As according to my marvelous plans, the revolution began on March 26th. I do not know why I chose that date, for to the best of my knowledge (and that of my current minister of propaganda), there is nothing particularly special about it, unless one counts the aforementioned revolution of course. Then it is on par with the creation of the universe, yet another one of my great achievements. But that is a tale for another day.
The ruling government being rather lacking in the administrative department and my heroic sense of duty to my country being paramount, I had thought it best to please the ghosts of John Locke and his revered imitator Jefferson simultaneously by disposing of it. Doing so was not an easy task by any means. I am quite benevolent and diplomatic at heart. That being said, before I brought out my secret weapon of mass destruction, I adopted a doctrine of negotiation and made my way to the capital.
I knocked on the door to the council chamber. They did not respond. My knocking coincidentally awoke the security guard who, in his lethargic state, I had mistaken for a doormat.
“The council’s in session sir. Only approved visitors or council members are allowed in. And could you please remove yourself from my chest? I need to breathe you know.”
The man was obviously a sheep, one of those foul, albeit exceedingly cute creatures specifically bred to protect ill-fated regimes. However, one of the few redeeming qualities of their race is their pliability. I decided to play one of my trump cards (a man of my caliber always has a full deck).
“You know, there is a spy UAV hovering outside that window right there. It would be wonderful if you could eliminate that threat, you being a security guard and all.”
The guard tossed me aside with remarkable ease and sprinted towards the window. I had merely intended to remove him from the vicinity of the door but I had miscalculated the extent of his idiocy. I doubt he knew what a UAV was, or recollected the fact that an overweight man running towards a fourth story window (open or closed) without so much as a temporary respite, does not usually fare well. Only a few seconds passed before he smashed through the glass, screamed bloody murder, and plummeted to his timely death. His body made a charming cracking noise when it landed on the pavement, indicating that several, if not the majority of his bones had been shattered from the impact. This security guard would not interfere with my plans any longer. I dusted myself off from my ordeal and knocked on the door repeatedly to elicit a rapid response.
People can be very expressive when agitated by an unknown entity, paranormal or mundane. The room was soon in an uproar and its dreadful occupants made use of the more colorful excerpts from the English language. Various references to female dogs, bowel movements, piles of sticks, and sexual reproduction were made. My personal favorite was a muffled “Bloody hell!”, not because it was exceptionally profane, but because it is always a pleasure to hear British phrases being spoken by non-British people. Sometimes a man must be reminded that he is not Sherlock Holmes, lacking both his fine accent and intellect. I momentarily abandoned my greater goal to carry out this rectification.
Upon entering the council chamber, I was greeted by a barrage of dress shoes and half eaten Danishes, referring of course to the pastries. Even politicians have a certain degree of dietary restraint, more often in terms of variety rather than quantity. Just when I thought they had run out of ammunition, a quarter eaten Danish found its way to my nether regions. It did not deal any considerable amount of damage due to its soft nature, but I value my nether regions quite highly, as do all men, so it was a close call.
The assault being thus concluded, I seized the opportunity to glance around the room and analyze the situation. The nine council members had retreated from their impressive mahogany table and crowded around the waiter and his food cart. The waiter looked downcast, which was the consequence of seeing his scrumptious pastries being used as edible weapons. Perhaps the zaftig builds of his superiors had something to do with it as well.
One especially well rounded council member, evidently the prime minister, was elected to conduct diplomacy with me. He straightened his tie, patted his hair for reassurance, and sallied forth. I prepared for the worst.
“Who are you and what are you doing here? I swear I’ll sack that damn security guard for this. Crowley, write that down.” One of his compatriots took out a small notepad and swiftly complied, omitting the solitary expletive so as to prevent any scandals. How cute.
“My name is not important, rather, it is so very important and awe inspiring that none of you ignoramuses could say it properly, if at all. As for why I’m here…”
I have a unique way of speaking aloud that often involves the staggered enunciation of words, which it did in this instance. Considering that its divine power is amplified when put into written form, I will paraphrase my speech, diluting it to a collection of words that is both easy to understand, and lacks the capacity to physically obliterate everything the reader holds dear. That would be unfortunate.
