abstract
| - Rogue States (or Rogue Nations) are the bad boys of the Earth. Sure, they'll take you to the prom, but you'll find yourself alone by sunrise. By the side of the road. Pregnant. In Mexico. Rogue States are like that. They're rebels, you see. They're both the bad apples in the orchard of our world and the dog turds in the sandbox of life. On the playground of peaceful co-existence, they're the ones who pee on the slide. These habits of bad apple'ing, sandbox defecation and slide-urination don't endear them to good nations, like Norway, Iceland, and that other country who gave you a lift to the airport that one time, but whose name escapes you at the moment. These "goody-goodies" don't see the value of rebellion. They just want all the nations to play nice, not rock the boat and eat their vitamins. Rogue States think that's bullshit. A good nation would say "B.S.", but Rogue States don't go for that "nice G-rated, family-friendly kind of swearing" garbage. If Rogue States was a movie, when they showed it on TV it'd start with a "Contains nudity. Viewer discretion is advised" warning. Rogue States never wear ties, especially not dorky bow-ties or those ropey things that people who like to pretend they're from Texas wear. They might (that's might) make an exception when they're in a job interview but, come Monday morning, they're wearing a T-shirt, cargo pants and flip-flops. In the office breakroom they eat other people's lunches that were in the fridge and they never, ever, wash the communal plates and utensils that they use. If the boss catches them red-handed with this "not washing", then they'll clean them, but in a half-assed way, muttering expletives under their breath the whole time, and they'll make them just clean enough that the boss nods his approval, but not clean enough that anyone else would want to use them before they, themselves, wash them thoroughly. If the good nations bitch about this, and they do, the Rogue States sneak out to the parkade and slash their tires.
|