Every Dog Must Serve a Master

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."

Tea Time

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.

Eagle One

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

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.