Hello. My name is Willie Horton and I have no life. I have no friends and all of my family is dead. On weekends I like to dress up in a Spider-man costume and drink Fanta and conclude my evenings with painting my hands like Rosie O'Donnell's buttocks and screaming into them as if I'm an elephant.
Then again, that's more of an outdated description of me and who I am. But I'm going to keep speaking as if the past is the present. It makes me feel a lot better, given my current situation...
As you may have noticed, my life is really terrible. During the weekdays, after I come home from a long day of beating up schoolchildren for McDonald's dollar menu money, I do nothing but watch VHS reruns of NFL football games from the 90s. Both ABC Broadcasting and the National Football League gave me consent to record and satisfy my various viewing pleasures with these videos, because they know I have no life and that makes them sad and they get a tax write-off for the charity. Thanks, President Carter...
One fine evening, I was drunk on a combination of Pabst Blue Ribbon and jello shots and I was eager to satisfy my viewing pleasures as I always do, prior to crying myself to sleep because my parents were murdered in a freak canoeing 'accident' in the Potomac. I picked up one of my VHS tapes. 'The Chicago Bears battle the Miami Dolphins in a battle to see who are the better battlers.' I wrote that summary myself using my own blood after cutting myself. I popped the VHS tape into the VHS player and scratched my balls in anticipation.
From the get-go, something was not quite right. The classic Monday Night Football theme song was replaced with the theme song from the classic black-and-white television sitcom Green Acres, and instead of the ABC logo a giant pig ran across the screen with the video stopping at interspersed moments. The pig sat and paused at the middle of the screen and stared straight at me and into my soul with eyes comparable to a coffee-stained kaleidyscope. As I stared back into the pig's eyes and found myself hypnotized, I got a glimpse of the future. Donuts have holes in them.
"All men are more easily inclined towards evil than good.", the pig monotonously stated. It was at this point that I realized that this CG pig was Babe the pig from the Babe the pig movies. I had no idea how Fox acquired the rights to show this on the television screen, but that thought seemed to free me from the hypnotism, and I was ready for some pigskin action that would come from a dead pig (that is, if footballs are actually made from pigskins, which they are not but we say they are to pay deference to a pagan ritual. Oh and Happy St. Arthur's Day by the way.)
The NFL theme song was replaced by the Macarena, which made sense given this game was played in 1997 so I didn't pay it no mind. But then they flashed to the announcing booth, and I... I was scared.
Instead of the usual announcers, there were the Fox football announcers John Madden and Pat Summerall... and in the middle of them was a koala. Pat was feeding it a bamboo stick while John Madden stared on as if he was tickled pink. I inspected the screen a little closer and reached a horrifying conclusion.
There were marijuana leaves on the bamboo stick.
The koala's eyes were what turned pink at this point, and then him, John and Pat took turns belching and farting for about 25 minutes. At this point I was too tired from being beaten up by 6 years old that day to turn off the TV, and I assumed that was just a Halloween episode of Monday Night Football, given that the game was played on October 27th, which is close to Halloween.
Suddenly, everybody got serious and the koala was led off the screen by someone in a white and black striped suit. I assumed he was a zookeeper.
"Control the press", Madden somberly announced. Well, okay then.
Pat Summerall nodded and smiled, seemingly in agreement. "You know John, National and International laws should be used to destroy civilization and enslave and control the people."
After that they started talking about the football game, so I figured it was all O.K. at this point. John and Pat apologized for the delay and claimed that Dan Marino was taking a pee so that was why they were late to start the show. I guess that made sense. Athletes do drink a lot of water, so maybe he needed the 20 minutes to make sure he didn't miss the bowl and hit the seat. I went to the fridge and grabbed an iced-cold Budlite. It had a picture of a duck on it and said Ducklite instead, which is O.K. because ducks are my favorite animal. Oh, and speaking of animals, the Dolphins and Bears football organizations are both named after animals.
