As you may or may not know, I have actually written (and published) a full-length novel entitled: Thumperica! A Novel of the Ghost of America Future. I’m pretty proud of it, I think it’s pretty darned good (of course, all parents think their baby is beautiful, even the parents of ugly ones), and I think it’s got some important food for thought on the direction this country is headed. It’s available in print, and as an ebook on both Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble.com

It’s been on sale for about a month and, although there have actually been some sales, I’ve got a long way to go before I get on the best seller’s lists (8 down and 4,992 to go! Stephen King is probably not losing sleep yet.).

At any rate, I’ve decided that maybe a free first taste might be just the thing to generate some interest (yes, I do mean sales. You see right through me, don’t you?), after all, it seems to work for heroin (not that my book is bad for you in any way, unless you think that being caused to think is a bad thing, in which case, I think you need to rethink your thinking).

Anyway, all this self-promotion (and yes, I do mean shameless begging) is getting a little embarrassing, so without further ado, please enjoy the foreword and 1st chapter of Thumperica!

 

Glossary of Acronyms

 

AARP—American™s Actively Resisting Persecution

ACRONIM—Agency for Contraction of Rightful, Officially eNdorsed Idioms and Meanings.

ANGEL—Angelic Nymph of God’s Exquisite Love

BIEF—Better Ingredients in Every Food

CA or C of A—Church of America™

CEOPIPOTUSGAME—Chief Executive Officer of the President-in-Perpetuity of the United States and God’s Annointed Messenger on Earth

CIO—Chief Information Officer

CMO—Chief Military Officer

COO—Chief Operations Officer

CPO—Chief Pastoral Officer

CSO—Chief Security Officer

GOON—Guardians Of Our Nation

HARLOT—Hospitality And Recreational Leisure Operations Trainee

MORON—Manual Operative Rebuilding Our Nation’s Strength

NIGGERR—Non-white Inhabitant Generously Given Equal Rights and Responsibility

OHLS—Office of Hospitality and Leisure Services

SAPS—Symbol of America™’s Power and Spirit

THUG—Titan Helping Us Grow

TIA—Thump Intelligence Agency

TRUTH—Truthfully Reliable Unbiased TrutH: the national propaganda agency

VEGGIES—Very Exceptionally Good Green Invigorating Edible Substance

WENCH—Wonderfully Equipped, Naturally Cheerful Hostess

 

 

Foreword:

The United States of America:

Twenty Sixteen

To

Present

 

Excerpt from Silas Joiner’s book, What Happened? How We Got Here, and Who’s to Blame, published by Liberty Island Underground Press, in 2183:

In the early part of the 21^st century, mankind collectively went completely off the deep end. Decades of war, terrorism, fear, economic collapses, a resurgence of nationalist movements, creeping paranoia, distrust of establishment politics, and willful ignorance, fueled by organized campaigns of misinformation caused the United States to elect the bizarrely coiffured, financially and morally bankrupt businessman, and reality television falling star, Ronald Thump, president[1] in 2016.

These events were followed closely by an explosion of corporate imperialism, accompanied by a corresponding increase in world-wide poverty. National governments, apparently feeling left out, or perhaps just not recognizing their own growing irrelevance, responded with an increase in totalitarianism and nationalism.

Roughly half-way through his first term, President Thump resigned, citing health issues and pointing out that it had absolutely nothing at all to do with the blizzard of indictments against members of his staff, cabinet, and administration, as well as himself. In his farewell address, he stated: “I’m tired. I’ve been working so hard, and, I must say, doing such a great job—wouldn’t you agree?—I thought so. I’m going to take a little break, just a little break—I know, I know, I’ll miss you too—but I’m leaving you in good hands. Great hands—the best hands—C’mere Mike, show ‘em your hands—look at how big his hands are—he’s a chip off the old block, trust me, you’re in good hands. And don’t worry, I’ll be keeping an eye on things. If things start to go bad—and how could they with this guy in charge, am I right? Of course I am. You know it, I know it, everybody knows it—but I promise you—I will be back, and we’ll keep working together to make America the greatest and most powerful country the world has ever seen.” This, of course, is only an excerpt from the rambling 45 minute speech. Following the speech, Thump disappeared from public life completely, leading to speculation among his enemies that he had died. His political base however, continued to insist, for hundreds of years, that he was still alive, and just hasn’t resumed power because everything is going just fine. Vice President Michael Shilling was sworn in as President.

