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The Military State of Tyramon

“None are above the Council.”

Category: Iron Fist Consumerists
Civil Rights:
Outlawed
Economy:
Powerhouse
Political Freedoms:
Outlawed

Regional Influence: Shoeshiner

Location: Cape of Good Hope

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1

Funny Stuff wip

"Tyramonians wouldn’t have to import these things if more was produced at home,” states Tyramon’s only organic jumbo shrimp farmer, Shinzo Long, holding what appears to be a scrawny-looking crayfish. “Cut a few environmental regulations here, throw a few Hand Grenades at businesses such as mine, and I could grow my little jumbo shrimp farm enormously while lowering the prices for consumers. It’ll still be greener than those barbarians in Maxtopia and you’ll be putting Tyramonians back to work!”

A period of unprecedented peace and prosperity in Tyramon has seen your personal approval rate sky-rocket. Recently, a small but growing movement has emerged claiming that these general good times are the result of your divine favour, and are advocating that the people worship you as a god.

The Debate
“All hail the glorious Royal Emperor, giver of safety and wealth!” shouts Ami Wickwire, the Prefect of the Cult of Divine Nationalism from atop a wooden crate in Fort Domination Grand Plaza. “Are not the might and benevolence of the holy Royal Emperor manifest for all to see? Should we not respond in humble worship? Proclaim your divinity before all, O Great One, and your people shall listen!”

Accept

“This is heresy!” pontificates May Dixon, a high-ranking clergywoman of Divinity of the Leader, while proffering a collection plate. “Surely you can’t seriously be entertaining delusions of divinity? You would undoubtedly bring divine wrath upon us! I urge you, speak out against these wayward souls and endorse the teachings of our holy writ as the true path to righteousness. Only then can we be assured of continued providence.”

Accept

“Let’s not be too hasty now, there may be an opportunity in this,” muses Kelly LeCarré, one of your shrewdest political advisors. “Of course you’re not divine, we both know that, but is there really any harm in letting these whack-jobs think you are? Nothing begets obedience like the command of one’s god, after all. Perhaps a carefully constructed public statement is in order, one that gives legitimacy to these people’s beliefs while avoiding claiming divinity outright. Let people read into it what they want, and if they flock to this ‘religion’ in droves, well, would it really be so terrible if a large percentage of Tyramonians became your devoted disciples?”

Accept

“Bah! Ridiculous gobbledygook, all of it!” says Patrick Scheer, controversial atheist author of the book ‘Atoms in Space and Relations Between Them - An Exhaustive Account of Existence’. “These cultists are no crazier than any other religious types, and have done far less damage than some I might mention. Take this opportunity to disavow all religion as superstitious nonsense, and throw your support behind reason instead. It’s the perfect opportunity to end the tax breaks for people with imaginary friends, and funnel that additional money into the areas it can do some real good, like authors of popular science books!”

Accept

“All hail our glorious Royal Emperor... or face eternal punishment!” shouts a wide-eyed bearded man in sack cloth waving a greasy tract. “Pay no heed to these sectarians, my liege, they have departed from the way of truth! Only we, of the Cult of Nationalist Divinity, have remained faithful in the face of their slanderous impiety. We know you to be an uncompromising and demanding god, intolerant of all false doctrine. We stand ready to convert the masses to your worship, by lethal force if necessary! Starting, of course, with the insufferable heretics of the Cult of Divine Nationalism!”

Accept

The Talking Point
It is written that Royal Emperor removed one finger and reattached it to the amazement of all.
The Issue
Due to the reigning monarch’s lack of heirs, which could conceivably cause a succession crisis, the aristocratic elite have begun to question the ancient law of primogeniture.

The Debate
“I’m the eldest child, so I should get the throne!” shouts Princess Marjorie, who has a reputation for being completely undiplomatic. “It doesn’t matter that I’m a woman. I should have the same rights as a man to the throne. Why should the crown pass over me because of my genitals? It’s arcane! I mean, having a monarchy is arcane too, but never mind that...”

