So the holiday special is turning into a detailed look at the world of Zap Zephyr. And rather than be merely just a fun holiday-season divergence from normal chapters, we might also see how it influences Chuck Oswald. It'll still be patriot-saints day themed, but rather than just be a parody it'll be well thought-out and unique.
Do I smell the start of a dedicated Zap Zephyr thread? ;):winkytongue:

Hope you’re doing okay after the accident. Can’t imagine it being much fun. And hope you have a well deserved rest after everything this year has thrown at you
 
Actually, the RU declared Japanese to be a "Mongolian" language and forced Japan to adopt English.
Oh, must have missed that.

If Japanese is considered "Mongolian" ITTL, does that mean that the RU supports the Altaic hypothesis?

That might just be the biggest linguistic horror of them all.
 
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HOIST UP YOUR LIBERTY TREES, DECK THE HALLS WITH BUNTING AND GET YOUR RAY GUNS READY!


That light display has the American version of this video's energy and I love it:


Also, can't wait for Zap Zephyr and his Pinnacle Crew to excite my Pinnacle Blood and keep me on the edge of my seat!

EDIT: Meanwhile, down in Carolina

 
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Continuing down my rabbit hole of the Japanese and other random ethnic groups being secretly Hebrew, I found out about the Igbo Jews, and they have Madness potential. Jews from the Igbo people in present day Nigeria, said to be descendants of the Bilal el-Sudan, I could totally see them being declared pinnacle men by the RU and joining the fascist sphere as an ally.
Speaking of which? What about Ethiopians? While they may have been brainwashed by the pseudo-Papist Orthodox Slavic barbarians, they actually were Jewish until the 4th century, and have likely the largest Jewish community in Africa to this day. It’s not that far of a leap to say that they’re actually pinnacle Hebrews.
 
Speaking of which? What about Ethiopians? While they may have been brainwashed by the pseudo-Papist Orthodox Slavic barbarians, they actually were Jewish until the 4th century, and have likely the largest Jewish community in Africa to this day. It’s not that far of a leap to say that they’re actually pinnacle Hebrews.
Better yet the members of the ethiopian royal family still claim that they are the descendants of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba.
 
Actually I have a Better question now: Does the RU already have like a Blitzkrieg doctrine? Because I feel it was mentioned. If not though, I have an idea for the expanded universe thread.
 
Maybe, though Ethiopia was very Orthodox Christian. Personally, I've always liked the idea that Ethiopia could join the League of Tsars. (by the way, is Ethiopia still Europan?)
They were more of a protectorate. Funny enough the Ethiopians got to this point because they took RU funding in exchange for fighting the French
 
Well everyone, it's been one heck of a decade. I for one would call it the "Memetic Decade", for reasons that are quite obvious. As such, this post is on a meme itself. You see, with all these crazy and hardcore ABSOLUTE CHADS walking and warring about, they've got to have some nicknames, and by nicknames I mean ones on the level of "Bomber" Harris. Thus, this post is for all the "Bomber" Harris style monikers my mind has been able to conjure up for now. Get ready folks, because here come...

  • Charles "I'm bilingual, cause I speak Yankee and Death" Oswald
  • Charles "Speak Spanish, You're gonna vanish" Oswald
  • George "Saying Grace, Erasing Race" Armstrong Custer
  • Joseph "The heel your'e currently under" Steele
  • Joseph "Pinnacle Man, Zephyr Plan" Steele
  • Henry "Drives great over grass, and your ass" Ford
That's all for now folks, if I can think up some more good ones, I'll post them. Happy New Year everyone, take care!
 
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They were more of a protectorate. Funny enough the Ethiopians got to this point because they took RU funding in exchange for fighting the French
I'm telling y'all, if the Ethiopians flip to the RU and a Marcus Garvey type emerges, Fascist Rastafarians are the next logical step.


Comrade-Patriot Robert Carver Marley, Jamaican AFC Pastor and founder of African Zionist Action
 
Happy New Years! May your pinnacle-fluids continue to enrich your life throughout your years, fellow patriots!
 
THE 2019 MADNESSVERSE HOLIDAY SPECIAL: "IT'S PATRIOT-SAINTS DAY, ZAP ZEPHYR!"
I have been UNBELIEVABLY stressed and busy, but I hope you guys enjoy this goofy holiday special! It's deliberately written from a biased and an hilariously double-think and double-speech style, clearly showing negative traits about Zap Zephyr yet praising him for those same traits. I'll go over and improve/work on this short story some more, but for now here it is. Happy New Year, everyone!



"ZAP ZEPHYR: TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY PINNACLE MAN" AND ALL RELATED CHARACTERS AND SETTINGS COPYRIGHT ZEPHYR ENTERTAINMENT 1973
"IT'S PATRIOT-SAINT'S DAY, ZAP ZEPHYR!" COPYRIGHT Z.E. 1973 FIRST PUBLISHED 1936

It is the TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY!
From the heart of the NEW JERUSALEM
to the far-flung stars of OUTER SPACE,
GENERAL ZAP ZEPHYR and his hearty
ZED FORCE CREW defend the virtues of
AMERICAN CIVILIZATION against the
corrupt mores of the sinister MARTIAN
HORDES, INFERIORS OF THE STARS!

