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The Completely Correct Life Story Of John F. Kennedy

    John Fitzgerald Kennedy was born May 29th, 1917. Born into poverty to Thomas Kennedy, a Boston entrepreneur, and Martha Kennedy, a woman, young John's life was harder than most. He had eighteen brothers and twelve sisters, though all the sisters died under mysterious circumstances (their deaths were not reported until a month later).

    Young John had always been fascinated by aviation and, along with his brother Winthrop, helped found the Boston-area Young Wright Brothers Society. The Young Wrights, as they would come to be called, were an egalitarian collective of like-minded individuals, all focused on the new wonder of flight. While John would cut ties with the Young Wrights less than three months later, their legacy would continue onward to today, where the Young Wrights are more commonly known as the "Crips" street gang. 

    John attended John F. Kennedy High School (named after a completely different and far less interesting John F. Kennedy) and, despite his economic status, had a very happy social life. He was known as "The Hammer" because, as school chum Elliot Tilly put it, "John just couldn't stop nailin' chicks." John was on the football team but had to sit out two years of play due to a groin injury he suffered during group sex. Still, John excelled academically in place of his physical stymieing. He would be head of his class each year, though it is worth noting that Boston, at this point in history, had a 98% retard population. 

    The most notable occurrence of John's young life happened when his parents took him to see a movie. Walking out of "The Mark of Zorro," the three Kennedys (all of John's siblings had been forced to stay at home because they were all terrible) found themselves in a dark alley and confronted by a common criminal. Robbing them, the criminal fired two bullets, executing John's parents before his very eyes. This event would be the defining moment in John F. Kennedy's life and be a major component of his campaign of vengeance that would take him right to the White House. 

    Left as the head of the Kennedy family and unable to support his massive amount of worthless siblings financially while in school, John dropped out and began working various jobs around Boston. John worked for a time in Lester's Fruit Market just outside of Boston, polishing apples. Lester Worthington, owner of the Fruit Market, said of Kennedy "he was the stupidest kid I ever met. I wanted to slap him all the damned time. I would have, too, if I hadn't lost my hands." 

    One particular event which jaded John further was the time when he witnessed a man in a large white van abduct several small children, bribing them into his vehicle with promises of candy which would never come. Thinking quickly, John jumped into action. 
His arms full of candy, he tossed various chocolate accouterments at the van, helping the children cope with the horror they would soon be subject to. Filling the van with candy, John felt satisfied with his contribution to society.

    "That kid stole $80 worth of candy," says Jiminy Craddock of Craddock's Candy Bathtub, "that's, like, a million dollars in 1920s and 30s money. If he weren't dead I'd kill 'im myself!" 
John took a great amount of guilt away from this situation. He could never forgive himself for the robbery, and always felt bad for what he had done. Still, he had done the only thing possible given the circumstances. To make matters worse, those children did eventually succumb to the pedophile in the van, and they were never heard from again. John was crushed. 

    Knowing that children had been diddled due to his terrible response to kidnapping, John did the only rational thing: he joined the US Navy. As his siblings starved to death at home, John was on a boat sailing around the world being rad as hell. 
This provided him with a chance to forget about his rough past, and ease up a bit. And then the day he had dreaded facing had finally arrived: his division docked their rafts on the shores of Vietnam. 

    Arriving in Vietnam, John had a pretty wonderful time hanging and out and banging Vietnamese chicks. For most of his time in Vietnam, he ignored his superior's orders to come join the Pacific theater of World War II. 
He had dreaded this day due to the fears and risks involved. With the Japanese right around the corner, he may have been discovered at any moment and attacked. One day, his fears came into fruition as he walked into a Japanese birthday party. John had heard about these parties, and they were definitely as weird as the stories said.

    "We had no choice but to strip naked," said one of John's fellow sailors, Richard D. Sailors, "but John was already naked. I assumed he was just prepared, but in retrospect I think he was just kind of an exhibitionist." 
John's shape and size astounded the enemy Japanese and humbled them greatly. The next day, the emperor of Japan submitted an unconditional surrender to the United States of America. 

