January 30th, 2009

War.

So you think you are the most powerful nation in the world, huh? Well We of the Republic of Rachel's Nearly-Loveless Heart admire your confidence and applaud your courage. After fifteen speechless minutes, seven speech-worthy days, and the millions of dead soldiers lining the streets of the world, broken hearts dashed, bruised, and bloodied by the rampage that is our army, We of the Republic of Rachel's Nearly-Loveless Heart hereby accept your declaration of war, and accept your challenge to bring peace and harmony to a nation of battered emotions and rejection of love and commitment. We open our bared arms to you and invite you to "bring it, Mother Fucker."

As per your mentioning of occasional spoonings and sweet-nothings whispered when deserved (which is probably never), We of the Republic of Rachel's Nearly-Loveless Heart would like to inform you that teddy bears don't do the trick like a warm hand on your ass while you sleep and an firm penis pressed against your back. Should you be watching us from the skies, we would like to bring the fact to light that our supply of artistic inspiration and "rich caches of love, fit for trade" as you so cleverly claim, is not so abundant that it can be handed out like a derailed train full of candy. In the past, our willingness to provide without toll this supply of unique love, boundless inspiration, wealthy attitude problems, and impeccable tits has left our nation in shambles. Although we have managed to become slow allies with most of our enemies after these hard times of war, I warn you, still there remains the Republic of Mike Paro's Dumb Ass and the country of Tyler Prehm, who's love we discovered was just a river that had dried up nearly one hundred years prior. These are scars in our country's soil from the long hard battles we have allowed ourselves to fight, and to defeat this beautiful land is to rob it of all that makes it so desirable by providing it with what it lacks. You want to plant your troops on our turf? Go for it. You want to spy our giant eyes and see what else we've got hiding from the world? Our doors and windows are wide open. You want to see if you can survive in the cut-throat and cold climate that is our nation's beautiful wasteland? Lets see you make fire. We accept your declaration of war, and hereby warn you that our land is as unforgiving as our army, and the only men to survive have not left uninjured or cleared of sufficient confusion.

But of course, we cannot ever forget the barren desert that is Eastern Ben Danger, a place rich with lust and void of love like our own, and one who's aggressive winds and sandstorms of the daytime give way to the peaceful nights, when the cactuses blossom ever slightly and become a beautiful sight never thought to be seen in such a place. We of the Republic of Rachel's Nearly-Loveless Heart confide in our allies Eastern Ben Danger and employ you to realize the treaty signed between our nation and theirs for nearly four years now. To surrender to your newfound nation would mean breaking this valuable treaty and throwing all chances of the long-anticipated merger into the rivers of Dave Joyal; a kiss goodbye to passion for all eternity, not to mention that water's damn cold.

We of the Republic of Rachel's Nearly-Loveless Heart are no strangers to love, we are just enemies with it. Trade of such a recourse which comes so silently and scarcely in our land is a negotiation that takes careful planning, but more so almost guaranteed rejections of the subtle kind and the brutal kind. Many have declared war, many have infiltrated, and many have left with missing limbs, sucking on their thumbs and kicking themselves in the ass for letting us control their every move, their every decision, and they every enjoyment in life. This is our system riddled of perfect flaws, made to cater to our needs, our wants, our moves, our decisions, and our enjoyment. We are selfish, inconsiderate, and wretched people, yet we are also intelligent, beautiful, and desirable people, sought by most. We of the Republic of Rachel's Nearly-Loveless Heart dare you to try. We dare you to take over and tame our beasts that we let roam wild in the streets without care or fear. We dare you to tear the treaty from our hands that we hold with a death grip. We dare you to give us your worst, but be warned that we are extremely and unnecessarily picky, and we obtain the right to any decision that is a final one. So suit your leader in his thickest armor; we predict just a matter of days before his face lies downwards in the dirt, back riddled with arrows and heart riddled with hate. We are the ones with the power, so lets see what you fucking got.

Best of Luck (Seriously),

Rachel L. Severance
Queen, The Republic of Rachel's Nearly-Loveless Heart.