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Independence Day: The Quickening
What many of us have been taught is that the founding fathers created America and freedom after throwing off the tyranny of British rule. That's not quite correct. You see the story of American independence is not found in history books or legal texts, but in the legend of the founding fathers.
This story begins in 1740, George Washington was 8 years old and had been caught by his father cutting down a cherry tree. Washington confessed to chopping the tree down. But what you don't know is that he didn't use an axe, but instead felled the tree with the power of his mind!
At the age of 18, George set out to find people like him and to bring them together to fight the greatest villain of their time, George III.
From all across the land, Washington scouted out top Patriots with similar capabilities of an extraordinary nature. The call went out, and meetings were held. One man, stepped up.
"I am not the man you are looking for!" he hollared. Franklin was going to be a difficult sell to convince. But Washington was not a man to be dismissed easily. He focused all his mental acuity upon the wretched old man, but nothing happened! Franklin had shurgged off Washington's most cruel mental assault without even breaking a sweat. Franklin smiled coyly. "Nice try young man, but I've been at this much longer than you."
Just then, native American Indians stormed the meeting, looking for hostages... and sacrifice. These Indians were bloodthirsty, but there was one in particular. His size was immense, a great bulbous mass that picked men up and threw them like tinder. Whoever this Indian was, he was powerful. His power was so unstoppable that he easily scalped Franklin in one fallow swipe. (It's no wonder, then, that the fables attribute no battle stories to the old man).
Franklin was bent, but not broken. His once long, lucious hair was cruelly stripped. He would be bald forever more, marked by the callous Indian. Washington winched, and he winched hard. When he attempted to negotiate with the brute, the language barrier proved the task impossible.
The monster turned and focused his gaze on Washington, intent on beating this puny man down. But he found the task harder than he had anticipated. Washington bent his mind to the task of humbling this mighty creature. Finally, the Indian submitted. His head bowed. Washington had made his first convert to the ideal of 'freedom'.
"Let us join your tribe!" Franklin begged. The Indian looked plaintively at Franklin, but there was nothing he could do now. His mind was dominated by Washington. Franklin turned on Washington. "You cannot do this! These people deserve freedom!"
Just then, the British were coming! Cannonballs flew through the meeting house, and Washington released his mental grip on the giant. Unleashed, the giant grew angrier and angrier. The cannonballs slaughtered his people (who had attended the raid with him), and he would be the last of the Potatototo Tribe.
As his lungs expanded with anger and rage, his skin turned green and he began to grow. No one was going to like him now, not when he was angry. He turned towards the British and ran at them. Dust swirled around him. Washington and Franklin beat a hasty retreat. Up the street, they saw a tavern.
"Two Mojitos, please," ordered Franklin. Their near-death experience had chained him to George at heart. The two men surveyed the tavern. Tall, well-muscled men without shirts paraded around, dancing to the thump-thump of the music from the band. A man walked up to Franklin, "Hey there old timer, looking for some fun?"
By this time, there were no women in America yet.
"Ha ha, not today Billy. But thank you," he waved the ripped man off. The man looked at Franklin inquisitively, then at Washington. "Have I seen you men before?" "Have you been to one of our meetings before?" Asked Washington. The man looked down, "Yes, I ... I'm Thomas Jefferson."
Charlie Sheen II turned around, just a stool over in the bar. "I'm NOT Thomas Jefferson!" he argued at Jefferson, "that guy was a pussy!" Jefferson was taken aback! Who was this man to talk to him in such a manner. Jefferson looked at him intensely, fire shooting out of his eyes at the man on the barstool.
Washington calmed Jefferson. "This man, he speaks strange things, but he is free to say them. Join us, stranger." Sheen took a seat and the four of them talked. "Who are you stranger?" Asked Washington. "Another four mojitos barkeep!"
Four mojitos arrived.
"Call me Sheeny. God for short."
"Well God, we're members of an ultra-secret club of supermen! Are you a superman?" Washington looked at the man, dressed in a leather jacket and smoking a cigar. "Yeah, I got a power, it's the ability to be smarter than you jerks. I don't have time for these clowns," he muttered to himself.