Before his resignation, President Thump had begun building his Mexican Border Wall, but the collapse of the U.S. economy left it unfinished. Mexico, completely disgusted, and unable to support the number of illegal immigrants flooding across its borders from the U.S., completed the wall in 2019. Numerous wars broke out world-wide, increasingly fought by corporate-owned mercenary armies.

Public confidence in conventional institutions continued to disintegrate: in 2019, the satirical news website The Onion was designated “America’s most trusted news source.” One popular comment was, “Well, at least with the Onion, I know it’s bullshit. With the rest, who knows?” The entire staff of The Onion resigned in disgust.

Shilling took credit for “forcing” Mexico to pay for the wall, and, campaigning on a platform of “Still Making America Even Greater Again” won a second term, aided by the disenfranchisement of minorities, immigrants (anyone less than 3^rd-generation American on both sides), homosexuals, and the implementation of a complex illiteracy requirement (people with a high school diploma or less, got two votes, as did collegiate business majors. Humanities and Liberal Arts majors got ½ vote each. In Shilling’s words, “We’re giving power back to the good and godly Christian people who made this country great.”).

Early in his second term, Canada began erecting its own wall. The European Union collapsed, and took Great Britain with it, possibly out of spite. Industry stalled, as did much scientific research and advancement[2]. Poverty, disease, starvation, drought, and warfare began to wipe out huge portions of the world population (ultimately by as much as 60%, over the next 100 years, thanks to the reportedly “inadvertent” release of several man-made viruses). President Shilling was impeached and 92% of the nation’s Senators, Representatives, and governmental officials were indicted for high crimes and misdemeanors.

A special election was held, and ThumpCorp, former President Thump’s corporation, ran for the office of President, citing the historic “Citizens United” ruling by the Supreme Court as precedent[3]. It won in a landslide. Thump’s fifteen-year-old son and CEO of ThumpCorp, Viscount Thump, was sworn in as CEO of the President of the United States of America.

In 2022, President ThumpCorp, citing increasing civil unrest, suspended habeas corpus, established privately-run industrial “patriotism retraining” camps, and began implementing huge cuts to the national military, increasing reliance on defense contractors like the Koch Rangers, the Cheney Freedom Fighters Inc., the Republican Guard, and its own personal military and security force, the Thumpers. Texas seceded[4] again, setting a precedent that would gain popularity in the coming years.

In 2024, President ThumpCorp won a second term, campaigning on “Still Making America the Greatest Ever Again,” after disbanding Congress and the Supreme Court, completing privatization of the U.S. military, and revoking presidential term limits. The nation splintered.

Eventually, a total of six new nations would emerge from the wreckage of the former Superpower: Texas, the New Confederate States of America[5], the Indian Nations[6], Cascadia[7], the Nation of Zion[8], and the United States of America[9], leaving the original United States of America™ (trademarked in 2025), a mere fragment of its former self. Most of Southern California broke off and sank, and the ocean flooded the remainder, from roughly San Francisco to Mexico.

All of these nations built walls wherever no natural boundaries, such as mountain ranges or major rivers existed. Alaska, apparently feeling the need for an even stronger, more authoritarian leader, seceded and was voluntarily annexed by Russia. ThumpCorp’s government responded by suing Russia for a refund. Everyone apparently just forgot about Hawaii, Puerto Rico, and the American Virgin Islands, which were happy to win their independence by default.

The splintering of nations was not limited to the U.S.A. The United Kingdom also split into its component parts. Around the globe, nationalism continued its slide into tribalism, resulting in countless civil wars, and such a constant redrawing of national boundaries that soon Cartography had the highest suicide rate of any profession.

In 2025, ThumpCorp declared itself “President-in-Perpetuity of the United States of America™,” at the same time that a coalition of the three largest and most powerful evangelical organizations, the Diehards In Christ, the Knights of Heaven, and the Evangelicals Against the Destruction of Society[10], proclaimed CEOPIPOTUS Viscount Thump “God’s Anointed Messenger on Earth.” Shortly thereafter, the three organizations combined to form the Church of America. CEOPIPOTUSGAME Thump quickly announced Christianity as the official religion, and the Church of America as the official church of the United States of America™

Over the next one hundred years or so, chaos reigned worldwide, with national borders shifting constantly. More walls went up. Eventually, everyone either died, ran out of ammunition, or just decided they’ve had enough. National borders stabilized. The more totalitarian regimes were too busy trying to control the undesirable portions of their own populations, and stopping the flood of refugees from their lands to devote time or resources to conquest. Gradually things settled down, and people began rebuilding.