    John F. Kennedy, son of two humble Boston dead people, had become a war hero. As he set sail for home, he decided to follow in the footsteps of his own childhood hero: the Confederacy. John set fire to every village and forest he passed through, leaving no sign of the Japanese culture standing. As he set sail for America, he felt proud and invincible.

    Such feelings were not to last, as a Japanese warship, who had not heard of the surrender, fired torpedoes at Kennedy's ship, the USS Boatmaster. John found himself in trouble as the ship began to sink into the Pacific. 
Calling upon powers he had secretly developed as a child, he summoned whales and dolphin to aid his crewmen. 

    "It was horrible," commented First Mate Ronald Chumpstain, "he had no clue what he was doing with those aquatic-powers. Whales and dolphins were just eating people whole, left and right. Three of us survived, and not without our scars either. John, of course, was unhurt."

    "To this day, and I may be an old man but I remember this crystal clear," continued Richard D. Sailors, "but I remember some of those dolphins had Swastika armbands on. Johnny summoned the wrong sea mammals, and we all paid the price. At least we got Medals of Honor out of it. Well, Johnny did, anyway." 
John was a fuckup, as it appeared, but dammit he got the job done.

    John's career in politics came as a result of a wager he had made at a bar in Hawaii. 
A woman by the name of Stanley Ann Dunham found her way into John's bed one night and, according to stories released at the time, they had become quite an item. John was the big man on the island and his military reputation had preceded him.

    While at the bar, Dunham's brother, the Governor of Hawaii, wagered his position against Kennedy's sweet Medal of Honor in a game of beer pong. John, ever the master of everything, totally schooled Governor Dunham and became the new Governor of Hawaii. He would have infinity pineapples. 

    John's fruity career was cut short, however, by a counter-wager made by Dunham's brother months later. 
Dunham's brother was a Senator from Massachusetts and bet Kennedy he wouldn't eat 24 eggs. John, having replaced his human stomach with a cast-iron one (also due to a wager) ate 24 eggs, then drank an entire gallon of milk and a spoonful of cinnamon. The Senator, astounded, traded jobs with John and John returned home to Boston. 

    As we all know, Senators have it pretty good, as they don't do jack shit and pretty much don't even have to attend any sessions. John, never one to meet expectations, took his fatcat Senator salary and invested in some personal R&D. Months later, the batmobile had been built. 

    Donning a cape and cowl, John F. Kennedy patrolled the streets of Boston, trying to get vengeance upon the criminal element that had taken his parents, raped those kids, and also starved his siblings to death (no one had bothered to tell John that this part was his fault and that most of his siblings had survived anyway). Modeling himself after his greatest fear, a bat, John found himself swooping over Boston and kicking people all the time.

    "It was just like when we were kids," said Winthrop Kennedy, John's younger brother who would dress as a bird and accompany his brother on outings, "we kicked people all the fucking time! It was wicked awesome!" 
Their crime-fighting was usually limited to the New England bar scene, where they would have the upper hand against the inebriated. There was one dangerous time, however, when they had come across a vicious clown at Gotham Glamour, a secret underground bar for the homo-sexually inclined. 

    "This joker was, like, gassing people," recalled Winthrop, "he had legitimate gas bombs and I got knocked right out because he was a much better fighter and also had gas bombs. He killed a lot of gay people that day. I didn't even know we had any queers in Boston!"

    John, however, hated only one thing more than criminals: clowns. Throughout the second World War, John's service was minimal, but here John found himself in the thick of things and, for the first time, he killed a man.

    "That guy's head exploded like whoa," Winthrop recalled. 
John didn't have time for these clowns.

    "I'm NOT Thomas Jefferson!" he would exclaim vehemently, as if no one believed him.