Accept

“Don’t be so preposterous!” splutters dusty old courtier Diego Cheswick as he pulls out an even dustier family tree of the royal family which trails on the floor. “Generations of proud, strong kings have ruled this land with conviction and certainty! That’s why the country has done so well for so long. It’s clear that women should not be allowed to succeed the throne. They’re much too emotional. Besides, do you really want the Princess meeting other heads of state when it’s her... time of the month?” He shudders.

Accept

“We need a radical reshaping of our country’s power structure!” bellows crazed usurper Shelia Jammeh as she brandishes a blade at the terrified male courtier’s privates. “For too long the patriarchy has oppressed us and denied us our natural rights to rule! Abolish primogeniture and ensure that only women may inherit the throne! We shall usher in a golden age of feminine supremacy!” The courtier shrieks as she accidentally cuts his trousers in excitement.

Accept


The Issue
After stepping off the path in Fort Domination Park to take a picture of a Tyrant Lizard, a Bigtopian tourist was subject to Tyramon Defense Regulations Volume 4, Bylaw 8-A, Chapter 23, Section G-17-5, Paragraph 4b and was subsequently obliterated by a full battalion of Tyramon’s finest.

The Debate
“That’s just how our glorious nation operates!” says Kimberly Chapman, the Sub-Minister of Internal Affairs of the Defense of the Internal Affairs of the National Sub-Committee of Sovereign Urban Parks. “We didn’t get where we are today by letting those dirty, out-of-line foreigners trample our carefully manicured petunia bushes!” She tries to wave a copy of the Tyramon Defense Regulations Volume 4 at you for emphasis, the sheer bulk of the tome forcing her to resort to instead slamming the book onto your desk. The legs creak under the weight. “We need more safeguards against external aggression: no entry signs in multiple languages, tracking anklets issued at the border, oodles of barbed wire, and high-yield minefields! Summer tourists and all other miscreants like them are a threat to society, and if we need to have a show of force to keep them in line, by the Empire we should do so!”

Accept

You can hear yelling and a rising deep rumbling crescendo of noise, then a main battle tank bursts through the doors... and part of the wall. The top hatch opens, and Colonel Brian Iglesias (the officer in charge of the “apprehension” of the unfortunate tourist) pops out. “Now you listen to me, Royal Emperor, the last thing we need is more handsy-pansy suits getting in the way of our work! We should have no more requests to obliterate, signed in triplicate, sent in between 0800 and 1500 hours, sent back, queried, lost, found, subject to public inquiry, lost again, and finally discovered in the basement of Fort Domination Library underneath a treatise about gummy worms!” The Colonel pulls a handgun the size of a small dog from his waistband and drops it onto the regulation almanac. The legs of your desk groan. “Give the military control over how to dispose of all these pesky law-breakers. We’ve been dying to test out these new Tyramon-made Super Obliterator 3000s, anyway!”

Accept

Your butler pours you a cup of tea, having materialized from the mysterious dimension butlers go to when they don’t want to be noticed. “It appears to me, Royal Emperor, that the problem lies within Tyramon rather than without it. You can hardly blame people who visit our glorious cities for being in awe and thus forgetting their place and indeed, what place they are in.” He places the delicate teacup on top of the obscenely large gun and size-of-a-child rulebook. “Having too many government committees, unnecessary departments, and too many soldiers can only lead to more debacles like this. Cut the administrative overgrowth, downsize the defense forces, and possibly funnel that money into something more productive, like education, or butler salaries.” His thin mustache quivers expectantly.

Accept

The family of the dead tourist manages to climb over the armored vehicle in your doorway and into your office. The deceased’s mother, who is especially distraught, approaches you with tears in her eyes. “Why does no one ever think of the people affected by all this! We’re here to sight-see, not to get our family killed by your thugs! How does stepping off a park path even warrant deployment of a surface-to-air missile truck or a ninja team? We can’t keep on going not knowing when the next of us will step out of line and be run over by a tank! We demand an apology, a change to the law and reparations!” The distraught woman gently places a photo of her dead son on your desk, which promptly collapses.

Accept

When you walk into your office, you see Bart, your personal secretary, in a passionate — and completely illegal — clinch with Wolfgang, your other brother.