 

Part One:

Stupid New World

–

October 2183

 

 

New Thump City[11]:

The United States of America™

 

Hubert Dillerschlinger

 

Inside the dark and dusty ACRONIM office[12], Hubert Dillerschlinger was not a happy man. A very literate and, he liked to think, literary man, he spent all day, every day, all alone[13] in this room, his desk flanked on one side by a table supporting a gigantic, ancient dictionary, and another table with a matching thesaurus on the other. These were the tools he used to mutilate language to please morons, twisting meanings and mutilating beautiful words to give tacitly legal justification for the powerful to mock the powerless.

A short, baby-faced, bespectacled, balding, slightly overweight black man of forty-two years, he had started out as a messenger, and slowly worked his way up through the clerical ranks despite his race. Of course, his bookish demeanor and natural timidity had certainly helped, as had his Germanic surname; Hubert suspected that many of his superiors, having never deigned to meet him, were probably unaware of his race[14].

Hubert had dreams beyond this office however; he dreamed of writing a book – a book that would change the world, that would expose the rot in America™ to the light of day, and change the corrupted hearts and minds of the people, causing them to turn away from their xenophobia, from their fear of each other, from their prostituted, state-sponsored religion, and spur them to take their freedom back[15], but for now, he had to turn HONESTY into an acronym for the “revamped”[16] Office of TRUTH, and Y’s were always a bitch to work with.

The office acronyms were bad enough, but what really stuck in Hubert’s craw were the job titles. He felt that while most people, if they thought about it, could see through the office acronyms, it was the titles and terms by which they were referenced, that did the most damage. If girls were taught from an early age to want to grow up to be a HARLOT or a WENCH, if boys were raised to think that being a THUG, or a GOON was the highest aspiration a boy could have, if working class children grew up thinking of their parents (and themselves) as MORONS and SAPS, then they would always think of themselves as harlots, wenches, thugs, goons, morons, saps, etc., even though, deep down, they would know what those words really meant. As a NIGGERR who had risen to the ranks of middle-management, he knew that much.

Hubert looked at the clock; quitting time, thank God. “Are we ready to call it a day, Mr. Johnson?” he asked his GOON, Charlie Johnson, who was dozing in the corner[17].

“Hmh? Oh.” Charlie looked at the clock on the wall, “Yeah, yeah. I was about to say that.” Charlie wiped at the line of drool dripping from his chin. “I was just resting my eyes for a minute,” he said, for the benefit of the ThumpCom CompleteSecure camera mounted in the corner.

Hubert assumed the traditional position while Charlie patted him down to make sure he hadn’t pocketed anything, Like there’s anything here to steal, they both thought, and then Charlie escorted Hubert through security, and out to the street.

“See you tomorrow Hubie.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Johnson. Seven o’clock sharp, just like always.”

The two parted; Charlie headed to the bar, and Hubert for home. As he walked the potholed streets and broken sidewalks, past the murals and statues of the various Thumps and other national heroes, he saw some GOONs beating a handcuffed kid for spray painting “Fuck ThumpCorp!” across the bottom of a mural showing Genghis Thump[18] riding a bald eagle as he slaughtered some generic enemies of the nation. Everywhere he looked were flags, banners, and stickers displaying the golden Thumpsticka, the Revolving T of Thumpian Progress (building a better next week, tomorrow!) The few people on the street made a point of not noticing each other, as they scurried from one door to another, like roaches hiding from the light. It made him sick. This is no way for people to live.

It was only a thirty minute walk from the office to his apartment (twenty if he was feeling particularly brave or extra late, and took the old subway tunnels that crisscrossed the city, but like most of the not-that-desperate, he preferred the streets), and he didn’t see one smiling face or even anyone making eye contact. It all made him that much more glad to be home. At least in his apartment, he had his books, and there were no people to remind him of how alone he was.

While unlocking the door to his basement apartment, Hubert surreptitiously checked the door for signs that it had been opened. The toothpick was still wedged into the doorframe, but the short length of monofilament line glued to the inside top of the doorframe was protruding on the outside of the door. Someone had been inside, someone who didn’t want him to know. That meant government men, probably GOONs. Thieves wouldn’t have cared, and wouldn’t have bothered closing the door, much less replace the toothpick, and TIA agents would have been smart enough to realize the toothpick trick was too well known. Either that, or they thought he was stupid enough to rely on it anyway.

