And in this country that I cannot name for reasons of privacy, for reasons of security, for reasons unknown and apparent, the ruler’s party wanted to hurtle into another political season even though the blood from the last one in 2008 was not yet dry.

The president of the country, a widely-famed mass murderer, a natty dresser with an infectious grin, was becoming senile. Not Alzheimer’s. Dementia.  His chief adviser wrung his hands and said to the president “Plumadoro, Plumadoro, Plumadoro, what are we going to do with you?” Plumadoro grinned playfully. He had a net worth of 49 billion dollars.  His rule led to the country’s disastrous economic decline, rampant systemic corruption and a police state.  Plumadoro’s  health was a constant source of worry to his chief adviser and his party backers.

The chief adviser (he had a net worth of 13 billion dollars) wanted an election soon in order to get rid of Colonel Alimentaria Bozo, whom Plumadoro had to share power with for two years. Everyone hated Bozo, and new rigged elections were the perfect excuse to get rid of him. For if Plumadoro died before they held new rigged elections, Bozo would be in a strong position to take over power in the poor country, whose population’s health has been floundering since 1997.   But once they got rid of Bozo, if the president died in office, his party would choose the next president to finish out his term.  Thus it was that Plumadero’s party was anxious to hold quick, free and fair elections for democracy.
The word democracy has been a great way for Plumadoro and his chief adviser and backers to plunder the wealth of the country and to fool the poor un-alert population into thinking everything’s OK.  The participation of the population is limited to voting for one or another representative of the ruling class in periodic elections. In between elections, the masses (there are 12 million of them in this country) keep quiet or get their heads handed to them and go back to their impoverished lives.

There was a rally recently. The president was helped to the podium by two handsome bodyguards. Behind him was a two-mile high and three-mile wide flag of his country in brown, green and gold. It fluttered high and proud in the breeze. The 87-year old president with dementia told his people that he was the future and they cheered and cheered.  After the speech many bounded forward to help the future down from his podium. Three supporters recently released from jail got to him first but, a gleeful smile on his face, he still gripped the banister and looked for the ambulance trailing his limousine.

That night Plumadoro died. They propped him up with pillows and bolsters and wiring attached to his neck and arms and legs and carted him around until they changed the constitution and rigged new elections. And for reasons unknown and apparent, the people voted and voted for Plumadoro’s party. Then his party didn’t need Plumadoro any more and they took away the pillows and bolsters and detached the wiring. His party named his successor and the country of Plumadoro continued to be safe for democracy.


About judyjablow123

In my youth I was a world class tournament golfer. I earned an MA in history at NYU, after which I knew I had had enough of academia. I have remained a student of history. I have a strongly personal - almost entirely negative- take on the contemporary pharmaceutical and mental health industries. That was the impetus for my Bluepolar blog, which will also include stuff on sports, history and anything else that strikes my interest.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Politics. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s