In 1897, New Zealand was in an uproar. The New England Patriots had finally been expelled from their Mt. Ruapehu mountaintop citadel, and the insidious pall of despair and evil they’d cast over much of the Southern hemisphere had finally come to an end. But more importantly, tactical and strategic punning, through fierce and intense lobbying at the UN, had finally become recognized as a War Crime, puncturing the attempts at rebellion from the ungrateful native wildebeest in NZ’s Antarctic empire – and in a sneak counterattack, a covert penguin guerrilla squad masquerading as a circus captured each and every last politician from NZ’s parliament, by a lightning-fast dawn raid from their Fusion Stealth Clown Commandos.
The circus’s dastardly cloning vats had been spitting out vast numbers of lions, mainly because lion trading prices in Australia had been going through the roof, as the Aussies had been running out of professors, teachers, deckchairs, free hug dispensers, cat food, proctologists, busboys, imitation Dodge Vipers, lamp-posts, cheap housing, wedding planners, G-spot vibrators, bicep models, mathematicians, hula hoops and dungarees. Very much the Swiss Army Knife of Australian society, lions. The Fusion Stealth Clown Commandos had a few left over, so after they’d nabbed every last NZ politician, they decided it’d be a huge giggle to fill the vacant positions in Parliament with lions.
The lions were able to barricade themselves in the NZ parliament buildings for seven entire months, and spat out legislation on a truly massive scale, all of which read “Raaarrgh arr RRR harrrgh Grrrr gr AAA RGH”. Gigantically inspired by this spirited and fiery defence of capitalism and powerful, heady economic rhetoric, soaring so far above the parliamentary and ideological norm, business and firms therefore flocked to NZ, and economic growth exploded.
It took NZ Police and Army seven months to dislodge the lions, not just because they were ferocious and had razor sharp teeth, but because they knew martial arts, a mixture of standard kung fu and this specifically lion-based variant, relying on the use of huge shaggy manes as a distraction and shield. Once out, the Army kicked off a huge search for the missing politicians. Eventually the circus was found and the politicians were rescued; they fled the circus, and made it back to Parliament. Seven entire months spent imprisoned in the circus in the place of lions meant the politicians had been forced to learn tricks like Stick Your Head In The Minister’s Mouth (Not That Head), Prime Minister Flying Trapeze, and How Many Backbenchers Can You Gargle In A Minute.
Their policy-generating skills were a bit rusty after being treated like lions for so long, and found themselves issuing proclamations and legislation on the desirability of raw meat being flung at them, and the shaggability of smokin’ hot lionesses. Turning out actual policy turned out to be a bit beyond them, so in front of a huge crowd, out of force of habit, they started leaping through huge rings of fire and got members of the crowd to prod and poke them with chairs, and brandish whips.
Astonishment! Surprise! The crowd jumped to their feet and started cheering wildly. The members of parliament discovered, to their astonishment and delight, that mere political competence and parliamentary wrangling played a very dim second fiddle to the devastation and danger and thrill of daring, violent lion-based circus acts. Over the next few weeks, numbers at rallies smashed all records, and people in New Zealand embraced politics like never before!
By 1905, political parties from all over the world started paying serious attention to the political steroids the NZ parties had discovered, and by year’s end, the entire US Congress charged the main gates of the nearest circus, and invaded its biggest tent, demanding to be taught in the ways of the Politically Popular Lion.
A huge circus-based arms race kicked off! Parties from all over the world practiced and perfected a series of ever more gnarly and dangerous circus acts – Swallow The Jet Engine; Gargle The Tiger; Shove 729 Bazookas Up My Arse; Tie The Hypersonic Starship To That Random Person Over There’s Scrotum, Oh Sorry You’re A Woman, What The Hell, Do It Anyway, Oh Shit She Looks Angry. The popularity from these gigs broke all political attendance and enthusiasm records like they’d never been broken before, but the casualties and attrition from them were truly appalling. So’s they could maintain circus spectacularity indefinitely, the Elders of all the major Parties of Europe and the USA set up circus conscription rackets, which pulled millions off the streets every year to replenish the similar numbers of circus act fodder horribly squandered, and to hide this, the political forces of Europe quickly and frantically faked something they called the Great War. Success! The casualties now masked, the parties carried on their circus acts and succeeded like never before.
Right, Stalin said in 1954, after watching the various Western Capitalist countries do their thing for several decades, we can do so much better than that, you corrupt capitalist dickheads! Just you watch this! Stalin fired off proclamations across the entire Soviet Union, and soon Stalin’s henchmen and cronies started assembling a 200,000,000-strong human pyramid. The biggest circus act of them all, the most gigantic trick ever attempted – and, Stalin figured, this would grab the world’s attention and boost Soviet and Communist popularity in a way the world had never seen.
Over many months, the pyramid construction took place, human level after human level slowly climbing to the heavens. As each level grew narrower and narrower, that level’s construction time lessened and lessened, and soon the pyramid was shooting upward at the speed of sound. Birds bounced off it, aircraft bounced off it, satellites bounced off it, and soon, the final level of space-suited Communists was completed, at an altitude of 384,000km. Western capitalist army commandos often launched covert missions into the Soviet Union to destabilise the bottom layers of people in this gigantic human pyramid, by lovingly tickling them as they stood in place, immobile, unable to move from supporting the row above; cooking elaborate and delicious pizzas nearby and holding them baaaarely out of reach; and by commandeering the rolling boulder used in the Indiana Jones movies and playing skittles with the entire pyramid.
Once eventually complete, Stalin spent several years clambering to the top, and when up there, bellowed “HAHAHA BEHOLD MY MAGNIFICENCE PUNY HUMANS I AM YOUR MASTERAAAAAAAAaaagh–” After ten seconds of thunderous squeaking, the Moon whooshed past in its orbit and plucked him off his perch. Disaster! Tragedy! Soviet society was rocked to its very core, and its Space Program kicked off, to try and get to the Moon, and retrieve poor Stalin.
The USA took careful note of all this and instantly thought, “Aha! If we start off our own Space Program, we could grab Stalin first! What a prize! To the Moon! Beat those Commies!” Over the course of the 60s, the USA got cracking on the Mercury, Gemini and Apollo rocketry programs, quite successfully beat those Russkies to the Moon, Apollo 11 plonked down on the Sea of Tranquility, and nabbed a now rather annoyed, lonely and peckish Stalin, who was utterly fucking sick of Moon cheese.
A bit of a scuffle ensued, but Buzz Aldrin had quite thoughtfully smuggled aboard Apollo 11 two hundred sombrero-clad moustachioed Mexican bandits via a sort of guerilla tetris, horses and all, after he got a bit drunk the night before the launch and suspected Neil Armstrong of harbouring latent Imperial Spanish symapthies. Stalin’s thunder fists managed to knock out over 40 bandits before falling under flurries of punches. The fiery defiance that got Stalin to the top of the Soviet command structure still shone through, though, and if you listen really closely to the Apollo 11 audio transmissions, you can juuuust hear Stalin screaming “Get your hands off me you damn dirty capitalists!”