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STCCOS on Radio Free Europe

FROM THE CENTRAL EUROPEAN BUREAU:

A Message from Your Queen upon Hearing Sucking the Corporate Cock of Satan on Radio Free Europe.

I am only able to write this due to the synchronicity of a plane flying low and the gypsy woman next door reheating goulash in a stolen microwave. I’d better make it quick. This is the first good internet connection I’ve had in 3 years.  

I have been in exile behind the rusted iron curtain since 2006. After my initial plot to restore a global monarchy (mine) ala Alexander the Great failed, I found myself here in Central Europe removed from all that I once loved; a virtual prisoner of the ‘new capitalism’. Everyone here wears mouth guards to stop them from grinding their teeth at night, and to simultaneously make it easier for them to suck the corporate cock of Satan.  

For those of you who are unaware, my campaign for global domination was born in Oslo at the home of Gunnar Mo, Minister of Propaganda. After many adventures which you will read below, I ventured forth to find vulnerable areas of attack and somehow became a prisoner of my own devices. Here I sit, a female Alexander, all dressed up with no where to go. But the decay was in play long before I found myself imprisoned in Prague. 

The beginning of the end saw Gunnar Mo wandering the beaches of New England with a cabbage under his arm and hooked up to a portable IV with a Bombay Sapphire drip. He was ranting at African American cab drivers about how they didn’t realize that they were still oppressed. I put a stop to that nonsense by enlisting him in a covert operation of conversion at the Newport, Rhode Island Naval Base. The campaign was a success. We managed to get chauffeured into top security areas by high ranking military officials where we deftly raided their cache of single malt scotch. The plan was two-fold: I would burst into tears anytime I saw someone in uniform, and Gunnar would play up the fact that everyone mistook him for Hunter S. Thompson. When we were ultimately discovered, we launched Phase 2: Raid an Officers Club wedding and threaten everyone with prison, torture, and self realization. This went off without a hitch; we escaped with 3 bottles and the cabbage still intact. 

After nursing a few minor injuries, Gunnar and I parted ways. It was understood that I would meet him in Norway in three months bringing with me 2 vintage guitars whose necks were stuffed with microfilm and assorted blackmail photos. Guitars in hand, I fled to Trondheim, the ancestral home of our movement “Anarchy, Monarchy, Dynasty” and found myself embraced by the Viking population there to the soundtrack of Lilidugg’s comeback concert, a perfect backdrop to further our plans. After grooving at the gig, I met with the Danish contingent for a serious confab on what to do next. Our conference (masquerading as a 12 hour drinking party) was foiled by Minister of Health and Human Services, Klo, who blew his cover by getting us chucked out of 3 establishments for crude behavior. Later that evening, Minister of Fear, Jakob, was threatened with beheading for falling asleep with his head resting on the Queen, while watching bullfighting videos Gunnar Mo had culled to program the masses. It was during this historic meeting that the national motto ‘Har du ikke penge?’ was born 

The next day I flew out of Trondheim to Prague to scout the best locations to ‘bring the bastards down’. And I’ve been here ever since, because the bastards keep changing, and I keep getting drunk. Meanwhile, in my absence, the movement began to fall apart. The boys were lost without their Queen. 

Prime Minister Lars Vold went missing in action. Rumor had it that he was seen wandering the streets of Oslo pulling a Knut Hamsun, writing poetry on the soles of his shoes and then eating them. 

Steinar Vikan, Minister of Non-Finance was doubling as an attaché for the CIA so that our intelligence arm would know ‘what not to do’. He was last seen drinking martinis with a midget wearing a red wig in Croatia. I could not contact him 

Meanwhile, his brother Torgeir was inventing mind-controlling computer programs and writing songs with hidden meanings. When played backwards, they would drive Green Day fans mad. He went mad for a time as well, and was often heard muttering ‘I buried Lars’. 

And the drummer was an intrinsic member of my cabinet because nobody knows exactly who he is, where he comes from or how old he is. I am in possession of a dossier compiled on him by the OSS. When out on assignment his code name was Dorian Gray.  Last seen, he was in London, hanging out in East End pubs, slipping the Mickey to Polish house painters in order to gain national secrets. They say he spent 6 months in hospital recovering from food poisoning. Too much kapusta. 

And here I am in the center of Europe; feeling abandoned and thinking all is lost, when I suddenly hear the strains of Lillidugg pour out of the 1967 Soviet ham radio which broadcasts Radio Free Europe. And magically, I get internet connection and read about my boys reemerging from the ashes like a Phoenix, staging a brilliant coupe on the steps of the Oslo Stock Exchange in preparation for the return of your Queen. 

When next you hear from me, I will be among you in Norway, or, if my insidious plans are successful, the Americans will have installed the radar here, and I will be able, by sitting under the dish, to get a steady internet connection. Until then, go to I-Tunes and download our national anthem, “Sucking the Corporate Cock of Satan”, ta en til, and whisper “har du ikke penge” when you meet fellow revolutionaries. 

Forever in Anarchy,

Your Queen

Catherine of Leon

Published 13.05.09 19:27 by Cathrine of Leon

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Comments (4):

name22.06.09 00:47
omfgheeeeeeyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Chiara27.05.09 13:59
a kiss to Gunnar from Chiara
Clifton Waters14.05.09 08:36
I once had a cabbage. Silent subtle pleasure in a back alley of Montpellier.
Psycedelic reaper14.05.09 00:38
CLOSE THEM BORDERS NOW! MARSHAL LAW, please;)
STCCOS

STCCOS

Everyone here wears mouth guards to stop them from grinding their teeth at night, and to simultaneously make it easier for them to suck the corporate cock of Satan.