Washington couldn't believe this! The nerve of this man to think he was smarter then him! He'd show him. Washington focused his mind on beating the man mentally, when suddenly Sheen extended blades from his fist, grown out from his knuckles, and warned, "back off, old man. My mind is for me only."
Washington stumbled back. Franklin laughed and sucked down his mojito. Jefferson looked on in awe. After a long pause, Washington spoke first, "Sheen, God. We need you to help us fight the British and defeat the evil George III."
"And I need YOU to get a life, LOSER!" Sheen barked back. "I don't have time for these clowns..." Washington looked dejected but realized he would get no where with the rogue.
"Just kidding with you. Sure, I'll join. I'm always looking for something to do, shit to fuck up." Sheen trolled. He sensed Washington's nervousness and dejection, and was just giving him a hard time. Washington glowered at Sheen. This man was inscrutable, but no matter. The four of them would make a fearsome force. Washington stood on the bar, a little wobbly from all the mojitos and shouted to all in the tavern:
"We must be free men!" he paused. "We must create something new! Like a country, or whatever!" Washington loudly burped, signalling that his glorious speech was over. The men cheered loudly.
Meanwhile in Britain . . .
George III stumbled around, drunk on wine. He did a line of cocoa off his diamond-studded dresser, which was paid for by the tax dollars of America.
"Here's to taxation WITHOUT representation." He laughed, and continued snorting his lines of cocoa. The doors to his bedroom opened and two guards entered, carrying a half-starved prisoner between them.
The man looked up at the King, his eyes misty, begging the King for his mercy. "Who is this wretch, another American to sate my thirst for human flesh?"
The guards placed the man on the ground and backed away slowly. The King sniffed the man.
Benedict Arnold smelled like eggs benedict.
"A meal? So soon? Much obliged." The guards still lingered, for some reason. "Now, fuck off!" Just as quick as he said the words, the guards left him to his tasty feast.
The King bent down and picked up the man's arm and began nibbling on it. Benedict Arnold screamed and pleaded with the King to stop. "Please M'Lord! Please don't eat me like the rest! I'll tell you whatever you want! I'll tell you about ... The Colonialist Super League!"
The King started. "The what the fuck bloody hell what? Christ? Do they have good chocolate?"
Benedict looked stunned, he hadn't expected that to work. "I don't know what kind of chocolate they have. But I know they seek to destroy you M'Lord."
The King looked pensively at the dejected man. "Tell me then, would they be tastier than you?"
"Tastier than the best crumpets in all of Britain, m' Lord. They grow sugarcane to offset their tax expenses, and never list it under on their tax forms."
The King started to grumble. "Cretins. Do you know what I can BUY with those tax dollars?"
The King grew enraged thinking of all the chocolate and human flesh he could buy with that money! The only solution was to make those upstart colonists pay.
"Order the army and the navy to set out at once! And tell them to bring my rape wagon! I like to fuck what I eat! I'll destroy those colonies and I'll rape and eat everyone there, starting with the children!"
By the time of the armada's arrival to Boston, a tea party was already underway. Hundreds of drunken, ripped men were downing packets of tea. George Washington took off his shirt, and he was ripped.
"Men, what we're doing today will go down in history as a great moment in history! This is the 50th Colonial Orgy and if I may say so, the best!"
Everyone cheered, when a boat suddenly landed and out got a woman. She was tall, with long and huge tits. She was wearing cut-off jeans. Her name was Betsy Ross and she was the first woman to come to America.
"Hey Boys, I heard you have a Supergroup over here."
All of America's jaw dropped at that very moment. Men began salivating.
"Sir, don't you think this may be a trap?" Sam Adams asked.
Everyone told Sam to shut the fuck up. Ben Franklin waddled over to the woman, his bald pate shining in the sun.
"Hello Ma'am, my name's Ben, Benny for short. What power do you have?" The woman smiled benevolently and took off her top. The men stood slackjawed, hypnotized.
Thomas Jefferson looked nonplussed, "I don't get it. What's her power?"
Charles Sheen stepped forth. "IT'S A TRAP, YOU RETARDS! DON'T FALL FOR THIS TRANNY BULLSHIT!"