Either way, it made him happy. There was nothing the least bit incriminating in his apartment, and, knowing that they had been here made finding both the listening device and the drugs they’d hidden much easier. He left them both alone. He had nothing to hide from the bug, and, if they (whoever “they” were, this time) really wanted to get him, then getting rid of the drugs would just tip them off that he was onto them[19].

He changed his clothes, and then heated up a Wealthy Choice meal[20]. He hated the very idea of them, but as exploitative and condescending as they were, he had some faint hope that at one point, the food may have had more than a passing acquaintance with a farm, as opposed to a laboratory. He knew he should just be happy that, as a government employee, he could afford to eat at least that well. He felt vaguely guilty as he thought of the vast majority of Americans™ who couldn’t, and had to make do with BIEFburger[21] and VEGGIES[22] or worse, for every meal. As always, he didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when it turned out to be almost completely tasteless. After dinner, he cracked a can of Thumpweiser, selected a book – The Collected Works of John Stuart Mill, cleverly printed with a cover from Mein Kampf[23] – from his meager collection, and sat down to read[24].

When the alarm on his Trumplex wristwatch beeped, he laid the book aside, removed the watch, leaving it on the arm of the chair[25], and used a remote control to start random playback of the sound effects he had recorded of himself coughing, going to the bathroom, fixing a drink, and making various other “no need to worry, I’m right here at home” noises.

He slipped quietly out the door, setting his little traps, softly closing it as the recording played a particularly harsh coughing fit. He made his way out the back of the building into the dark streets, winding his way through the street markets, past the buildings with their giant murals of the various Thumps and other national heroes. When he reached the Only The Best Chinese Takeout, he stepped inside.

A counter ran the full width of the room, trapping the customers in a short but extremely wide waiting area, and the air reeked of rancid oil and burnt meat and noodles. There was only one other customer. “Use your bathroom?” Hubert asked the surly old woman seated on a stool behind the payment console, reading Atlas Shrugged as smoke from the cigar[26] clamped between her teeth rose into her rheumy, unblinking eyes. She stared at him for a moment, and jerked her nicotine-stained thumb toward a door marked “Private.”

He stepped into the tiny, reeking bathroom, stood there for a moment, then turned, opened the door, and rushed back out, dragging a wave of stale stench behind him. As the foulness washed over him, the other customer blanched and pulled his shirt collar up over his nose, and Hubert told the old woman, “There’s no toilet paper. Also, I’d like a number 24.”

She scowled even more deeply, and handed him a fistful of napkins. He returned to the bathroom, where he closed and locked the door, laid the napkins on top of the toilet tank, and quietly knocked “shave and a haircut” on the back wall. From the other side, came the “two” knock, and he finished with the “bits.” Half of the wall panel behind the toilet folded back, revealing a man with a gun.

Hubert stepped through, and shook the man’s hand, “Phil, good to see you.”

“And you,” the man smiled, “you’re the last to arrive. I was starting to worry.”

“I just took a longer route this time.” Hubert went down a flight of steps, into a room with several people who all looked up at his entrance. An extremely large, young, black man in an Only The Best Chinese Takeout t-shirt stepped forward, nodded in welcome, took Hubert’s hooded jacket, squeezed into it, and started up the steps. “Don’t forget to flush,” Hubert called after him, then shook his head as he thought, It’s a good thing we all look alike to them.

The young man – Kwantrell – was a decoy. He would pose as Hubert for the camera upstairs and leave, then return with Hubert’s coat in a backpack. When Hubert left, he would wear Kwantrell’s OTBCT jacket, and his own coat in a delivery bag, leaving Kwantrell’s in a designated place.

A tall, fiercely handsome man with a movie-star smile shook Hubert’s hand. “Good to see you Hubie.” Tough, strong, picturesquely scarred and meaningfully tattooed, Ajax Steele was an honest-to-God hero, a man of action and the most-wanted resistance leader in America, and surrounded, as always by a crowd of starry-eyed young female admirers hanging on his every word. Hubert respected the man for his reputation, loathed him for his personality, and sometimes seriously questioned his mental capacity. Still, Hubert had to admit he’d been good for recruiting, bringing in as many male admirers as female to the cause. He was one of those guys that women wanted, and men wanted to be.

“Good to see you too, Ajax.”

“Let’s get down to business,” Ajax said to the crowd, and they all surrounded the table. “I hereby call this meeting of the AARP to order.” He pounded the table with the ancient six-shooter (reputed to have belonged to either Wild Bill Hickok, John Wayne, or General George Patton, depending on how much alcohol Ajax had imbibed before telling the story) that he used as a gavel, and grinned at Hubert. “Sorry Hubie, I know you hate it when I do that.”

