Jones N. Forebuts and the Secret of the Golden Butt

Jones N. Forebuts stared blankly out the window of his three-story rv. Imagining the perfect shape for a butt. He contemplated the many ways that butts are shaped. Flat ones, round ones, hairy ones, smooth ones. All beautiful. But surely, there must somewhere exist a butt with is greater than all other butts in the world. [[The Golden Butt]]. { (set: $city to false) (set: $police to false) (set: $library to false) (set: $main to false) }

The allure of soft jiggly mass drew Jones from his luxery camper into the world outside. It was a warm day in the District of Columbia. Birds were chirping. Squirrels were screaming at the top of their lungs. Worms lay writhing and dying on the pavement. Jones stepped out of the public park in which he made his residence. Dressed in only a flannel shirt and a top hat, Jones set forth on his journey. A fellow congressman had been texting him all morning, but Jones had [[more important business to get to]].

(if: $library is false)[Go to [[library]]] (if: $police is false)[Go to [[police office]]] (if: $city is false)[ go [[city hall]]] (if: $main is false)[ Go To [[main street]]] (if: $city is true)[(if: $library is true)[(if: $police is true)[(if: $main is true)[you must [[continue on your journey]]]]]]

You stepp through the brick archway of the libarary building. They have more books here than a university basement. You always love the air of solemn solitude that a library brings. It's also a fantastic place to masturbate. You head straight for your favorite section: the second floor world war two and hitler biography section. Sometimes you just like to lay out a bunch of open books all turned to pages with hitler's face, and sit on the floor, surrounded by the many expresssion of the furher. You have tried to get a frim grasp of what hitler's butt was like, but there was no way of telling what mysteries those tight angular pants hid. This second floor vantage point is also luckily the perfect spot for veiwing every butt that walks in and out of the libabry. You'd think these butts would usually be pretty hard for sitting around all day stuck to huge nerds, but some of the butts are surprisingly round. You see one butt that even looks artifical. [[There are no more butts worth looking at here|more important business to get to]] { (set: $library to true) }

You stride valiantly into the police headquarters for this jurisdiction. Everyone's heads turn to you as you enter, and the police cheif sighs dramatically. "I'm here to bail out Big Tony!' You exclaim triumphantly. "Here's three million dollars." The police chief's large, saggy bottom shuffles grumpily towards the cell keys. This butt has seen better days. It has been weighed down by many cruel years on the seat of a police cruiser, expanded by one too many donuts. His pants have slipped down a little, and you can see the faint scar from a fence hopped too slowly in pursuit of a crinimal. "I don't know where you get all that money from" he grumbles. "Too bad none of it ever seems to come my way." "You up for a pint later?" he askes you "Only if we get to take the squad car" you reply. "Sure, but I'm driving this time." [[He unlocks the cell door that is holding Big Tony]]

You stride across the marble floor and greet betsy, the sharp secretary. "I can't keep covering for you, you know," she says. "By the way, you have another CEO bribing you to keep their dick pics off the internet." You take the invoice. "Don't worry. After next week it'll be illegal to have negative opinions about rich people's genitals." [[Browse for butts]]

Ah, main street. Filled with shopping and dining for everyone. So many beuteous asses parading around in groups. Each ass slightly different. Some in skirts, some in skinny jeans, and some in traditional scottish kilts. A young couple glares at you when they catch you staring at their butts. "It's that that guy?" Asks the chick. "The guy that stares at people's asses all the time?" "God, that guy is creepy," says the guy. What a wonderful day! [[There are no more butts worth looking at here|more important business to get to]] { (set: $main to true) }

"By the way" you say conspiritorially as you lean on besty's desk, scattering her papers. "Have you seen any good butts lately?" The elevator chime dings as the doors slide open to reveal a gaggle of butts all dressed in black ready to go seize the day. A familiar butt wobbles by. It's your acountant's butt. It is a flat butt. It hides shyly in their business pants, alsomst as if it has something to hide. A secretive butt. This guys manages at least several dozen offshore accounts, you hear, although you don't ask for details. You think at least one of them is in switzerland. He nods briefling to you, expression foggy. His flat butt moves almost imperceptively as he exits down a hallway. [[There are no more butts worth looking at here|more important business to get to]] { (set: $city to true) }