“In its current state, this nation is doomed to destruction. Although every single aspect of it is in dire need of amendment, I have chosen three primary issues for the sake of this argument; economy, equality, and piracy. Now I know these problems have been brought to the attention of the council assembly before. However, virtually nothing of substance has been done to eradicate them. The inaction of the present government has retarded the progress of our glorious nation and if it continues along this path, all the hard work of our good citizens will have been for nothing.
We import far more products and resources than we export. This trade deficit has slowed economic growth to a near standstill. Our GDP is pathetically low, good workers are losing their jobs to immigrants, and environmental protection laws are restricting our industrial capacity. The wealthy are investing in foreign corporations rather than our own. Your policy, prime minister, has been to argue with the council members about the health of our chocolate industry. Although chocolate is the life blood of our economy, this has not solved any of the aforementioned problems. Fortunately for all of us, I have a simple plan to deal with this. Nationalize every corporation in every industry. Then we won’t have to deal with picky investors and managing the trade balance will be far more efficient. Expel all immigrants and all individuals who can trace their ancestry to those of foreign blood. Finally, repeal all environmental protection laws. Excessive pollution will not be a problem; we will just have to increase gas mask production by a decent margin. If any animal species goes extinct, have companies manufacture stuffed toys in their likeness. Everyone loves stuffed animals. Everyone will buy them.
Now we must come to the issue of equality, or the lack thereof. It is widely known that social stratification has led to the development of two (if we discount those silly poor people) main classes in our society; the middlemen, and upperclassmen. I understand that the exclusion of the impoverished complicates that list but please bear with me. Anyway, the greater part of this country’s wealth is concentrated in the upper class, which makes up only 2% of the population. These posh creatures live in absolute luxury, with 4K television sets and custom-made smartphone cases. Meanwhile the remaining 85% of the population has to make do with gimmicky 3D televisions and those useless snap on cases that offer no protection whatsoever. In order to achieve the righteous goal of creating a truly classless society, we must erase the wealthy class from existence, preferably with military force. Once the dust has cleared and the blood has been mopped up, we can redistribute their financial assets to the rest of the population so that everyone can have the highest quality televisions and phone cases.
As a closing statement, I must say that the piracy of digital products should be legalized, but for every free download, the person must perform a specific quantity of pushups directly proportional to the number of megabytes in the file. This policy will be enforced by my associates. It will not only end the stigma attached to piracy, but improve the physical health of those lazy video gamers and binge movie watchers at the same time. Of course, many may die from exhaustion or a heart attack, but that will merely complement natural selection.”
I grinned and awaited their response. My speech had been a master stroke, with every syllable being formulated to smother any opposing argument before it could see the light of day. There was no way it could have failed. After this brief meeting, I would be able to formally appoint my cabinet members, spread my ideology to the masses, exterminate infidels, and complete all of the other trivial tasks attributed to nations that are fresh out of the revolutionary womb. Perhaps I’d even have enough time to procure a pint of ice cream from my favorite ice cream shop. Desserts increase productivity by 8000%. I should know; I performed that experiment myself.
An eerie silence permeated throughout the room. The council members stared at me, apparently confused. However, confusion often plays a large role in revolutions and with that in mind, I continued to contemplate my victory. I whooped and began to dance in place, then on the table. The prime minister’s chair seemed quite inviting, so it wasn’t long before my posterior found its new home. It was one of those swivel chairs and although I had invented it myself, the novelty of spinning around in it never wore off. As I began to accelerate, the room became a blur to me. Bands of color passed through my field of view, never staying in one place for more than a microsecond at a time. They shifted into images of my future, of my trials and triumphs yet to come. Oddly enough, one of them involved what can only be described as a smoky mushroom. Before I could ponder over that puzzling detail, the prime minister stepped forward and made his move.