“I just don’t think it’s safe.”

“Ah, you worry too much. Anyway, let’s get this show on the road. Hit it, Mr. Secretary.”

Hubert gritted his teeth as he returned Ajax’ smile. Just call me Hubert, you moron. “Okay, Clari, you’re up first.”

Clari, a stocky, middle-aged woman cleared her throat, and reported that her crews had tunneled into four of the six known GOON munitions storage facilities and were close to breaching the others. In the four already accessed, they were making slow, but sure, progress in sabotaging the ammunition. “If we can get more equipment, it’ll go a lot faster though.”

Ajax instructed Luis, their head of supply to get with Clari, find out what she needed, and do everything in his power to get it for her. “Alf?” he asked, turning to another man, “how’s it going on bypassing the internet filter servers[27]?”

That’s okay, you just run the meeting then.

Alf, a heavy-set, older man with food in his beard cleared his throat, stood up, and proceeded to give a lengthy report, very little of which was even remotely understood by anyone else present. As far as Hubert could tell, Alf and his techies were busy backward learning a CCIT blahblahblah, blah, blah blah choke packet and attempting to install a blah, blah, blahblahblah, blahblah, blah, black hole cluster controller in the resource blahblahblahblah in order to tweak and upload a blah, blah, and blahblah, blah blahblahblah, blah in the blahblah blah blahblahblah in order to subinterface an X1200 blahblahblahblah blahblahblah encoding into the blah of the blah and blah blah, or something to that effect.

When he sat down Ajax, Hubert, and the rest did their best to appear to consider his report. “Uhhhh,” Ajax said, “. . . and that’ll do it, you think?”

“Oh yeah, no doubt,” Alf said, “as long as the . . .,” and he was off and running again while Hubert’s and everyone else’s eyes glazed over. Eventually, Alf wound down.

“Okay then . . . that’s great . . . really great work Alf,” said Ajax. “Thanks for clearing that up for us.” Before Alf could erupt into another burst of tech-speak, Ajax asked, “Does anyone else have anything to report?”

Alf’s hand shot up.

No, no, no, don’t do it, keep moving, keep it moving.

“Pete, Michelle, how are the new recruits working out?” asked Ajax, clearly not noticing Alf’s hand, which waved like a fifth-grade teacher’s pet practicing semaphore.

Perhaps I’ve misjudged you, Ajax.

The meeting continued until all past and current business had been covered, and plans had been laid for their next steps. Like all staff meetings, it was long, boring, and not really worth recording, and long. Very long.

“Okay then, I think we’d better call it a night.” Ajax slammed his six-shooter down. There was a pop and a puff of smoke, one of Ajax’ groupies grunted, and everyone else ducked. “What the—“ Ajax said, looking at the gun, “—I could’ve sworn I unloaded . . .”

Hubert took the gun from him, while others examined the groupie who’d been hit. She was lucky—the powder was old, and the bullet didn’t have enough velocity to even break the skin.

“Are you happy now?” Hubert asked Ajax.

“Hell no, I’m not happy,” Ajax said, “that bullet was an antique too, part of the set. Do you know how much money I just lost?”

Hubert looked at him disbelievingly, or at least mostly disbelievingly.

“I mean, yeah, I’m happy that Julie—Jenny?—Ginny?—dammit, her—that she’s not hurt or whatever too, of course.”

Hubert was speechless.

Ajax wasn’t. “That’s why gun safety is so important people!” he announced to the room. “Think about what could have happened, and let that be a lesson to you all. These things are nothing to fool around with.”

After that, the assembly broke up, everyone leaving individually by various exits. Ajax waved Hubert over; “Hubie, I’ve been thinking. I still think we need a better name, one with some . . . uh . . . some oomph to it.”

“Oomph?”

“Yeah. I was thinking something like The Avengers, or The Guardians; it’s not fair—all these security groups have such cool names and our name sounds like somebody throwing up, you know what I mean? I mean, dammit Hubie, even our competition all have better names than us[28]”

This again? “Ajax, it’s just a name. It doesn’t matter what we’re called, it’s what we do that’s important.”

“Yeah, but still . . . I was hoping you’d be able to help out, you know, because of your job, you know?”

“I think we’ve got more important things to worry about, don’t you?” Hubert put on Kwantrell’s jacket, and handed the gun back to Ajax. “Listen, you think about it and we’ll talk about it next week, okay?” He started up the stairs.

