It took three days for us to cross the wasteland of Conneticut, mainly because we had to avoid the Transvestites; its terrible what they did to the poor people of Darien, even though they ARE Americans - in fact its terrible the havoc they wreaked right across the New Haven Line, wiggling their things in the auditorium of every school, joining up with the Hell's Angels to terrorize the civilian populations hiding in the back of Walmarts...But you have to think, they brought it on themselves. Still, when we met our first gang of them, I was sure we were goners. "I'm a reporter," I shouted, "Dutch TV! Channel 6!" but it was no use. We can be as good as we like to the Transvestites in OUR country - it doesn't help us here where things were wild. So we needed to travel to Westchester County at night, avoiding all populated areas, traveling through the Greater Stanford Environmental Area. (The GSEA is one of the environmental parks that cover almost all of the former United States - a great big wetland that The Last President created out of almost all of suburban Conneticut. It links up with the Middletown Nature Preserve to the West and further West the Bergen County Wildelife Reserve. These are wild, dangerous places where no one normally dares to travel.

We met the fixer in the remains of the White Plains shopping mall. "So you wanna go to New York, eh?" he said, chewing three Galouises cigarettes out of the side of his mouth "I can get you there, buddy. But we'll have to go through Frenchtown".

He was a true, American type. He still had a US flag on the back of his denim jacket, (despite the fact that any Democrat who saw him could legally have him arrested) and he wore a pair of Levi's jeans - original jeans, made back before the whole company moved to China. His arrogant sneer reminded me of everything we Europeans had fought against for so long; there he was, sitting in the Starbucks, as if it was still operating, sipping cheap Vodka out of a styrofoam cup. Styrofoam! I thought of all the forests with non-degradable styrofoam lying on the ground. "Savage." I thought. But I needed him.

Soon it was time to pray, at the First Zionist Rastafarian Church of Bin Laden. The Democrats were there as always, guarding the door in big Bolshevik leather jackets, their machine guns glinting in the cold breeze. They set it up where the McDonalds used to be; a picture of Reagan was painted on the face of the former Demonic Clown and as the chant went on, telling the story of these primitive folks, they would stop to hiss and spit in Reagan's face.

We all became respectfully quiet as the priest began to chant, the terrible warning tale of America over the last four years.

It happened soon after the end of the election. America had been brutally attacked. President Gore (here the Priest's face lit up at the mention of the holy man's name) immediately announced that America would respond by showing a more caring, loving side of United States Foreign Policy. He called it "American Peretstroika". America's enemies became bolder; Gore's response was only to work harder to understand what had made America so unloved. Finally, in a conference in Sao Paolo, Gore agreed to the Seven Points.

  • The American Army was to be immediately disbanded, as America's way of atonement for its brutal military power.
  • The Christian Relgion was hereforth declared as illegal on the former territory of the United States of America. Anyone worshipping Jesus would from here on be exiled to Belgium, or worse.
  • In order to make up for its destruction of the environment, all factories in the United States were to be shipped to the Third world; half of the nation was to be made into special environmental zones where no economic activity was to be allowed to take place.
  • Los Angeles was to be burned to the ground and salt plowed upon the ground where it stood to make sure such a monstrosity would never exist again.
  • New York was to be turned over to an international coalition which would run it in the name of "humanity". All Americans would have three months to leave.
  • A new state religion was to be made up in which Americans would be taught to worship what they once dared to despise. (Here the Priest bowed to the ground for this was the beginning of the First Zionist Rastifarian Church of Bin Laden)
  • A large portion of America was hereby to be leased to the French for 99 years. French became the second national language of instruction, and the sole acceptable language for all further official business, including corporate contracts.

A tearful Gore addressed the nation. He explained that he saw no other choice, certainly not the radical Republican answer of fighting back and hunting the terrorists down. "My fellow Americans," he said, the last televised broadcast of a leader in independent America, "haven't we done enough damage to the civil rights of others, women, minorities, animals, and the earth? The only way for us to be reborn one day as a morally great nation is to accept the Sao Paolo demands and hope that one day we will be allowed to retake our place in the family of nations."

But this is history everybody knows; just as everyone knows about how, without the power of the state to check them, gangs of roaming homosexuals made the road impassable; and how a woman needed to prove she had had at least three abortions just to get a bread ration. And of course, everybody knows about the Rebel George W. Bush and his audacious raids on UN headquarters as the head of a determined band of paramilitaries known only as "The Rangers." It was to try to make contact with these enemies of humanity that I had come; but first, I needed my guide to get me through the dreaded Frenchtown... I waited silently for the prayer to be over. It was clear my guide was disgusted by he had no choice but to listen - only the priest could temporarily turn off the chip implanted in the brains of every American. These chips the one that brutally shock anyone who does not attend services at least once a week. What would he do if we were caught in Bush territory? Perhaps he believed, as many Americans did, that Bush's men knew how to remove the chip. If so, was I doing something morally wrong by giving him the money and wherewithal to make it to New York? These are the types of moral questions every journalist must ask himself...

"I can't wait to get down to New York City and have myself a hamburger," he said. I winced. Sacrilege in the temple of God! But there was nothing to be done...I made my choice and I needed him

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