Obazy

The Key to Zombie Rule

2009-08-05T10:14:00.001-07:00

The Dreadful Obazy lounges about his office. Like most zombies he dreams about his next pound of flesh, unfortunately the nagging health care agenda has taken longer than expected and he must shift his focus from his succulent pound of flesh to that of taking over an industry and ultimately the American people.

"Obazy. Stop your daydreaming." The command came from the hidden recess of his office, by one of the few people who truly struck fear into his soulless being.

"I'm sorry Mr. Hand." The obsequious nature of Obazy would have astounded all who had ever seen the arrogant fool patter on television or stand before a crowd of thousands with his chin jutting out like a pumped up Mussolini.

"The health care reform must be passed, and it must be made law. It will be the end to a human dominated world and usher in the age of zombies."

"I understand Mr. Hand, but I am hampered by the law."

"Then change the law. Once this is passed we will control the humans, they will be our cattle, our slaves. The zombies will rule this world as was foretold in the book of Ghosts. Nold and the Inquisitors have planted the seeds of death throughout the world, zombies on the precipice of domination. You are the key that will open the gates and let the walking dead reign for all eternity."

Every Dog Must Serve a Master

2009-07-09T13:45:00.001-07:00

The Dreadful Obazy sits. Like a good dog, the Dreadful one sits on command from his handlers. Sitting on the floor his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms clutching his legs tightly, he look hesitantly up through watering eyes at the inquisitors dressed in black circled around him.

"We have been watching and we are not happy."

"The country heads toward being ruled by the organization, as you have ordered. What more do you want?" Obazy simpered.

"Do you think that is all we want?" shouted one of the inquisitors, followed by a large bucket of cold water being poured over him.

"If that is all you think we want, perhaps we put the wrong person in your place," stated another of the inquisitors, this one had the unmistakable voice of a female, it was light and sing song, but held an undercurrent of evil.

"Tell me what you desire and it will be done," Obazy simpered in a shaky voice.

"This country must be ruined economically. This nation must be made a country of slaves. Take over all the means of creating wealth, put in place processes that will bankrupt the system and lead to inflation such the world has never seen. When that is done return for your next orders."

The inquisitors exited the room, and Obazy was left sitting wet. A towel dropped onto his shoulder, and when he looked up, Mr. Hand stood above him with a dissatisfied stare.

"The Zombie lords grow angry and impatient. They feel you should be further along in the process than you are. Only one corporation has been delivered to the Government and Universal Health Care has still yet to see its day in Congress. You must act more quickly before the people grow dissatisfied and angry. You have a short amount of time to put in place policies that will ensure our victory, and you are lagging. I do not want to return here again. Unlike humans, Zombies eat their own."

Mr. Hand

2009-06-18T14:29:00.001-07:00

The dreadful Obazy pushes back from his desk and looks off into the dead air between him self and the wall with an arrogant face.

Inside he is seething with rage about recent events; the report sitting on his desk tells how three SEAL?s took out three pirates. The interviews conducted with the SEAL?s tell how they gave credit to their training and to the multiple tours in Iraq, inadvertent praise given to the former administration.

?Who gave them the authority to shoot??

?The Captain of the ship.?

?I gave orders that the pirates were not to be harmed, they were ZOMBIES!?

?It appears that a Naval Captain and sea has the implicit orders to safeguard U.S. citizens when on the high seas, obligation shall we say, that surpasses even the authority you have over him.?

The advisor spoke in a cultured intelligent monotone voice. He was tall and gaunt with a pasty gray complexion, eyes the color of cloudy brown, rose question whether he could see or not. He wore a brown tweed suit with a white and dark blue tie. His closely cropped curly hair was a powdery gray. If there was a patriarch of the zombies this was the man.

Obazy stood up and walked toward the tall advisor. He approached calmly and with much humility.

?Sir,? said Obazy in an unaccustomed submissive voice, ?what shall I do??

The advisor took in a small breath. ?Praise the ship and its crew, but do it in such a way that people think you approved of the actions, in fact make it sound as if it were your plan all along. In a few months have the Captain of the ship thrown out of the Navy, and follow that by taking the SEAL?s out of the teams, put them somewhere, that their skills will diminish and they grow bored. Remember. The military is our enemy, an obstacle to our ultimate goal. You must begin dismantling it now.?

?Yes, Mr. Hand,? acquiesced Obazy.

?On to another topic. You have nearly derailed all our planes by bowing to the king, if people learn he is the ruling zombie, our quest could very well end. Do not make a mistake like that again. The Hall of prosperity would be most upset with you.?

Tea Time

2009-04-16T08:04:00.001-07:00

The Dreadful Obazy looks out his office window to see a group of citizens holding signs, and throwing things. At the distance he has little worries that what they are throwing will come any where near him. All he has is the curiosity of the zombie blood that flows through his body. He wonders if the little things taste good. After all a dutiful good zombie is always on the out look for food, and he being the leader of the zombies is no different.