    Having defeated his childhood fears in the Joker, JFK's life was looking up. 
However, as the world had finally recovered from the second World War, the Red Scare, and the Robot Incursion, John found himself thrust into the public arena. Suddenly, his office mattered more than ever.  The Joker has returned, this time inside the head of Richard Nixon, who was running for the office of President that year. When word got back to JFK, he knew he would have to outmaneuver Slippery Dick on the big stage. 

    "He was a wonder up there," said Bick Dutt, Kennedy's Presidential campaign manager, "he handled the crowd with ease. He knew just what to say when to say it and he had the people eating out of his hand. The only variable we didn't account for was Jackie."

    John met Jaqueline Bouvier at a press function in Kansas. She was a lovely single woman who was known as both America's sweetheart and a woman who liked to eat dogs for some reason. 
One problem remained, however: she was dating Richard Nixon, his Republican foe. 

    "I'm just gonna come out and say it: Dick Nixon was a fucking piece of shit," said Linda Ronstadt Nixon, Richard's mother, "he didn't even need a criminal brain possession or whatever. That little fucko was the worst thing to come out of my womb, and I tell you what, some rotten shit has come out of my womb over the years!" 

    This was the television and radio ad John had devised. He was sure it would win him the heart of Jackie and the minds of the American people. 
The people ate it up, mostly because they hated Richard Nixon and loved John F. Kennedy. John was thrilled when preliminary polls came in, showing that he led Nixon in votes. It was also that same night that Jackie Bouvier would first make contact with him.

    "They had what we in Washington call 'a clandestine affair,'" said foreign aid Peter Thundercat, "but really what most people would call it is 'he was fucking her all the time.' Everyone knew it, even Nixon. He was cool, though, because the sick bastard just loved sloppy seconds." 

    Nixon would live on to stalk Jackie, to John's harsh disapproval. Day in and day out, Nixon would call in to check up on her. 
The secret service asked John what to do.  John, of course, had a great plan of his own: "We trap his soul in some kind of Hell dimension so he can never bother me, Jackie, or America again."

    That was what was emblazoned across newspapers nationwide as the sun rose and John gathered the best wizards in the United States. By nightfall the next day, Nixon has been banished, Jackie Bouvier was now Jackie Kennedy, and John F. Kennedy was the sixth President of the United States. 

    This proved to be a much tougher job than John had grown comfortable with as a Senator. The USSR was not impressed by John's character and checkered life story, and was determined to see him leave his position in time. 
As the Cold War grew colder (well, hotter, but if we used that then I think we'd just end up with the Warm War which doesn't sound awesome at all), Russian leaders knew that America was the only threat to Communist power in the world. As such, they made their move toward spreading Communism throughout Asia and South America.

    "When I heard they were moving missiles into Cuba, I had a heart attack and died," said a ghost. 
John was prepared to do the only thing he knew to do: nothing. He did nothing about it but allow the press to speculate for days. His cold unresponsiveness shook the USSR to their very core as they feared and speculated the repercussions on their own. John addressed the nation to ramp up the spook. 

    "It was a speech we knew was coming, but we didn't know how badass it was gonna be," said former aide Terrence Stamp, "the guy just got up there, in front of the nation, hanging off the Statue of Liberty's crown and brandishing a machine gun. Once he said those immortal words, we knew Russia was going to fall behind us."

    The immortal words were emblazoned across t-shirts, bumper stickers, and white trash peoples' arms. It dominated television and the culture for months afterward. The Beatles sang a song about it and a million people cried.

    Those words: "Fuck Communism! We're goin' to space!" 
No one had ever been so direct with the Ruskies previously.

    "We were scared off our asses with their boldness," spoke a English-speaking foreigner who had immigrated from Russia in 1998. It turned out that the Russians were the ones whose children would speak in the other's tongue. 

    Kennedy knew that with nothing more than a couple drinks in him and a massive stock of endorphins built up after a raucous night of orgies, he himself would be capable of simply leaping into space. But this wasn't the way he would do things. He knew that to truly declare victory in the Cold war, America would have to prove that it could make the moon its bitch. His guiding hand would lead the way. 

