Widespread panic has swept the world of mourning morning drunks as the first wave of sobriety took hold on a nation of beer drinkers. Last Saturday at 9:15 a.m. internal explosions caused the destruction of every brewery in the nation. Over the past six days every drop of remaining beer has been guzzled, stashed or purchased by Bill Gates who will save it for his birthday party at Hooters next year. The situation continues to spiral out of control.
Violent hysteria has racked the nation, resulting in a greatly suffering economy. Attendance at sporting events has dropped by 70%. The next super bowl has been cancelled because the only sponsors they could find were some Wine Coolers company and Betty Crocker. Neither of which any beer-swilling sports junkie would want to be associated with.
Some beer drinkers have taken to the streets, resorting to rummaging through dumpsters behind bars, licking the sticky insides of old cans, bottles, and any spot inside the dumpster that even remotely smelled like booze. Seizing an opportunity for exploitation, the price of imported beer has risen 500% to profit over America’s pathetic state.
The terrorists have truly hit home with this one. Investigations suggest that this was not the work of Osama Bin Laden, but in fact a fundimentalist organization led by ex-singer Frank Stallone. Stallone’s group is still at large but it is believed that they are hiding out in an underground ice fortress deep beneath the Yukon wilderness.
The motivation for the attack? A mystery to investigators— until they remembered who Frank Stallone was when they read a 1987 concert review.
The elusive Stallone left a goodbye note on his mother’s doorstep, but was found by Police. The haunting message gives insight into Stallone’s decayed mind and explains his motives behind these devastating circumstances.
Mommy,
I have gone away to get famous again. This time it won’t be for my celestial voice and the way tight leather pants accentuate my throbbing buttocks. I am leader of a small puritan cult and I am very happy. Oddly enough—no one has ever listened to me before, so I could get used to this. I believe my act will cleanse America and make me a God! My hit song “Moody Girl” will replace the country’s National Anthem and the dark silhouette of my curly mullet will gloriously adorn every flag in the world! Oh yeah, say hi to Sly for me. Please tell him I won’t be begging for his money or loose women anymore.
Love Always,
Franky-Poo
All the experts agree: It is obvious that this man is totally insane to believe he was ever famous in the first place. When asked to comment on his younger brother Sly Stallone replied:
“Hey yo, my little bro’ used to sing me to sleep in the evening’s. He sounded like a beautiful Angel. But now, I guess he’s just a frickin’ psychopath. If I see him again I’m gonna break his face! That little sh*t weasel stole my wingtip Sinatra shoes!” Sly then got a distant look of contemplation on his face. “Oh yeah—yo, Adrienne!” After the interview Stallone began to punch wildly in the air. Then he put on a gray sweatshirt and started running up and down the steps of the nearby Town Hall were we found him.
The manhunt is underway. The American people demand swift and violent justice. It has been suggested that Canadian officials could be involved. Their motivation: making a large profit from exporting beer to the U.S. combined with their deep love for Frank Stallone. Canada’s unyielding passion for Stallone has created speculation of an ongoing Frank Stallone concert somewhere in the northern territories. Analysts say it is very possible that Stallone is singing to the Canadians in return for harboring him and his group of puritan extremists. Naturally, the situation has gotten ugly at the Canadian border.
Thousands of Mounties are holding back hordes of dry drunks attempting to ransack the country for beer. The media has abandoned the War on Terrorism in Afghanistan for what they call “The Barley Wars.” Already thousands have been killed out of pure sober frustration.
“Lousy beer-hoarding Canucks!” screamed some rioters.
“Frank Stallone bites my ass!” shouted some others.
A chant eventually rose in the crowd of disillusioned Americans, repeating it over and over like a mantra “Canada’s ass we’re gonna kick! Canada can suck my—” I forget how the rest went.
Anyways, It’s pure chaos. Oddly enough, as rowdy as people can be when drinking, they can be twice as irrepressible when denied access to alcohol. The killing continues unhindered, for most of America’s military has been rendered useless. Ironically, instead of going on a mindless killing spree, the majority of US forces have been rendered docile. They’ve turned to smoking massive spliffs of ganja complemented by upbeat reggae music, in response to the total lack of beer. In turn the riot scene has been steady for two days now and those partaking don’t seem to be growing tiresome. The negative energy force driving these fiends has already caused the deaths of approximately two hundred police officers, one thousand civilians, and twelve police horses, as well as the Maple Leaf Country’s most cherished icon: Celine Dion. Dion attempted to sooth the ravenous mob by singing, but before she could finish the first verse of “My Heart Will Go On,” she was struck down by a rogue paper airplane and bled to death.
Keep in mind this is just the Canadian border. To the south, the situation has grown worse as Americans have destroyed the Mexican border in search of tequila and warm tap beer. Approximately four hundred and fifty overweight middle-aged football fans killed and ate an entire village of Mexicans before consuming every drop of alcohol they could find. After which they preformed mass Bukake on an unfortunate coyote who wandered into the madness. This display of total disrespect and distaste shows the desperation of these sad and pathetic Americans.
When asked to comment on the dire state of the nation, the visibly distressed President Bush replied: “There’s no friggin beer. What the f*ck do you want from us?” With a shaky hand, he took out a small leather pouch. Using a silver spoon he snorted some white powder and continued. “This country’s going *sniff down the crapper *sniff. I call to all of our allies *sniff around the world to *sniff aid us in these dark days. Hey you schnitzel gobbling Germans, give us some of your beer! *sniff Or how about you china men, you have a lot of beer too—I mean *sniff what’s the point brainwashing the world if your own *sniff country is contradictory to the capabilities of the bliss facilities— I mean—God bless America. *sniff Jorge! I need more baking powder.” At that point President Bush ripped his clothes off and streaked through the White House screaming “I am the lizard king!” While searching for the President, we ran into Dick Cheney. To engrossed to comment, Cheney was video taping the rest of the Bush Administration having a final-hurrah drunken orgy in the Lincoln bedroom. Mysteriously, all of the presidential cigars are nowhere to be seen.
All over the nation people can be seen making pathetic attempts to make their own beer. Some are enjoying mild success, while others are merely drinking whatever they can mix together in an effort to assuage the loss of their most cherished pastime. The sophistication of their techniques vary from dusting off home brewing kits, to sitting around with a glass full of warm water and hops, to mixing Tang with gasoline (it may be noted that the Tang/gas mix, although notorious for laying waste to people’s bowels, does generate a pretty sweet buzz).
Ironically, this gas and tang mixture is the preferred drink of Frank Stallone’s puritan cult. They have been building up immunity to toxins so they can survive in a radioactive post-apocalyptic world. Plus the mother ship is coming in a couple of weeks, and high levels of tang are required to balance the gravity wells once aboard the spacecraft. On a side note: Frank Stallone lived up to his worthless reputation by forgetting to destroy the non-alcoholic beer factories. Some of the nation has resorted to binge drinking O’Doul’s until their bladders pop and they die drowning in their own urine.
Across the nation and the world the death toll has reached upwards of 10 million, and its only 2 weeks into the drought. Total property damage (including the destruction of all Alcoholics Anonymous Centers) has reached an estimated 40 billion dollars. This has concerned midgets and bearded women across the nation asking, “Who’s next?”