"Gentlemen, please," Betsy Ross leaned forward "My power is my ability to sew."
Betsy Ross put her top back on and the men regained their composure. Washington stepped forward, "Welcome to the Supergroup Ms. Ross."
Charles was angry. No one ever listened to him, they never fucking listened.
"THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT, IT'S A FUCKING TRAP YOU IMBECILES. I'M ALWAYS RIGHT!" Charles was really pissed.
His claws flashed out and he jumped forward, intended to impale Betsy Ross's huge boobies and show everyone how fake and silocony they were. But Franklin leapt in front of her and took the claws in the stomach. He fell to the ground.
Franklin was dead. Charles continued to slash his face. Charles looked at what he had done, and he began to realize that he was a monster. He was what he fought against.
"Shit, man." He muttered. He backed away, afraid of what he had done. The people began to mourn. But there was precious little time. The invasion of America was about to begin.
The booming sounds of cannon fire populated the 5% alcohol-distributed air over Boston.
"We need to get out of here!" Yelled Washington. Betsy Ross whipped out her seweing kit and sewed together a biplane.
"Hop On!" she screamed. The men scrambled on and away they went into the blue sky! Jefferson peered down into the smoke, ocassionally firing his laser eyes at British soldiers. As soon as the Redcoats reached land, they swarmed to Franklin's corpse and began devouring him. On the side, they drank tea--those cocks.
"Hey Betsy, what happened to no man left behind?" George Washington said.
"I know, I'm sorry George. But old perverts like that deserve to be eaten alive." She sighed, remembering her own father.
The group landed in Philadelphia, home of brotherly love. "THE BRITISH ARE COMING! THE BRITISH ARE COMING!" shouted a rainbow-colored parrot imported from South America. This put their hearts at ease.
"Hey guys, shouldn't we like, hold like, a continental congress or something?" Sam Adams asked "It would be cool to meet with some of the other colonies, man."
Good idea Sam!" Washington agreed.
"We'll have it here, we'll call it the Colonial Convention, the ColCon for short."
Jefferson grew excited, "I'll make posters!"
Sheen looked at the parrot, "You're coming with me buddy, I'll call you Paul Revere after some dick I stabbed in Boston."
ColCon was going to be a hit with the ripped men of Philly, who were even more ripped than those in Boston. There was something about that name that proved irresistible. Hundreds came to the town hall.
ColCon ended up with everyone shooting the shit, and really nothing getting done. At the end of ColCon a huge Indian walked in. The men parted around him. "I am Chief Wiggledick, Chief of the Potatoto tribe. The British have raped our men, and eaten our children. They cover our women in chocolate and send them to Britain. I come to fight with you!"
Washington looked stunned. "You speak English! What the fuck?" But he was not speaking English. Washington only heard what he wanted to hear. Washington hardly listened to anything anyone outside of his SuperGroup said, he was pretty damn narcissistic and elitist.
The Indian was never there (he was fighting the British elsewhere), everyone was pretty stoned by the sweet weed Sam Adams brought. His cousin John came in and he was totally ripped. Not like bulky ripped, but like skinny ripped you know? His hair was slicked back and his teeth were covered in gold.
"Heh" he smirked. "Time to get this party started." But the party had already ended. John was too late. George Washington pondered about how great he was and began to think about the future of America. "Yo guys, I think it would be a great idea to bring in some ultra ripped dudes. To fight off the Brits."
Everyone nodded in agreement. And so ColCon ended. They passed one resolution:
"To Wit: That the Colonies need some ultra ripped dudes to fight off the dumbass british. If you are ultra ripped we are looking for you, so come on down."
John Adams read this letter and thought, "Why the fuck not. This time I won't fuck up. Not like I did in high school."
John Adams began training. Really, all he did was incline bench, but he felt pretty ripped. He became ultra ripped. Or so he thought. Then came the tryouts.
The judges were the Supergroup, Washington, Sheen, Jefferson and that total babe Betsy Ross.
The first test was a test of endurance, all the men had to stand naked in the cold in front of the judges for as long as possible. While arm-wrestling. Contestants died out one by one. Leaving the last two contestants on America's Next SuperGroup. The last two contestants were Washington and Jefferson, who had slaughtered the others by arm-wrestling too hard.