"You know, "says the chief, "we're having a two-for-one deal today." "Who's got the rischest family?" "If you spend a couple more mil, we can release this kid who killed nine people drunk driving." You think about this offer, while inspecting this terrible driver's behind. It's an okay butt, but you know it's the kind of butt that will go bad surely but slowly over time. A butt that bites you in the butt, if you will. "Nah, " you respind. "Not today. Besdies, his parents are going to bail him out for a going away to mexico party in a few hours." Big Tony watches you check out buttts, and sureptitiously moves his arms to cover his own butt. Too late, Tony, you think to yorself, I've got several newspaper clipping with your humoungous ass all over them. [[There are no more butts worth looking at here|more important business to get to]] { (set: $police to true) }

You are in the himilayas. You were dropped off by helicopter three days prior, wich only a backpack full of live mongooses and your personal tailor, Mr. Bubsgy. Buggsby is shivering like a wimp. "Thank goodness congressmen get so many sick days" You say to bugsby. "Thay asked what illness I had. I told them it was an unqunchable thirst for perfect delectible booty. also the flu." Busgyb keels over, already dead. The harsh himilayas claim many innocent lives. Either that, or it was his weakened immune systems from all those radioactive gators you fought off in lousiana the night before. It was his time. You leave him in the snow, his perfectly cut suit immaculate. It will stay that way until archeologist dig him out of the ice five thousand years from now. The perfect example of the modern man, whcih they will dedicate an entire space musem to. Looks like when you get back to the states you're going to have to pick another one up at the pound. You'll get an older one so you don't have to train it. [[march onwards]]

Two hundred miles of mountain traking later, you come across a glittering cave nestled in the rock. A light shines out from it. COULD IT BE??? The fabled cave of the hobo?? After all these years of butt searching? It's true, when you enter the mouth of the cave, you can hear the nechanting sirens' wail of the lost hobo. When you peer around the corner, you can see him, nestled between two perfect round boulders. "I see someone has finally found me"<" says the hobo tentatively. "Are you the IRS?" [["No, "you say," just a old childhood friend."]]

"It's you!" he gasps as you remove your balaclava. "Little jonesy, the asshole who made all his friends sign contracts to play with him!" "I always loved your butt, Thomas," you say, moving closer with your arms outstretched "even when you were a tiny toddler hobo living under the overpass with your dead mom." Jones continuede "I was inspired by your simply way of life, robbing grocery stores of giant armfuls of frozen sandwixches and bananas. I decided to become a hobo myself, so that I may, in some way, be closer to your perfect, ultimate booty." "You always were a freak, jonesy" say the beitufl hobo. "I came all the way into the mountains so that none would fall victim to the allure of my perfect behind. Even my shits caused riots when I was a young man." [["May I have your butt?" You whisper.]]

"It's too late for me" cries the hobo "My butt was bitten off by an eagle five years ago. the eagle has the butt now." "NOOOOO!!" you scream. "Where is this terrible beast??" "It was the president's eagle" says hobo forlornly. "Nobody outmatches the president. andthing his eagle has, is his forever." "I will do it" you declare to the himalayas, wind blowing through your hair, "I will fight the president!" You step outside the mouth of the cave. our helicopter is waiting for you. The crew throws you a rope ladder. You take hold and ride it [[all the way back to DC]].

You strom into the white house, startling an array of peacocks on the grounds. The presidential poodle starts barking at you. You wrench open the doors of the elevator, and jump into the shaft, climbing the steal cables to the top level, where the rectangle office sits on the roof. Lobyist hiss and scatter as you make your way through, disapearing back into the shadows from where they came. Donarry Trunton swivvels around in the large leather office chair behind the presidential desk, the presidential emergency phone in their left hand. "I've got to go, Putin," they say, glaring at you. They set the phone down on a tray and a butler carries it away. The bald eaghle on their shoulder squawks loudly and flaps its huge fuckoff wings, fatally disrupting Trunton's obviously fake toupe. [[They pretend not to notice.]]

Donarry Trunton's presidential campaign will surely go down in hostroy. Originally two seperate candidates, the bipartisan spin of the natinal media was so intense that they both got perfectly equal number of votes. The law dictating that the number one candidate must be the president, including in the case of ties, but only allowing for one individual, the two presidents were fused into a single aboniation. "How's the two-party system been treating you, Donarry?" you ask, eyes narrowed, fingers twitching at your side, where an ak47 is hidden. "The democarts are never happy, what else is new? But the republicans seem to be taking it well. Seems like they really will vote for anyone as long as they claim to support traditional family values at some point, in some vague capacity." "I might have voted," you say "but your decision about the TPP committe was unconstitutional." "What can I say? We're going to need all that TP when shit hits the fan." In the beak of the blad eagle is the Golden Butt. Trunton notices you looking and smirks. [["Admiring my ass? Wouldn't be the first time."]]