By the time I came back to the screen, the Bears had the football. Madden was giggling to himself like he always does, and making points about the game that you'd hear if you played his various Sega Master System and Magnavox Odyssey II incarnations of his football video game franchise.
"The truth is, holding happens on almost every single play."
"They used to use stick 'em to catch those balls. Now they just have those gloves."
"Establish huge monopolies that lean toward world government control."
Well, that was enough of that. The play happened and it appeared that both of the Bears' offensive linemen had been holding. Madden laughed to himself and started choking for several seconds as if it was supposed to be funny, and then he circled the linemen with that yellow highlighter pen he always uses.
But at that point, I noticed that something had gone horribly wrong.
"Well, y'see, those two-linemen usually stand tall--they call 'em the Twin Towers for that--but on that play, #9 wasn't thinking, and #11, he was just asking for it. He wasn't paying attention to the needs, desires and rights of the defense, so they just flew their way right into them, and BOOM! The government caused 9/11."
I gasped really really loud until it fuckin' hurt. Now, I'm no Albert Einstein or Thomas Edison or Nat King Cole, but I can tell you when something's wrong, and this was wronger than Wrongly Wrongingsten after wrongly proclaiming that cowboys orginated in America (they didn't--they started out in Northern Mexico as 'vaqueros'... think of the scene from Blazing Saddles in which they all sit around the campfire and eat baked beans, because it was kind of like that.) In short: numbers 9 and 11 are for kickers, quarterbacks, and maybe wide receivers! These players were offensive linemen, so they should have been wearing much higher numbers!
It was at this point that I started putting 2 and 2 together and making 22 or whatever. This couldn't have been an actual episode of Monday Night Football, or even a long lost Halloween episode. It was some sort of secret government document that had accidentally made its way into my collection and VHS tape player! Maybe they thought I'd never get around to watching it, or maybe they thought that the secret was safe with me. Or maybe, just maybe.
"They wanted me to watch this...", I uttered aloud to myself.
Just then, exactly at that moment, I heard a loud banging on the door. "Hold yer horses", I mumbled.
When I opened the door, I... I gotta tell you that I was awestruck by who it was that I saw.
A man in a green forest ranger's suit appeared disheveledly in front of me. His eyes were bloodshot and there were bumps in his forehead, I'm assuming from some sort of unannounced stress-related disease. His mouth was agape and his nametag read, 'Ranger Smith.' The name rang a bell, but I couldn't recall why.
"Let me in", he hoarsedly, whispered over to me.
Now, I care a lot about being a good host, because that encourages positives feelings and keeps the good nature of civilization in check--plus I'm a proud Zoroastrian--but this was all too much.
"Puh... please. The Bears..."
Well shucks, if he knew I was watching a game about the Chicago Bears, how could I not let him in? It isn't like he was stalking me for some psychologically bizarre reason and watching my every move through the window or anything like that, right? ... Then again, he very well could've, because my window was on the wall at a point exactly across from my TV set. "Yeah, sure, come inside."
I offered Ranger Smith a nice Hawaiian punch. He said yes, and after hitting him in the face I offered him a glass of water, which he kindly accepted. He let me in on much, much more than I ever wanted to know.
"It started with us putting them in zoos. It kept them out of the wild and gave them a safe haven in which they couldn't be attacked or otherwise assaulted by other animals. But... but then..."
I paused. "The koala bear on TV! The marijuana! You... you've been..."
Ranger Smith blew his nose on my wall and let out the horrifying truth. "We've been feeding them drugs...
... the government told us to."
Well, that was THAT! I ran upstairs and grabbed my elephant gun. Upon storming back down the steps Ranger Smith demanded to know exactly how I was planning on solving our little problem, and I let him know that I was a gunman for the border police and the government fired me because apparently I was supposed to shoot at other border patrol officers instead of illegal immigrants.