?What are they throwing??

?Tea bags,? says Dead Fish the most obedient of all the zombie followers.

?Tea bags, why are they throwing tea bags?

Dead Fish looks out the window with a sneer, the flesh on the side of his face hanging limply.

?They are acting out a protest against taxes, like the founding fathers at the Boston tea party.?

The heavy clock hits Dead fish on the side of his head and knocks him to the floor. He lurches to his feet, and then crumbles back to his knees, black blood oozing out the gash in the side of his head like used motor oil from a spigot.

Obazy stands over him, fists clenched and legs slightly apart, looking like a boxer waiting for an opponent to rise so he can beat him back down.

?Founding fathers, whose founding fathers,? splutters Obazy, in his blind wide eyed rage, ?not my fathers. My founding fathers are Marx, Owen, Fourier, and Castro. Don?t ever allude to any other founding fathers in my presence. This country was built on a sham; I will destroy it and rebuild it as it should be. No zombie will be responsible for his will and his own actions, all religions will be destroyed they only make man a weak.

?ZOMBIES, I WILL HAVE MY NATION OF ZOMBIES.?

Dead fish lies on the floor below the pontificating Obazy, covering his eyes with his hands and crying, moved by the sheer enchantment of the one.

Obazy Mouch

2009-04-08T14:03:00.001-07:00

The Dreadful Obazy, Obazy Mouch, saunters down the hallway wearing a smug smile and his chin cocked high, so as to look down on all others. The house staff and advisors have taken to holding there eyes down on the floor and not looking the man in the face, lest the feel the wrath of the Obazy backhand.

The Dreadful one recently returned from a trip overseas, where he meet world leaders, some of those leaders lead while others were dictators, some of the countries had free people, and other had people who were little more than slaves.

Upon meeting the King of Sand, his eminence King Kool Haid, the Dreadful one fell to the ground and cried with tears streaming down his face at being in his presence.

The flight home was incredible hard on the Dreadful ones staff, since he ordered everyone to lay on the floor of the plane for the entire fourteen hour flight. He enjoyed watching them lose control of their bowels during the flight, and watching them squirm. Due to his zombie blood, the thick air in the cabin of human waste didn?t bother him. He just smiled and dreamt of the day everyone would be laying at his feet.

Seize the power

2009-04-01T14:56:00.001-07:00

The dreadful one, talks with one of his most trusted advisors. A stinking corpse of a zombie, the advisors mouth barely moves for fear his lower jaw might fall off in presence of the one.

?My dark lord,? mumbles the advisor, ?We have an unprecedented opportunity to take control of the countries biggest businesses.?

The dreadful one sits back in his chair of animal friendly leather, a smug look on his face as he arrogantly stares as he ceiling.

?How goes the take over??

?My puppet has already proposed legislation to give the U.S. government the same basic set of tools for addressing financial distress at non-banks as it has in the bank context.

?Others are beginning to change language else where to define non-banks as any corporation in the country that is not a bank. With this definition in place, any company showing the slightest sign of financial distress will be a take over candidate.?

The dreadful ones smug smile broadens. ?Zombies will soon have what is due them; the corporations will soon belong to all of us. How are the planes, for feeding the CEO?s and top managers of the recovered corporations to the people?

The advisor laughs with a sickening sound. ?The plans have already been laid, we merely wait for the socialist to?.

The dreadful Obazies hand was a lightening flash as he struck his advisor across the face. His jaw flew through the air to slap against the wall with a gooey plop.

?Don?t every mention that word in my presence again. We are still at risk of a revolt if the people realize the path I?m leading them down.?

The advisor bobbed his head up and down, as he scurried across the room to pick up his lower jaw.

The dreadful one looked at his retreating advisor with a sadistic grin. ?Once the corporations are under my control, zombies will dominate the world, and I will be the one.?

Eagle One

2009-03-23T14:44:00.001-07:00

The Dreadful Obazy sits in the shear grandeur of the jet he eagerly renamed to Eagle One. When asked by the media, why the name change? He smiled his well practiced grin, and said "I want a break from the past, and to show the people, in a small way, that change is in the air."

The pun received a cacophonous applause from the loyal zombie hordes, followed that night with the news media falling over themselves to praise the one, Obazy, on his wit and charm. To tell everyone how decisive he was in putting forth the change. The media devoted to the one, to obazy, stopped programs to broadcast this important news. One of the newscasters, the most overt supporter of Obazy, devoted over a half hour of his program to explain and praise the wit and wisdom of the one.

From the left side of the mouth

2009-03-23T14:34:00.001-07:00

The Dreadful Obazy sits in his warm office, thumbing through the daily reports, notes for speeches, and the never ending reports from his minions. Zombies from all around the world look to his as being the messiah, the savior, the one who will destroy inequality and save the Earth. His faithful zombies, blind in their obedience, relentless in their vomiting recitation of rhetoric and stalwart defenders of everything Obazy says or does.