    "I was supposed to be the first man on the moon," said Torvald Nelson, an idiot, "I did the rocket training. I did the gravity training. But the President had one man in mind for the job. Himself."

    John trained for hours to prepare himself for the strenuous nature of space. As the moon trip inched closer, however, a new problem arose. Her name was Marilyn Monroe.

    "The dame was tall and lean and had legs that stretched on for miles. She struggled to fit inside any building," said a detective. 

    No matter how high John had attempted to jump, he would always find himself caught in her web of seduction, just before the atmosphere's end. 
Before he knew it, Kennedy had spent several months in an orgasmic haze, tangled up in Monroe's apartment. This proved to give the USSR just enough time to totally suckerpunch America and get the first satellite, Sputnik, into space.

    Sputnik was an advanced orbital weapons platform that thrust everything America stood for into jeopardy. It was manned by none other than the preserved head of Joseph Stalin hooked into its vast computer banks, his tendrils snaking into every vacuum tube and massive transistor. 
John found this to be an abomination and ordered that another great mind be placed into the American ship that would head for the moon. When no great American minds could be found, John installed the brain of Adolf Hitler into the ship.

    "Marilyn was scared John would die in space, entrusting his life to a Hitlership," said political pundit Lance Bayonette, "plus he was under stress trying to his his affair from his wife, who was touring the country and eating dogs in circus sideshows. The 60s were messed up, man." 

    As planned, the Hitlership reached its target, destroying sputnik in a flash of American glory. 

    The resulting explosion threw several pieces of scrap from the Hitlership straight toward the moon. Seeing through a telescope that it all ended up on the moon in what looked like a legitimate landing, a leading scientist snapped a few pictures and sent them to Kennedy, who survived reentry with nothing worse than a mild sunburn.

    John released the photos to the press and called it a day.

    Space race over! Victory to America! Moon is ours! The papers declared. 
America celebrated by getting drunk and passing out. John, being from Boston, did this all the time anyway. As he returned home from the night, he found both Marilyn and Jackie confronting him.

    "His wife told him to make a choice," said leading Kennedy historian Orville Butterfly, "the affair or his marriage. With John, Jr. having just been born, he had to stay with his wife. Thus, the 'suicide.'"

    Reports say that Jackie Kennedy shoved sleeping pills into Marilyn Monroe's mouth and then shoved her off a skyscraper. All true. 

    This would prove to be the final turning point in Kennedy's career. Things began to deteriorate rapidly as his wife began to keep him on a short leash. She even made several of John's favorite liquor stores and bars refuse to serve him and got him blacklisted at all the finest brothels.

    Kennedy sank into a deep depression. 
Seeing this as an opportunity, Nixon decided to lure John into a trap and take Jackie all for himself. 

    Nixon had quickly risen through the ranks of the hell dimension in which he had been banished through sheer force of will, political intrigue and countless backstabbings. Finally breaking free from his dark prison and fueled by the unholiest of dark energies, Tricky Dick was poised to take his revenge. 

    Nixon knew he had to use the utmost care, so instead of a direct attack he drew together all of his guile and wits and made a deal with a man halfway around the world.

    Kennedy received a letter. One that enraged him down to his core. It read:

    With all due respect, President John F. Kennedy, Jr.

    Suck my fruit Marx.


    Ho Chi Minh City

    Something may have been lost in translation. 

    Angered, JFK ordered a full scale invasion of Vietnam. 

    The war raged for several months before Kennedy realized Ho Chi Minh was in North Vietnam, not South Vietnam. 
John didn't care. John was cool like that, he was just over it. It was time to go to Houston and relax. 

    He decided to take the convertible for a spin, Jackie by his side. Tensions had eased lately between the two of them. Or so he thought. 

    "Every woman in America believed Jackie was over it," recounted Barbara Bar, "he was just too charming to stay angry with." 

    "I mean," she continued, "he even cut down to one affair a week on average. He was really trying to be a good husband for once." 

