"So, you mean, I could mandate that the peasants build me a party bus with a bar, some stripper poles, and a cow-catcher covered in rebar spears?" Dennis The Unnamable Garbler said, imagining all the possibilities.
Maximillian frowned, as he usually did whenever Dennis said something, "Nay, that isn't at all what I said! I was trying to explain that-"
"That we should set some of our smarter guys aside as wrestlers and make them rulers, yeah, I get it. That's the best idea you've ever had, and I'm flattered by the invitation. I'm gonna go propose the issue right to the big man himself!"
"You goat-fouling scoundrel! If you speak any of your false words to Managantamos about this, I'll thrash you proper for each one!"
Managantamos sighed and set his weights down in front of the door to his office. He was sick and tired of the press asking him what he was going to do with all the humans' silly land. As he always said to the civilisations he destroyed before "It's your planet, it's your problem". Anyone genuinely concerned about the well-being of their planet would either stop buying tickets, or elect to host the events somewhere that is decidedly not an important government building. But alas, it happened on Earth, as it had happened at least twice before this, and so he had piled up his barbells before the door to make sure nobody could open it and complain about the moral implications of an occupying army of professional wrestling. Nothing so puny and incessant as a political journalist was going to move that door, or look through that window, until he was ready to let them in. He was in his private sanctum now, able to view the televised events in peace. Finally.
He turned on the night's smackdown and pulled a juicy steak of some description out of his food printer. Casually tossing the raw meat in his maw, he spread an intricate, burrowing net of mycelium over the meat with his tongue and began absorbing the steam of enzymes and fleshy chemicals as the meat boiled and slowly turned to jerky in his mouth. Mm, this was better than that Space Octopus that he'd ripped apart in the ring during the Winter Holiday Slam. Now that was a show.
Suddenly, he heard one of his wrestlers knocking on the door. He could tell it was one of his wrestlers, not because of the distinct sound of the knocking, but rather because, after the initial knock, the doorknob turned and the heap of osmium exercise equipment shifted and scraped along the floor to make way for the massive force behind the door. The goatheaded bastard and his mustachioed sworn enemy were walking in, both seemed to have completely different things to say.
"Look, this may be a little odd at first, but there'll be hooker busses, so it'll be all worth it!"
"YOU ONLY WANTED BURLESQUE DANCERS THE FIRST TIME! IT GETS WORSE EVERY TIME I HEAR IT!"
"Look, Max, when you present it to The Lord of the Arena, you gotta sweeten the deal a little!... Besides, who eats strippers? Doesn't taste right without the local venereal diseases." The Demonic abomination turned back to Managantamos, "Ain't that right, big man?"
"MANAGANTAMOS DOES NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU REQUEST OF HIM. MANAGANTAMOS WOULD LIKE TO EAT HIS DINNER IN PEACE." Managantamos boomed, with a perturbed expression. It was a rare moment that Managantamos didn't boom with a perturbed expression, so that hardly demoralized his regulars.
"What I was thinking originally, my good man," Maximillian said, shoving Dennis aside, "Was that, since the local governments have gone belly up during that whole ghastly 'Bustermania' ordeal, we could, perchance, take up the responsibility of nationstate governers until they've rebuilt themselves. You know, keeping society and decent living from utterly collapsing in the wake of our destruction and all that."
"OR," Said Dennis, contemplatively, "Or, we could, y'know, not do that, but still take power for ourselves and have orgy busses with booze that also spear pedestrians."
"MANAGANTAMOS FAILS TO SEE HOW ANY OF THIS CONTRIBUTES TO HIS ENTERTAINMENT." Managantamos boomed, increasingly dissappointed.
"I believe we could record our parliamentary sessions! Debating, voting, passing the jolly old legislation! Good, wholesome entertainment for once! What say you, old bean?" Maximilian smiled.
"MANAGANTAMOS BELIEVES THAT IT IS AN ABOVE-AVERAGE CONCEPT. HUMANS WILL SURELY BUY TICKETS WHEN THE MATCH DETERMINES THEIR VERY FATE."
That smile quickly faded back beneath Max's mustache, "Well, you see, that wasn't exactly what I had planned..."
"MANAGANTAMOS KNEW EXACTLY WHAT YOU WERE PLANNING, AND IT WAS BORING. MANAGANTAMOS WILL APPROVE ONLY OF A WRESTLEOCRACY, AND NOTHING LESS!"
And that was why the top superstars of the Federation were gathered backstage days later, presiding over a piece of paper that was mostly blank, except for the 6 in-the-ring tenets of the original federation.