"No wonder you ordered your eagle to steal the butt from the hobo" you spit "only the most perfect butt in the world would fix the horrible mess they made of you in the operating room." The president snarls and stands up from the deck, flexing their enourmous biceps. You notice the MMA golden belt around thier waist/ It reads, "Best at killing people by punching". "You'll pay for what you did to hobo!" You screech as you jump onto the desk and bare your fangs, which drip with hobo vemon. "The president never pays!" They holler back, as they pick up the massive offive chair in one beefy fist and hurl it at you with immense force. You just barely jumnp over it in time. "GIve me the butt!" you scream as you slash at them with a long sharpened train spike. "Never!" They slap the train spike out of your hands, and it crashed into a large red button on the desk that says "RELEASE EVERY DRONE" Sirens blare as the two or three of you look up. Millions of tiny stupid robots launch into the air in a massive cloud of chaos. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE" screeches Donarry Trunton. [["WE WERE SAVING THOSE FOR WORLD WAR FIVE"]]

You can hear citizen all over DC scream in sheer tarror / panic. News caster rain from the sky like paratroopers, and suddenly you are surrounded by camera crews. You quickly take off your pants, knowing that you will be fully protected under the law. The eyes of the entire world are on you and the president. The president gives an unvoluntary belch of disgust at the sight of your frozen, ganngrenous penis. You had meant to see a doctor to treat your frostbite, but now you're glad you didn't. "Disgusting" the presdient utters clearly in the silence, hundreds of boom mics orbiting thier head. "Put your pants back on" they continue, as democrats around the nation begin to call the impeachment police. They lunge at you with their powerful fist, aimed at your head, with enough orce to shatter bones, but before it can make contact, the long arm of the law bursts through the skylight. Bricks, caviar, and journalists explode in every direction as it slithers around the president, lifting them up in the air with its slimy, eel-like fingers. "No!" the president yells, gripping the edge of their desk as the law strains, pulling them towards the hole in the ceiling. [["I haven't done anything wrong!"]]

"It's illegal to take carp about a rich person's genitals," you respond solemly." "This changes nothing! I pardon myself of the crime!!!" Donarry booms forcefully. The clouds and drones part, and a massive beam of sunlight stirkes all those who stand upon the white house. The voice of the Constitution echos from the heavens. THE ONLY PERSON THE PRESIDENT CANNOT PARDON, it says for all to hear, IS THEMSELVES Trunton's screams can be heard worldwide as the long arm of the law whips them through the building, out the door, and miles and miles away, into guantanamo from where it originated. You solemly pull your pants back on. The knight of the white house picks up the discarded crown of the president and lowers it upon your mated scalp. Camera lights flash as the world watches your ascention into the preseidency. According to the laws of thermodynamics, once a president has been defeated in legal battle, a new president must be crowned immediately to keep the planets in alignment. The bald eagle squawks and alights on your shoulder, dropping the perfect Golden Butt into your hands. Someone pushes past the journalistic wall, begging to see you. it's the hobo. Tears line their perfect eyes,. "You saved my ass," they say breathlessly. "its rightfully yours now" Jones shakes his presidential head. "No, the presdient has no business grabbing other people's asses. Take your beautufil butt. You're the only one who should have it." "Thank you" cried the hobo, as they pull their butt back onto thir legs like a pair of shorts. "But what about your dreams?" "My dreams are the dreams of the american people now," you say, and hit the press with a broom until they go away. "But I will always be happy, now that I have done justice for the most perfect butt to ever have existed." [[TH END]]

Thanks for playing a game! Credits are: story: a person who was high tryping and coding: a person who was tired you: a cool person Share this game with your frenemies???? [[start over|start]]

This game is basically a political comedy. FEATURING: -Swears -Butts -Hitler -Diseased Genitals -Typos -Death -Politics -Making Fun of Politics -Death Combat with the President of the United States of America Any references to USA law and governance is well-researched and [[perfectly 100% accurate|Untitled Passage]].