    Richard Nixon, never one for forgiveness, docked himself at the library and unpacked his rifle. 
Jackie had sent him a coded letter just hours before, detailing the planned route and the best vantage point in which to take the shot.

    He looked through the scope while waiting for the limousine, and noticed a man standing on a grassy knoll near the road.

    The man spread out a towel and tore off his shirt. He was ripped. Lee Harvey Oswold spread some tanning butter over his pecs and lied down to get a nice bronze glow going. 
A silenced shot was fired by Nixon, mistaking Oswald for a homosexual, hitting the grass. Realizing his president was in trouble, Oswald jumped into action like a true hero, pinpointing the source of the shot. 

    Oswald's speed was tremendous, and before Nixon could take his bearings again, he had scaled to the top of the book depository and had a hand on Nixon's shoulder. He clamped down, like a vice made of biceps. 

    But Slippery Dick would not give up! He wrestled with Oswald for possession of the rifle just as JFK's car came around the bend. Oswald, buttered up by his butter, slipped his hold of the rifle for a single moment. 
The rifle spun through the air, resisting any attempt by either man to capture it. It was just too oily.

    It hit the ground, and the bullet Nixon had painstakingly smuggled out of hell, concealed cleverly in his nether regions, was fired straight out the window.

    The shot went wide, but this was no ordinary bullet. 

    JFK was no blind man. He saw his life flash before his very eyes as he froze time to stare at the bullet coming his way. 
In that instant, the hell bullet, forged from Lucifer's own vile horn, compressed all time, past, present and future into one concentrated moment and revealed all to Kennedy. All the secrets of the universe were clear to the President.

    He knew his fate. He knew what had to transpire. 
With his last ounce of strength, JFK, quick as light, slapped the bullet before him, redirecting it at Jackie. She died in the same moment.

    Nixon, hearing Jackie's scream, quickly got up and reloaded the rifle. Oswald was attempting to stand, but his slippery muscles prevented any successful attempts. 
A second bullet rang out. JFK turned to it, grinning. He never stopped smiling, even as his head exploded like a meaty grenade.

    John F. Kennedy Junior left his body and flitted away in the breeze. Several onlookers swear, after the horrific moment, that they felt a powerful presence and heard a single ghostly phrase floating in the air.

    "See ya later, shitlords!"

    No one knew what to make of it. 

    Back in the library tower, cops stormed in to see Nixon wielding a rifle while a naked, oiled-up, ripped Oswald struggled on the ground. 
Nixon used his glamour on the police, and convinced him that Oswald was the shooter and he had entered the room just a moment too late to stop the shot.

    Lee Harvey knew he had no chance to overcome Tricky Dick's influence on the police, so with one massive grunt he contracted every muscle in his body, then released them, shooting his body straight out the window before anyone could react. 
The fall destroyed him. 

    JFK's funeral was the event of the century. As stipulated in his will, every woman in a 500 mile radius was required to attend or face criminal charges, and there were no fewer then twelve open bars. Kennedy's legacy became the stuff of legends. 
As a result of Nixon's perceived bravery, he became a national hero. Using this new-found glory, Tricky Dick was elected President of the United States. 

    The story does not end there, but so must JFK's involvement. For further reading, please visit your local library and read from this fine selection of amazingly canon historical works.

    Richard Nixon: Demon or Greater Demon?

    The Bronze God 
Oswald, a misunderstood Midget 

    "I'm the Goddamn Kennedy!" personal writings of America's greatest president. 

    Marilyn Monroe, A Dead Whore's Life

    The Dangers Of Aquatic-Summoning

    Boston: A City That Truly Sucks

    The True Story Of The USS Masterboat

    JFK: His Life In Four-Letter Words

    From The Earth To The Moon: Adolf Hitler

    48 Delicious Dog Delights - Recipes Featuring Jackie Onassis Kennedy

    JFK: The True Story Of The Man Who Would Be Corpse 
~Page x~
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