vernon spoke up to his cohorts.
“I, uh, well I have an idea. It’s a solution so simple I don’t know why we didn’t think of it earlier.”
Everyone in the room raised a ruckus at the very sound of Jerry Vernon’s voice. He’d never done more than provide the party with a warm body in the House. His simpleminded antics were well documented and even the party’s chairman wouldn’t go on the record to endorse him as anything more than, “A well meaning fellow.” Yet, here in crunch time, no one could resist the temptation to at least hear Jerry out. What the hell could it hurt?
“Well, after all this ruckus over a few stray hairs here and there, I’d say it’s pretty clear that the pube issue is a pretty important one to the American people.”
He paused for a second to make sure that people were still listening.
“So, uh, I… I just don’t see why we don’t get someone with a good lookin’ shrub.”
A silence loomed over the convention. Jerry stood uneasily waiting for some sort of response, but there was hardly a sound. Everyone in the room was intrigued, if not captivated. Could this seemingly brainless idea work? Was pube appeal really that important to America? Was there any other option?
A man in the back of the room stood up and started to clap, slowly and quietly at first. Then a little faster; a little louder. Jerry saw him, but couldn’t make out who he was, or what his exact motives for applauding were. Jerry continued to stand uneasily, his political future, for what it was worth, seemed to be hanging in the balance. The applause grew, and grew, and got louder,and louder, until Jerry stood at the front of a fervor.
Jerry just smirked a little at first, blushing. As the applause reached its pinnacle, Jerry made a conscious decision to enjoy this, his first moment in the party’s spotlight.
“YOU LIKE ME!!! YOU REALLY LIKE ME!!!” He yelled.
They did only somewhat, really, but they figured, “What the heck?” He’d provided an answer.
Throughout the night, the men of Jerry’s convention voted on Jerry’s idea. It passed. The “Pretty-Pubes Platform” approach to nominating a presidential candidate, as it was dubbed that evening, was voted into party policy.
This approach was a good one in theory, but there was an element of this plan they’d somehow overlooked. Who there had pretty pubes? What does America want in a Presidential pubic area? These concerns were voiced to the party chair. He didn’t know either, that or he didn’t want to say. Either way, every man in the room was silently coming to one conclusion.
“I guess, well, I guess we’ll just have to single out those with the best looking bushes.”
Again, it was a simple solution. So that’s what they did.
The members of the convention first asked if there were any present with, what they considered, a visually pleasing region. The hands came up slowly at first. It was awkward at first, but hey, this is the presidency. Why shouldn’t they expose themselves for a chance to become the most powerful man in the world?
The field started large but shrank quickly, for apparently there weren’t too many members of the party who paid special attention to such things. The parade of possible candidates passed across the stage, in front of all of their colleagues, dropped their pants, and waited to hear if they had a shot at the nomination. So it went, old Congressmen examining other old Congress men’s nether regions in all their glory into the early hours of the morning.
Finally, a decision was made. It was Jerry Vernon. His pubes were regarded by his colleagues as nothing short of immaculate: well-shaped, clean-cut, All-American. With a little grooming, the party thought, they could turn this good looking bush into the face of a nation.
They did. Jerry Vernon was President for four years, and his pubes served him well while in office. He had changed the nation, not to mention the free world. It wasn’t long before everyone who held free elections began to follow in America’s footsteps. The Second Dark Age as it came to be known, was over. The Enlightenment had come by way of the legendary Jerry Vernon.
American politics would never be the same.
The election of 2024 was fast approaching. The two party system was still intact, yet the parties had changed with the times as they’ve often done throughout history. The election’s front runner was J.R. Fuzz of People for Unsightly Bush Elimination, or P.U.B.E. for short.
He’d been a political superstar since he unveiled his immaculately smooth pubic region. It glistened in the lights of the conventions and all of America was sure that he was going to become America’s next president.
His closest competitor was Nina Von Deutcsh. She wasn’t really European as her name would suggest, but she had the world’s greatest landing strip. Anyone who saw it was literally entranced. Some say she insured her strip for 10 million dollars. Others said it was more like 100 million. Either way, Nina, like J.R. had become a phenom after her and her pubes were spotted at the Las Vegas stripclub where she was working.
Nina represented A.S.S. or Americans Standing for Shrubs. Coming into the conventions, there was little doubt about what the future held for American politics. J.R. Fuzz seemed to have a stranglehold on the nomination and the Presidency. But then he had a mishap.
Upon revealing his bald and beautiful pubic region, J.R.’s pants accidentally slipped all the way down around his ankles. Hurriedly he covered his crotch, or the little amount of his crotch that America hadn’t seen. He quickly turned around and bent to grab his trousers when the crowd behind him let out a collective groan of disgust.
J.R. Fuzz’s asshole, a browneye in all it’s glory, was staring the American public in the face. Someone in the crowd turned to the person sitting next to them and said, “You know? It kind of looks like a dirty balloon knot.”