“There is a suggestion box on the first floor; I suggest that you use it. Now get out of here. My colleagues and I have a lot of political matters to discuss. Leave the work to the professionals.”
This was not at all what I had expected to happen. I pulled out another trump card. It was one of the more mediocre ones.
“This is a coup,” I told them.
Their laughter shook the room, not literally mind you, for there were many bottles of champagne lying around and it would have been rather messy if they had fallen over and shattered. Even the waiter joined in the jovialities, ignoring his culinary dilemma for the time being. For the first and last time in the history of our fair nation, I was on the verge of a terrible defeat. Shannon saved me.
         As if on cue, she commanded the door to open for her (it nervously complied) and sauntered over to the prime minister. He was about to verbally object to the intrusion but a sharp glare from the secret weapon of mass destruction kept him in check. At first I believed that Ms. Beattie was going to help me restart my verbose dialogue. Then I realized she was wearing her lawyer attire; she had opted for a shock and awe approach.
         She turned to me and smiled.
         “Don’t worry. This won’t take long. Just go and wait outside for a minute.”
         Operating independently from her orders but arriving to the same logical decision, I took advantage of this calm before the storm and rushed outside, slamming the door behind me. I immediately took out my smartphone and launched the stopwatch app to determine if the minute was to be literal or metaphorical. Suddenly, my phone died. To make matters worse, an unearthly wail was resonating in the air. If there is anything I despise more than disturbing auditory sensations, it’s poorly articulated wailing. If I am to be stalked and killed by a creature that is fond of those morbid activities, I want them to be honest and straightforward about the whole business.  To keep me guessing like this was simply rude. I thought perhaps the pure quality of my earlier speech outweighed its irrelevance and was about to unleash my fury upon the unknown entity. Naturally, I would have been victorious, but I remembered that my secret weapon was in the process of putting on a great show. Not wanting to miss it, I leaned against the council chamber door. It was more of a radio program than a television special, and the audio was rather muffled, but I’m sure it was sublime.
         To this day, I have no idea what Shannon said to them. I only know that it made them cry, and to make a politician cry as if he had feelings, well, that’s one accomplishment I could never hope to replicate.
         The minute passed by as units of time often do, and she emerged from that room beaming with the kind of gratification known only to those who have done something truly great. Before she closed the door, I caught a glimpse of the nine council members testing the quality of the champagne. They were broken; they were wonderful.
         Despite our resounding success, we wanted to maintain an aura of professionalism. That is why after we gave each other high-fives, fist bumps, an assortment of eternally forgotten secret handshakes, and a good old thumbs up sign, I took out my notepad and began to take notes. According to Shannon, I was now officially the Suave Leader of the Republic of Bharath. The entire council assembly would be disbanded and its ex-members would be assigned to secretarial duties. My specially selected associates would be formally inducted into my cabinet, without the need of chloroform. There would be a minister of propaganda, minister of war, minister of education, and a plethora of other lofty titles. The gifted waiter would provide me with an unlimited supply of cheesecake and Danishes. To put it bluntly and in dated jargon, things were going real swell. All we had to do was eliminate all opposition and pacify the masses, but that could wait. Now was the time to rejoice, or so I thought. The unknown entity resumed its fit of wailing.
         “What in the world could that be?” I asked.
         “I do believe it’s coming from that broken window over there,” Shannon said in a random, but quite accurate British accent.
         We hurried over to the window and looked out. What a sight it was! Apparently the other members of the ridiculously incompetent government security service had gone to check on their fallen comrade. Instead of descending a few flights of stairs and examining his corpse from street level however, which would have been the sensible option, they had formed an assembly line of sorts that followed the same fatal path that fool had taken. Shannon and I were staring at a mountain of corpses, with one unlucky soul being trapped somewhere within the pile.
         “Well this is rather distressing, isn’t it?” she asked me.
         “I know right. How are we going to clean up this mess?” I responded.
         The sound of a main battle tank crushing motor vehicles and pedestrians nearby, enlightened us.