“Sir,” said a completely nondescript bureaucratic drone whose fortune-telling mother hadn’t even bothered to name him due to his fated role in the world, “it appears that Pennsylvania has been taken by the Hobo State.”
“Riiiiiight,” said the President of the Amalgamated Provinces and States of Canada, America and Mexico.
“No, seriously,” said the man with no name. “They sent us a fax.”
“So?”
“On letterhead.”
“Oh, shit. Sounds serious,” said the president. “What’s it say?”
“Dear Sir or Madam. We regret to inform you…” began the drone.
“I’m imagining this guy as more of a baritone. Can you read it deeper, you know, with some authority?”
“We regret to inform you,” continued the drone, an octave lower, “that your capitalist stranglehold on society is at its end. We—the proud, compassionate, and intelligent members of the Hobo State—have annexed the parcel of land you previously referred to as the state of Pennsylvania. It is now a part of the Hobo Empire, and shall no longer be burdened by any designation of state, nor troubled by the imaginary boundaries you imposed upon it. The Hobo Empire is a collective of people—all people, regardless of race, creed, or mutagenic blood level—and will not be portioned out like a Christmas ham. Or, you know, pudding on a Thursday, since the Hobo Empire does not wish to exclude anyone who may not celebrate ham or is allergic to Christmas. Our point is, you suck. Are you sure we should add that, Quinn? Yes. It’s not very professional. Neither is your face; keep typing. If you say so. I do. OK. Where were we? Our point is, you suck. Oh, right. You suck. And we don’t. You will notice that the Hobo Empire, in both its current and previous incarnations, has made not a metaphorical sound, has never stirred up animosity or created any kind of global calamity, while you, the rest of the world, seem to be drowning in new crises every morning. Quite simply, this is because you’re all fucking retarded. Quinn. Right, fine. This is because we have divined the true meaning to this life and are doing things they way they are meant to be done. And when you do things the way they are meant to be done, you don’t have problems. Like us. We don’t have problems. Because we’re doing things right. The residents of Pennsylvania saw this, and they joined us. Not by force, not by coercion, but through common sense and free will. And now, nations and villages and assorted fax machine owners of the world, we are offering the same offer to you. Join us. Or don’t. Although joining us is clearly the more intelligent option.”
“They sent that to everyone everywhere, sir,” added the nameless guy.
“We have no choice but to take care of this. The Hobo State is within our borders and it’s our problem. We can’t have China thinking we can’t shovel our own shit. Not again.”
“What are you suggesting we do, sir?”
“They same thing we always do, son,” replied the President of the Amalgamated Provinces and States of Canada, America and Mexico. “Kill them all.”
“But there are innocent people…”
“Not anymore they aren’t. And, besides, Pennsylvania was mostly an atomic wasteland, crawling with mutants. Fuck ‘em.”
“May I suggest a slightly more tactful approach, sir? Pennsylvania may be a state of mutants, but mutants do, actually, make up a solid third of what remains of humanity. Why don’t we send the robots in first and try to take out this ‘Quinn’ before we go slaughtering one of the more prolific contingents of voters that we have.”
“That’s a solid enough argument,” replied the president, leaning back in his chair and reflecting on the proposal.
“OK, fine, we’ll do it your soft, fuzzy way,” the president continued. “Release the murder-drones.”