. . . DOOM NUT . . .
. . . this is what the Ancient'N'Corrupt national father figure decides to bust when he's robbed and raped and murdered and exploited everything else.
The treasury is empty.
The right wing state media cannot possibly polish his wee nasty notional knob any shinier with anymore obsequious rhapsodies and Memory Hole mythologies.
There's no more democracy to sabotage. Every last vote down to the kindergarten art contest has been rigged.
The banking system pretty much turns down anyone who isn't an oligarch, a Christian fundamentalist, a gangster, or a useful mercenary terrorist.
The national father figure just breached his seventies. Out of one corner of his mouth he preaches A Return to Traditional Masculinity and Family Values; but out the other side he whispers to his procurer to bring him young women a quarter his age . . . even though he hasn't been able to properly perform since his sixty-second birthday.
His bowel movements are at a standstill-except when he randomly shits himself.
He's had six secret operations to fix his urinary tract. And his river still runs with blood . . .
Hey, maybe it's a sign.
My river runs red with blood . . . does it have to just be mine?
Well, he can't shoot off proper anymore, but that nuclear arsenal could serve as a wonderful set of adult toys, couldn't it?!
That's how the Ancient'N'Corrupt national father figure edges ever closer to busting the Doom Nut . . .