“But that’s what you said last week!” Ajax called after him.

Hubert waved without turning around. It’s what I’m gonna say next week too, you jackass. Good God, it’s going to be a long revolution

[1] As previously noted, establishment politics were viewed very, very unfavorably at this point in time. In fact, Thump’s bloviating style, abrasive attitude, and monumental disregard for anything that didn’t have his name on it, worked in his favor. Voters seemed to think that he must be a political outsider, as he was simply too big an asshole to get anywhere within the system.

[2] Except, perhaps ironically, cosmetic surgery, certain recreational transplant procedures, erectile dysfunction medication, penis enlargement procedures, and cryogenics, all of which became prohibitively expensive for virtually all but the richest and most powerful.

[3] One campaign ad stated, “The Supreme Court said I’m a person: If I can buy a politician, why can’t I just be one?” The campaign was hailed as a return to truth and transparency in politics.

[4] The first successful national campaign for peace occurred at this point, when the remaining states unanimously refused to go to war to force Texas to rejoin the Union. The day the secession was announced, The New York Times headline was, “Finally Some Good News!”

[5] Same as the old CSA, with the addition of Kentucky and W. Virginia.

[6] Essentially everything from Texas to Canada, and from the Rockies to the Mississisippi River

[7] The northwest, from what was left of California, to the Rocky Mountains.

[8] Arizona, Utah, and Nevada.

[9] What used to be known as New England.

[10] Somehow, the irony-challenged leaders of these organizations never considered the inevitable acronymization of their collective names, until it was enshrined in the national consciousness.

[11] Formerly New York City. Now the capitol of the United States of America™

[12] “ACRONIM” had been formed not long after the accidental acronym DICKHEADs became part of the public consciousness, largely to prevent similar embarrassments in the future.

[13] Except, of course, for his GOON, who made sure he didn’t slack off on his work, and made sure he got through security every day.

[14] Although it is possible, maybe even likely that they knew: It is entirely possible that Hubert’s advancement was the result of a little known government program known as Affirmative Action, a program aimed at proving that equal opportunities were available to all, by ensuring that a token number of (mostly lower-level) government positions were filled by minorities, as a way of “proving” that racism in America™ was a thing of the past. It is also possible that they were simply unable to find a white candidate willing to spend all his time with his nose in books, thinking about words.

[15] It’s good to have a dream.

[16] Frequently changing the names of agencies and offices, under the guise of rooting out corruption, along with “appointing special investigative task forces” and other false flag operations generally removed the need for any further changes.

[17] Give the guy a break. The only thing more boring than making acronyms all day, is watching someone make acronyms all day.

[18][18] CEOPIPOTUSGAME #23 (They started the count over with Viscount Thump).

[19] Being a black, low-level executive in America™ was a dangerous and complex life.

[20] Wealthy Choice: made from only the freshest meals left over by the very best people. You may not be rich and famous, but now you can eat like them at affordable prices. Now beggars CAN be choosers—eat like a winner, not like a loser; eat Wealthy Choice. From Thump Foods.

[21] a line of affordable meat-adjacent food products from Thump Laboratories’ Digestibles Division. BIEF was one acronym Hubert tried very hard not to think too much about.

[22] also from Thump Laboratories.

[23] Mein Kampf ranks high on the list of Approved Reading Material, right between the collected works of Ronald Thump, and Ayn Rand’s works,

[24] While clearly, the disguised books would have been considered incriminating, there was no safer place in Thumperica to hide something than a book, which were largely just considered knickknacks for those with delusions of intellect.

[25] It is widely (correctly) suspected that all TrumpTronix products have GPS tracking devices installed.

[26] One of the major accomplishments of President ThumpCorp’s first term was the repeal of virtually all health and food safety regulations.

[27] While the internet was still operational, all internet lines coming from outside America™ ran through filter servers that screened out all undesirable information, and all American servers were strictly partitioned; the average citizen could still access social media, pornography, games, and entertainment, but most educational and defense-related information was blocked.

[28] From the “Some things never change” file: Liberals have historically always had trouble working together. Consequently, there are, at last count, 263 recognized resistance movements in the U.S.A.™, all of whom hate each other only slightly less passionately than they hate the current regime. Even the fact that many, possibly even most, individuals of the resistance are members of multiple resistance groups, and the fact that the biggest difference between most of the groups is the wording of their charters. Ajax is right about one thing, however: almost all the other groups have much cooler names than the AARP.