"This is a conundrum!" said a dead man. Then Sheen killed him. Washington and Jefferson looked at each other and realized, they had out arm-wrestled all the contestants. They looked down at the corpses and picked two up. John Adams and Alexander "The Philanderer" Hamilton.
"These two will do", said Washington. He gave them to Betsy Ross, and she wove them back to life, or something.
As Washington and Jefferson high-five'd each other in victory, fireworks emancipated from their contact and lit the evening sky.
The next day, Newspapers had hailed the two new SuperGroup members as the saviors of 'Merica. They were instantly named President and Vice President of the United States. Even though it didn't exist yet, it totally will, keep reading.
The two new Supergroup members walked into the Hall of Freedom and said "We serve America, in death!" They saluted Washington.
Just then, a wild Benedict Arnold appeared, and he was ripped!
A man wrapped up in treason, pure iron and rippedness was nothing to be fucked with. Benedict Arnold flashed a gang sign and shouted, "Brit tain clan ain't nothin' to be fucked with."
Benedict Arnold leapt at Washington with superhuman speed. Alexander Hamilton punched Arnold in the face. It was super effective.
Arnold retreated. He scampered away, back to his master. What the Supergroup didn't know is that he was just a clone. Every Redcoat was build exactly like Benedict.
Meanwhile, in the backwoods of Massachusetts . . .
A hulking brute of an Indian tore through the British, ripping them in half and leaving behind nothing but nightmares and shattered families.
He was craving chocolate, and revenge.
"CHOCOLATE!" The brute yelled. He began to use cannons akimbo style. He was ripped. He was uber-ripped. The British were in horror.
The beast made his way to Boston, and that's when he met the dark lord himself. George III. George was now 10x as powerful as he had been in Britain, he had been feeding.
"CHOCOLATE!" yelled the Indian.
"CHOCOLATE!" Yelled George III.
They were the exact same damn size! The Ripped Indian began firing his cannons. But the balls bounced off George's rock hard abs. He too was uber-ripped.
Both these dudes were so ripped that if America had any woman other than Betsy Ross they would have creamed their pants.
The men circled each other, like dogs in heat. Each looking for an advantage, a way to mount the other and forcibly implant his seed. Or kill him, whichever.
In George III's eyes, the giant native was made from cocoa--how else would his skin be so tan?
"FEAST!" George III lunged towards the gnarly Indian. The Indian wasn't having any of this and ended up throwing him into the Back Bay. George III isn't ripped enough to swim.
George III struggled against the waves, barely keeping his head above the water. He looked out at the Indian and licked his lips. Oh what a delicious feast he would have made.
Just then Washington, Jefferson and the rest showed up and took credit for throwing George III into the bay. F-16's roared overhead.
As for the native American hero... Smallpox.
Charles Sheen II entered rehab with the help of his friends. He was later kicked out.
George III went on to be a successful pilates instructor. Pretty much getting laid and having fun, you know a laid back kind of guy.
Betsy Ross went all over the world igniting revolutions in the name of democracy. France had it the worst--there were no survivors.
George Washington became President of the United States. He fucking runs this town.
John Adams and Alexander "The Philanderer" Hamilton became ace detectives. They solved the case of the missing cherry pie in under 72 hours, impressive for the time. They were also notable for being the first living dead detectives in our nations history.
Sam Adams went on to live forever in the hearts and livers of future Americans for the rest of history.
Thomas Jefferson went on to buy some land in Louisiana. He operates a small club exclusively for male clientele in New Orleans.
Charles Sheen, on being kicked out of rehab, felt bad about killing his friend Ben Franklin. To relieve his guilt, he assumed Ben's name, raised his children, acted as a husband to his wife, and became a clutch scientist and philosopher for the history books. His buddy Ben would live on.
The South American Parrot went on to become the worlds first Music Producer, responsible for many of the songs of the 1800's and 1900's.
Benedict Arnold and his clones spread accross the new world, impregnating nearly every woman they came across. Over 99% of the population of the United States is related to him! The more you know!
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