A crooked smile creases his mouth. The makeup lady has no shown up this morning, and his zombie blood leaks out of the rotten corner of his mouth. As a drop of bloody ooze drips onto the page he is reading, he laughs. It is the side that is the easiest to speak from the side that never gives him problems, other than it is rotting away from the zombie disease.

How Easy It Is

2009-03-04T23:10:00.000-08:00

The Dreadful Obazy sits in his warm office, thumbing through the daily reports, notes for speeches, and the never ending requests from his minions. Zombies from all around the world look to him as being the messiah, the savior the one who will destroy inequality and save the Earth. His faithful zombies, blind in their obedience, relentless in their recitation of his rhetoric, and stalwart in defense of all he says and does.

A crooked smile creases his mouth. The makeup lady has not shown up this morning, and his zombie blood leaks out of the rotten corner of his mouth. As a drop of bloody ooze leaks onto one of the pages, he laughs. That side of his mouth is always giving him problems, it happens to be the side he uses when giving a speech, but with a little make up it will be as good as new, and no one will know the truth.

Mirror Man's Journal - Feb 2009

2009-02-13T22:14:00.000-08:00

The den of evil has become a bastion of vice. Low life punks, small time drug dealers, and anarchists are now the honored guests in board rooms and the cabinets of leaders.

Freedom has lost its meaning.

Freedom of choice is nothing with out discipline.

When you give up discipline you hand authority to the government to make laws and enforce them, because you lack the discipline to do what is right.

A psychologist looks into the souls of men and sees the evil that is there. I'm the Mirror Man, I show it back.

Obaziadicts

2009-02-11T22:10:00.000-08:00

Limping and lurching across the frozen ground and Obazy hound reaches the steps of the ancient building and its granite steps. She stops for a moment and looks around at the lifeless streets, this early in the morning no one is out, the sun is still an hour away, and but for a few horrid sounds of feeding, most of the zombies have taken refuge for the coming day.

The woman wears the tattered remains of a once beautiful and expensive pant suit, her hair is matted and the old creases of her face are smoothed with filth and grim. She smile because she knows, what ever her appearance she is accepted in this place. After all she only ate one or two of the members before her zombieness was unavoidably obvious, and by the way they were from that other group any way.

"What are you doing here?" shouted Obazy as he came from within the building.

"Need more."

"More what?"

"More everything."

Obazy pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He blows out a puff of smoke, before answering.

"Tell the minions in Florida to gather and make there demands. But don't eat anyone infront of the TV cameras. I'll get more, the rich still have blood to bleed."

Frozen Future

2009-02-08T15:19:00.001-08:00

The Dreadful Obazy looks out over the frozen landscape of the Mall. A freak winter storm has laid a thinck blanket of ice and snow over the Nations Capitol.

A zombie minion limps and lurches through the frozen slush staining to keep up with Obazy.

"You rape taxes, kill freedom, give food to all."

Obazy hits the zombie with a backhand across the face. A piece of his skin hangs from the back of his hand, dripping a thick black goo. A piece of the zombies ear flies through the air and lands with a soft smack on the frozen earth.

"Shut your mouth," utters Obazy through clinched teeth. "One misspoken word and our plan will fail. We have a tenious grip on the prople due to the media, and the den of evil."

The zombie minion looks at the frozen ground. "Me like the den of evil, Dawn of Dead, favorite movie. But California too sunny. Need more darkness and zombies in world."

Obazy looks at his loyal lap dog and quietly mouths a reply. "Out of the mouths of babes."

First Day at the Office for the Dreadful Obazy

2009-02-03T20:57:00.001-08:00

A properly dressed Obazy stands a safe distance away from the window, jacket off cuffs unbuttoned, tie loose and off kilter. A smile crooks the sides of Obazy as he watches the shadows get longer. Soon his zombie minions will converge and begin there monotone chanting and slavering worship.

Obazy takes a deep breath and looks up to see a bright moon. A sneer crosses his face as he looks at the bright heavenly object.

"Why America ever sent people there I will never know."

The sound of a sliding door, take Obazies attention away from the window, and to the zombie faithful that lumber across the floor to dutifully stand beside him.

The zombie looks up at the darkening sky and the brilliant moon, with a face of pure adoration.

"I like moon. I like rockets. NASA takes us to stars. I like NASA."

Obazy slams his fist on the table beside him.

"I hate the moon, the stars, and anything to do with it. I spit on NASA."

The dutiful zombie looks up at the moon with sad eyes on his haggard flesh peeling face. He looks to his master and back to the moon, suddenly his face is filled with the same pure adoration it once had, as he looks upon the dreadful Obazy.

"Spit on NASA. Spit on NASA."

...and so goes the chanting, the chanting the chanting...