"We Was
Framed"
The concession speech
of John Pettersson,
The JJLF Party’s
candidate for presidency.
Note: This draft was submitted to the
JJLF page in a small, anonymous box along with, among several other unidentified
things, several issues of a rather disturbing pornographic magazine
dealing with kitty litter, a bloody kitchen knife, and a torn
photograph of a woman who appears to be checking her dogs genitals for
ticks. All of this was drained in what appeared to be dog vomit and
large amounts of gin. Let it also be known that we received a first
draft of the speech from Mr. Pettersson – scrawled on the inside of
an M&M packet – but since this first draft consisted of a random
and quite often disturbing stream of cusswords, we decided it would be
inappropriate to post it on the page. As of now, we have no idea of
Mr. Pettersson’s whereabouts, as we have been trying to tell the
Miami Police Department for several days now.
We Was
Framed
My fellow Americans; it is late, and
I’m fucking tired. Christ. It’s all over, and we are – or have
already – leaving power in the hands of a man who resembles nothing
so much as the scare-crow in the Wizard of Oz, and whose political
accomplishments so far are limited to owning a baseball team,
insulting a journalist, and having a relationship with the English
language rockier than anything Bubba C and his Icy Non- Hipster Bitch
of a wife pulled of during their eight years at power.
Con-fucking-gratulations. The public spoke, and nobody listened. Lemme
tell you something right now; we were fucking framed. The JJLF
campaign for presidency was, throughout this whole long muthafucking
ride, constantly overshadowed, shamefully ignored, and generally
screwed forty ways from Sunday by the JarJarhating establishment.
Thus, upon the news of our sweeping
win in the popular vote, those sonuvabitches from the darkest bloody
corners of Corporate America pulled out their most terrifying, fuckin’
doomsday weapon yet – and I’m not talking about that scumbag Trent
Lott and his godforsaken cowboy hats, either. Nope. Mister Roboto and
Bozo Tha Crackwhore reached into their dirty pockets and pulled out
MONEY and LAWYERS, and the Jar Jar Party – along with the fine
American citizens – were screwed over again. They had the guy who
brought down fuckin’ MICROSOFT, dammit! We had to settle for one of
the extras from "Ally McBeal", a Hispanic lady named Elena
from Boston’s outer suburbs. Nice lady, but not exactly Top Of The
Pops, know what I’m saying? No wonder the Supreme Court – those
heartless, spoiled-rotten-rich-kid frat boy Ivy League education
fascist corporate whore mofo’s – ruled against us.
In fact, that was but the last of the
many injustices committed against us in this goddamn fraud of an
election. Now, I could stand being carried out of New Hampshire tarred
and feathered – Mister McCain himself handling the tar – and also,
the media’s willful ignorance of the JJLF party run, but the refusal
by those Washington assholes to allow us to participate in the
televised debates were the straw that broke this meta-fucking-phorical
camel’s hairy white back, let me tell you. Watching those two
goddamn hobo’s going at it was about as exciting as watching
crickets mate, and doing this while knowing what a tasty sample of
that delicious JJLF flavor would’ve added to this rainy political
BBQ spectacle made it even worse. The only positive thing about it was
watching the national polls go sky-high in our favor after Boy George
and Eat Your Spinach took the stands.
Then, of course, there was Election
Night itself…hey, that was FUN, wasn’t it? I was about to end it
all, right there, dammit; hand not my trusted VP candidate and coolest
woman alive R.A Clodfelter pulled the knife from my throat I would not
be speaking to you assholes right now, believe me. Can’t remember
much of what happened next, but for some dark reason the smirking face
of Dan Rather’s haunted my nightmares ever since.
I awoke, regretfully, to find that
Florida, that huge rude-looking protuberance harboring the very
essence of American culture; elderly Jews, angry minorities, and a
forsaken and confused younger brother to lead the whole damn thing,
had once again managed to embarrass the good ol’ U.S of A. Now, this
is an accomplishment in itself, but…wasn’t Elian enough, you
bastards??? Huh?
I was treated to the surgically
enchanted doll face of Katherine Harris, the living proof-along with
the cast of that fucking Big Brother show – that we are all taking
this "15 minutes of fame" bullshit way, way too seriously.
And I heard, for the first time, the word "chad", a
four-letter word which is fouler than anything I’ve used so far in
this little ditty, mind you.
Anyhow…I brought my ass to Florida,
as is my duty as the major candidate for presidency. I was going to,
you know, kick back in the sun, have a few nice coconut drinks, maybe
indulge in a short-lived-yet-steamy-hot romance with a scantily clad
Cuban-American senorita while the gentle sea breeze whispered
in those Key West palms..
Didn’t happen. Didn’t fucking
happen at all. They made me look at some of those ballots, and
well, did I mention being pissed-off before? Well, this really did it
for me. I took one look at those freaking ballots and damn near
exploded. Fuck the butterfly ballots; the true injustice lies in the
fact that THE JJLF PARTY CANDIDACY WASN’T REPRESENTED ON THE BALLOT!
How the hell will the American public vote for us if there’s not an
option to do so? Sure, there was a write-in-own-candidate-here option,
but come on…half of you are too stupid to even vote at all!
How the hell will the slightly smarter half master the write-in
option? As soon as I saw that my heart-and-lung system did a Dick
Cheney to the umpteenth degree, dammit. All those campaign nights I
spent strengthening it with large doses of healthy brandie’s didn’t
help, it appears.
Took me about a month to get out of
that hospital, though. Fucking doc’s tied me to the bed! And then,
they had the nerve to issue a Willful Destruction of Property
charge as soon as I got out! I didn’t break no damn chair, dammit. I’m
not saying anything about the mirror, the windows or Mr. Swalinski’s
life-supporting system, but I didn’t touch the damn chair!
Dammit, dammit, dammit…anyway, let’s
get down to business. I congratulate that cute little monkey –
sorry, that big, ugly monkey – on making it to the presidency with
no qualifications whatsoever, thus lowering the standards of an
already tarnished office. I pat the back of that other guy, the Big
Loser; hey, come on down to us any day, dude! We need someone to kick
the shit out of every now and then. On second thought, don’t. You’d
probably bore even the flies to death. Or give us homework.
Finally, I also forgive those
government officials whose ballot designs shot my lock-safe bid for
presidency to pieces. I forgive them on the sole basis of the court
order recently issued on me, which prevents me from owning any form of
weaponry during an undefined and possibly permanent period of time,
thus sevrely limiting any chances of ever getting to issue
full-fledged revenge on those corrupt bastards.
My fellow Americans, it is very late,
I’m fuckin’ tired and very, very drunk. Get the hell outta my face
and leave me alone with this barrel of fine Jamaican Elephant Rum and
this handful of Prozac…and oh, if any of you bastards ever even
mention the word "recount" again, I’ll club your
motherfucking heads in.
Burn The Flag,
J.K.P
Copyright 2000 - The
Jar Jar Liberation Front
Webmaster: Comrade
Onelovich