The Debate
“Yes, Bart and I are in love,” sighs Wolfgang, as your personal secretary straightens his tie and smooths his hair. “We’ve been meeting in secret for three years now. It’s been difficult, and I’ve hated hiding it from you. I so wanted to tell my favourite sibling that I met a wonderful human being: intelligent, articulate, caring... but because of the law, I didn’t dare. Isn’t it time to change that law? Do you know how it feels, to be unable to walk down the street with your sweetheart or even buy a Violetine’s Day card without being harassed? Wouldn’t it be just fabulous if we could have the same rights as heterosexual couples?”

Accept

“Of course they kept it a secret,” barks your traditionalist Minister of the Interior, as he slams his riding crop repeatedly against his own thigh with unusual pink-cheeked glee. “Because they’re nothing but a pair of sodomites. ‘Love’? Pah! They are no more capable of such wholesome emotion than a pair of orang-utans. And what do we do when we want an animal to cease rutting? We neuter them. All sexual inverts, regardless of gender or social position, must be taken to a medical centre and doctored, so they are incapable of feeling lascivious lusts.” With a long sigh, he finally brings the crop to rest.

Accept

“That seems awfully... draconian,” muses Lorenzo Poe, your Minister of Public Schools, whose fifteen year marriage is childless. “I was just saying to my wife Alex — she’s busy at the forge today: who doesn’t go through a phase in their younger years? It’s expected for a young man or woman to have a very close chum, with whom they tousle, and cuddle and even snog a bit. So I hear. Wolfgang will grow out of it. There’s no call for any, shall we say, unpleasantness. Just encourage weddings with a pro-marriage campaign, a matchmaking service specifically for those with close same-sex friends seeking simpatico spouses, and a monetary gift to newly-wed couples. He’ll soon find a nice gal, and forget all about Clovis... erm, Bart.”

Accept


The Issue
After an incident where members of fruitarian militant group Grapes of Wrath scaled the palace for a protest, monarchists, etiquette enthusiasts and the gentry were aghast to discover that the monarchy of Tyramon has no Royal Guard.

The Debate
“An old-fashioned Royal Guard, similar to that in pre-revolution Imperial Lebatuck, is the appropriate choice,” states Kathryn Sestero, weekend military reenactor and historical costumier, who trots into your office on horseback fully adorned with a sabre, braided tunic and bearskin busby. “Think of the elegance, and the impact on the world stage. Royal Emperor, provide a mounted cavalry to stand guard over the royal household and really make the world’s heads turn on state occasions. Not only will a regular ceremonial trooping of the colour provide a tourist focal point, it will also bring the craft of the ancient uniform makers to a modern audience!” She then salutes and canters out of your office.

Accept

“Why move backwards, when you can showcase the smartest uniforms and latest weaponry?” asks young Prince Stan, the heir apparent to a neighbouring monarchy, as he draws a robot holding a laser gun. “As I said to Papa, no-one wants a smelly old horse, when tanks and lasers and ray-shields are so much cooler! The monarch is the most important person; their family deserve to be guarded by a royal division dressed in full protective gear, and armed with the latest military tech. The battlefield shouldn’t even get to test new military gadgets until the monarchy is protected by them. Why should piffling foot soldiers get new toys before the monarch’s Guard?”

Accept

“Erm... May I suggest your local bobby is the best person to protect against crime in Tyramon?” murmurs police officer Vanna Goff, known among criminals as ‘The Doberman’, as she timidly pushes her glasses up her nose. “The only reason we couldn’t be here for those fruit-loops is because we were busting an infamous ring of jaywalking arsonists. Surely that proves we know what we’re doing? If the Royal Family really need protecting, we’ll be right there.”

Accept

“Wait! Now I am just a humble ordinary taxpayer,” says Cassidy Morricone, pointing to the oversized, multicoloured badge on her chest that reads Ordinary Taxpayer and Proud of It, “but am I the only one who has the common sense to ask: why do we need a royal division in the first place? I’m not paying for it. We’re taxed enough already! If outdated royals want protection, make them work and fund their posh lifestyles like everyone else. They’ve scrounged enough on the national teat. Let’s save a penny or two for Mr and Ms Taxpayer!”

Accept


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