Without hesitation, I hopped into Ranger Smith's vehicle: a 1974 Canadian Ford Pinto. I asked him if I could smoke a faggot in his car and he was about to call his cousin before I informed him that that meant cigarette. He was pretty chill about it, and lighting the cigarette helped calm down my anxiety disorder. After lighting it I tossed it out the window and I heard an elderly woman scream. The bitch probably deserved it anyway.
When we arrived at the Pentagon, I realized that instead of an elephant gun I had brought with me a tetherball pole. Funny... it sure looked like a gun back at my house. I figured I could carry it with me and tell them I was the General's chief sporting equipment installer, and then when their guard was down... I'd give 'em a WHACK. Ranger Smith told me that was not a good idea, so instead we waited until the sun was down.
"They keep the Bears in that back room.", Ranger Smith pointed out to me. We were sitting underneath some spooky looking, leafless trees which added to the atmosphere and suspense. Owls were hooting: I assume in agreement with our plan to end the government's scheme of imprisoning bears to test out experimental drugs, once and for all.
Just then, the door leading to the bear room slammed open and... you're not going to believe what I saw, but I swear it was true.
It was a bear... but not just any bear. He had big brown eyes (I could see them because I squinted), a newsman-looking hat, a white collar with no shirt, and a green tie. I was expecting a growl or a howl or some other sound of primitive aggression and disapproval, like sex sounds or something, but no.
It talked perfect fucking English right at us.
"I can see you, you know! My name is Yogi, what's yours?"
"Uh, I'm--" and before I could finish that sentence, the bear was shot with a tranquilizer of some sort. I ran up to the bear corpse or whatever you'd call it because he was just really asleep and not quite dead or in one of those fantastic comas people write stories about, but... well, upon closer inspection, it was a heroin needle.
I turned around. "Ranger Smith, could you believ--"... and then I felt it.
My very own elephant gun was lodged into my stomach. And it was a gun, not a pole, and nothing I could smoke. It was a fucking gun.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Horton. But you see... I was behind it all. And I deceived you. In every single way.
My name is not actually Ranger Smith, but Adam Weishaupt. On May 1st, 1776, I completed a task that I was hired to begin in 1773, by the Rothschild family. I created a secret organization, spanning multiple continents, including North America and Europe."
"Adam, are you sure this is a good idea?", Yogi inquired.
"Yes, Yogi. Though it will mean... he will know too much." Ranger Smith smiled at me, and I tend to be really suspicious when people smile at me. Something told me I was in big, big trouble. Maybe the gun lodged in my intestinal cavity gave it away.
"The German branch? Hitler was in it. The Illuminati, that is. The American branch? You may know it as Skull & Bones.
The VHS tape is ours. We placed it on your mantle because... well, you'll know soon enough. But I'll let you know now that you won't be crying yourself to sleep tonight." With that, Ranger Smith slammed me on the head with the elephant gun and I was knocked out. Not knocked up. That means entirely something else.
I woke up years later. It was July 2006. I squinted at a wooden sign before me, and I realized I was now in the California Redwood Forest. A massive stone owl god statue sat in front of me. Children were being thrown into fires. Men were talking politics. Faggots were smoking. World policy was being bandied about as if it was a frivolous game of Trivial Pursuit. Every major world event and world decision... was being decided. Right before me...
But what could I do about it?
I was locked in a cage. I was much shorter than I was before, so I could only imagine what drugs they had administered to me. I could still make English sounds, but it was taking me awhile to adjust to match my new voice box and vocal chords. I had very obvious fur and, worst of all, a cheesy purple bowtie.
My cell mate was none other than Yogi himself.
"Psst. Let's break out and catch ourselves some pic-i-nic baskets.", he whispered to me. And I nodded yes. What choice did I have?
"Fuck...", I sighed to myself. I slammed my paw to the ground and realized I had something prickly stuck in it. I pulled it out and bled a little, but it was O.K.
"Looks like you got yourself a Boo-Boo! Hey... BOO-BOO!!!"