"GOOD MORNING WRESTLERS. YOU ARE ALL SELECTED SHEERLY BECAUSE MANAGANTAMOS THINKS YOU ARE THE MOST POLITICAL, AND ALSO POTENTIALLY THE MOST VIOLENT. YOU ALL HAVE ONE TASK AHEAD OF YOU, MORE OR LESS. TO WRITE THE CONSTITUTION OF THE NEW UNITED NATIONSTATE OF THE FILIBUSTER FEDERATION." Managantamos roared into the boom mic, the nearby mixing crew shrinking back in fear, "AS ARENALORD, WHAT MANAGANTAMOS SAYS IS THE FINAL WORD... BUT FROM THIS POINT, AS ALWAYS, IT EXTENDS STRICTLY TO COMPANY POLICY. MANAGANTAMOS RESERVES THE RIGHT TO LAY DOWN INEFFABLE, UNAMENDABLE RULE ABOVE ALL OTHER THINGS IN THE CONSTITUTION. NAMELY THIS ONE: THE WINNER OF THE RING WINS THE ARGUMENT, AND THEREFORE PASSES WHATEVER THEY WANT RELATING TO IT. THIS, HENCEFORTH, IS HOW GOVERNMENT POLICY SHALL BE HANDLED. ARE WE CLEAR!?"
There was a moment of silence as the cameramen in front of, or rather, below him carefully wiped penicillin saliva off of their lenses.
"AS FAR AS EVERYTHING ELSE GOES... YOU ARE FREE TO LIVE AND DECIDE AS YOU PLEASE. FIX THIS LANDMASS, OR DO NOT. IT DOES NOT MATTER, MANAGANTAMOS DEMANDS ONLY DRAMA AND BLOODSHED. THE ETHOS OF THE HALLOWED ARENA. NOW GO FORTH. WRITE ALL THE CONSTITUTION YOU CAN. THERE IS PASTA AND CHILI IN THE SLOW COOKERS BEHIND YOU FOR SUSTAINING PURPOSES. PROVIDE THE CROWDS WITH AS MUCH ENTERTAINMENT AND LEGISLATURE AS POSSIBLE. YOU WILL BE REWARDED WITH GLORY AND LUNCH, THAT MUCH IS CERTAIN. MANAGANTAMOS WILL BE LEAVING NOW. THERE IS A LADDER MATCH AMONG NEWCOMERS TO PRESIDE OVER. GOOD LUCK, AND DO NOT BE STUPID."
With his usual parting words, the psychic fungus lumbered its way out of the backroom and into the parking lot. The Wrestlers of the Filibuster Federation sure had their work cut out for them...
Maximillian frowned, as he usually did whenever Dennis said something, "Nay, that isn't at all what I said! I was trying to explain that-"
"That we should set some of our smarter guys aside as wrestlers and make them rulers, yeah, I get it. That's the best idea you've ever had, and I'm flattered by the invitation. I'm gonna go propose the issue right to the big man himself!"
"You goat-fouling scoundrel! If you speak any of your false words to Managantamos about this, I'll thrash you proper for each one!"
Managantamos sighed and set his weights down in front of the door to his office. He was sick and tired of the press asking him what he was going to do with all the humans' silly land. As he always said to the civilisations he destroyed before "It's your planet, it's your problem". Anyone genuinely concerned about the well-being of their planet would either stop buying tickets, or elect to host the events somewhere that is decidedly not an important government building. But alas, it happened on Earth, as it had happened at least twice before this, and so he had piled up his barbells before the door to make sure nobody could open it and complain about the moral implications of an occupying army of professional wrestling. Nothing so puny and incessant as a political journalist was going to move that door, or look through that window, until he was ready to let them in. He was in his private sanctum now, able to view the televised events in peace. Finally.
He turned on the night's smackdown and pulled a juicy steak of some description out of his food printer. Casually tossing the raw meat in his maw, he spread an intricate, burrowing net of mycelium over the meat with his tongue and began absorbing the steam of enzymes and fleshy chemicals as the meat boiled and slowly turned to jerky in his mouth. Mm, this was better than that Space Octopus that he'd ripped apart in the ring during the Winter Holiday Slam. Now that was a show.
Suddenly, he heard one of his wrestlers knocking on the door. He could tell it was one of his wrestlers, not because of the distinct sound of the knocking, but rather because, after the initial knock, the doorknob turned and the heap of osmium exercise equipment shifted and scraped along the floor to make way for the massive force behind the door. The goatheaded bastard and his mustachioed sworn enemy were walking in, both seemed to have completely different things to say.
"Look, this may be a little odd at first, but there'll be hooker busses, so it'll be all worth it!"
"YOU ONLY WANTED BURLESQUE DANCERS THE FIRST TIME! IT GETS WORSE EVERY TIME I HEAR IT!"
"Look, Max, when you present it to The Lord of the Arena, you gotta sweeten the deal a little!... Besides, who eats strippers? Doesn't taste right without the local venereal diseases." The Demonic abomination turned back to Managantamos, "Ain't that right, big man?"
"MANAGANTAMOS DOES NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU REQUEST OF HIM. MANAGANTAMOS WOULD LIKE TO EAT HIS DINNER IN PEACE." Managantamos boomed, with a perturbed expression. It was a rare moment that Managantamos didn't boom with a perturbed expression, so that hardly demoralized his regulars.
"What I was thinking originally, my good man," Maximillian said, shoving Dennis aside, "Was that, since the local governments have gone belly up during that whole ghastly 'Bustermania' ordeal, we could, perchance, take up the responsibility of nationstate governers until they've rebuilt themselves. You know, keeping society and decent living from utterly collapsing in the wake of our destruction and all that."
"OR," Said Dennis, contemplatively, "Or, we could, y'know, not do that, but still take power for ourselves and have orgy busses with booze that also spear pedestrians."
"MANAGANTAMOS FAILS TO SEE HOW ANY OF THIS CONTRIBUTES TO HIS ENTERTAINMENT." Managantamos boomed, increasingly dissappointed.
"I believe we could record our parliamentary sessions! Debating, voting, passing the jolly old legislation! Good, wholesome entertainment for once! What say you, old bean?" Maximilian smiled.
"MANAGANTAMOS BELIEVES THAT IT IS AN ABOVE-AVERAGE CONCEPT. HUMANS WILL SURELY BUY TICKETS WHEN THE MATCH DETERMINES THEIR VERY FATE."
That smile quickly faded back beneath Max's mustache, "Well, you see, that wasn't exactly what I had planned..."
"MANAGANTAMOS KNEW EXACTLY WHAT YOU WERE PLANNING, AND IT WAS BORING. MANAGANTAMOS WILL APPROVE ONLY OF A WRESTLEOCRACY, AND NOTHING LESS!"
And that was why the top superstars of the Federation were gathered backstage days later, presiding over a piece of paper that was mostly blank, except for the 6 in-the-ring tenets of the original federation.
"GOOD MORNING WRESTLERS. YOU ARE ALL SELECTED SHEERLY BECAUSE MANAGANTAMOS THINKS YOU ARE THE MOST POLITICAL, AND ALSO POTENTIALLY THE MOST VIOLENT. YOU ALL HAVE ONE TASK AHEAD OF YOU, MORE OR LESS. TO WRITE THE CONSTITUTION OF THE NEW UNITED NATIONSTATE OF THE FILIBUSTER FEDERATION." Managantamos roared into the boom mic, the nearby mixing crew shrinking back in fear, "AS ARENALORD, WHAT MANAGANTAMOS SAYS IS THE FINAL WORD... BUT FROM THIS POINT, AS ALWAYS, IT EXTENDS STRICTLY TO COMPANY POLICY. MANAGANTAMOS RESERVES THE RIGHT TO LAY DOWN INEFFABLE, UNAMENDABLE RULE ABOVE ALL OTHER THINGS IN THE CONSTITUTION. NAMELY THIS ONE: THE WINNER OF THE RING WINS THE ARGUMENT, AND THEREFORE PASSES WHATEVER THEY WANT RELATING TO IT. THIS, HENCEFORTH, IS HOW GOVERNMENT POLICY SHALL BE HANDLED. ARE WE CLEAR!?"
There was a moment of silence as the cameramen in front of, or rather, below him carefully wiped penicillin saliva off of their lenses.
"AS FAR AS EVERYTHING ELSE GOES... YOU ARE FREE TO LIVE AND DECIDE AS YOU PLEASE. FIX THIS LANDMASS, OR DO NOT. IT DOES NOT MATTER, MANAGANTAMOS DEMANDS ONLY DRAMA AND BLOODSHED. THE ETHOS OF THE HALLOWED ARENA. NOW GO FORTH. WRITE ALL THE CONSTITUTION YOU CAN. THERE IS PASTA AND CHILI IN THE SLOW COOKERS BEHIND YOU FOR SUSTAINING PURPOSES. PROVIDE THE CROWDS WITH AS MUCH ENTERTAINMENT AND LEGISLATURE AS POSSIBLE. YOU WILL BE REWARDED WITH GLORY AND LUNCH, THAT MUCH IS CERTAIN. MANAGANTAMOS WILL BE LEAVING NOW. THERE IS A LADDER MATCH AMONG NEWCOMERS TO PRESIDE OVER. GOOD LUCK, AND DO NOT BE STUPID."
With his usual parting words, the psychic fungus lumbered its way out of the backroom and into the parking lot. The Wrestlers of the Filibuster Federation sure had their work cut out for them...