Striking from a CESSPIT hideout on the
RED PLANET MARS, the vile Martians
have scored a pyrrhic victory against
the VALIANT SPACE FORCE on PATRIOT-
SAINTS DAY itself. SPACE FORCE believes
insidious MARTIAN INFEES managed to
steal secret plans to the SPACE FORCE's
ULTIMATE WEAPON, the devastating
EAGLE STATON, a weapons platform
capable of rendering planets
uninhabitable .

Pursued by the PINNACLE PATRIOT, ZAP
ZEPHYR, the MARTIAN INFEE PRINCESS
MOMODO is trying to escape the forces
of TRUTH, JUSTICE, AND THE AMERICAN
WAY and bring about a GODLESS era of
debauched ANARCHY AND HEDONISM.
OUR HERO must act QUICKLY and
DECISIVELY to SAVE THE EARTH from
Martian use of the superweapon
and restore peace to the
HAPPIEST DAY OF THE YEAR....

*AHOOGA*

*AHOOGA*

*AHOOGA*


Dozens of green Martian Inferiors ran to the central corridor of Princess Momodo's aging starfreighter, Momodo's Pride, as the ship's central alarm klaxons reverberated their warning of the enemy's approach. The Pride was a vile, decrepit ship of Zalkor Shipyards design, one of the oldest Martian companies in existence. The Pride was 30 years old, but actually one of the last ships ever built by the Martians, following the 2030 Treaty of the Oculus. The Excelsior, the state-of-the-art flagship rocket of General Zap Zephyr of Zed Force Command, had stopped the Martian vessel not far from one of the ice moons of Saturn in a daring attempt to recollect the plans for Eagle Station. Eagle Station was a daring new step for mankind's continued dominance of the stars and could potentially end the Martian insurrection forever by exterminating their species from existence. With all the Martian scum dead, the dusty red planet could be terraformed to make room for more of God's Chosen Betters to go forth and multiply.

Martian space marines took spots all around the corridor, hiding behind crates and piles of garbage and waste as they awaited the imminent arrival of the American heroes. Guns ready, they muttered prayers to the Red Gods and hoped they would yet escape the horrible death that almost certainly and justly awaited them all. Besides the blare of the klaxon, the whole freighter was silent.

*BOOM*

In an instant, the double doors at the end of the Martian ship's corridor erupted in a ball of fire and light as an explosive charge blew them off their hinges. In came dozens of blue-uniformed young men and women, eyes fiery behind the glass domes of their spacesuits, all desperate to hand out God's justice sand the wrath of Christ and Prophet upon the Martian Inferiors. Ray gun blasts flew through the air, streaking beams of white-hot energy, burning holes right through the enemy or sending them reeling backward. Martians fell left and right. One vile creature's face vaporized as it was hit and it fell to the slippery, moldy floor shrieking in agony, its mouth tendrils unable to form coherent words. If it could have been understood through its torment, it was begging its comrades to put it out of its misery.

"Happy Patriot-Saints Day, Martian scum!" cheered Skip Hancock, First Mate of the Excelsior, as he beamed an Infee Martian with every step of a gravity boot he took deeper inside the Momodo's Pride. "Zed Force comes bearing gifts! And Father Abe says you all have been very naughty!"

As the Martian horde withdrew deeper into the ship, a tall man with chiseled features and keen green eyes stepped into the corridor, a ray gun at his side and a cocaine-infused cigarette dangling nonchalantly from his lips, the smoke filling his glass dome helmet and slightly obscuring his features. Squeezing off a few shots at the retreating foe, he joined Skip as they gallantly brought up the rear. Zap Zephyr cut an intimidating figure, to be sure, in his red space suit with blue trim. On his jacket sleeve was the flag of the Republican Union, God's Chosen New Jerusalem. His boots were made of the finest Skeeper-hide from Uranus, and his golden-brown hair was messy and yet somehow impeccable in its style and flow. The men wanted to be him, the women wanted him. Zap Zephyr truly was the complete and bulging full package of the American ideal of the Pinnacle Race of the Future.

"First Mate Hancock! Report on the situation!" Zap ordered in a cool, commanding tone of voice as the gingerly stepped over the bodies and filth of the rickety freighter hallway.

Skip Hancock had been at Zap's side for ten years, through thick and thin, and they had studied together at the New Philadelphia Space Academy. He fired another shot over the fleeing foes' heads before cocking his head at Zap and answering. "Well, General," he said calmly, "Princess Momodo should be just down the hall in the central command chamber. And with her, the plans for Eagle Station!"

"Excellent, First Mate," Zap said with a smile spreading across his steely face. "I want the Martian broodwhore alive. No disintegrations. Also, tell Stareena I expect Patriot-Saints Day dinner to be done by the time we get back to our command bridge. This won't take long!"

"I think the Colonel Goodyear HelperBots can manage the cooking tonight, Zap," came the sound a sultry voice from behind the two officers. They turned around and beheld a dazzling sight in the wreckage of the double-doors: Princess Stareena, the blonde buxom former heir to the throne of Titan. Despite her light blue skin, the Titanians were of Pinnacle Blood, as laid down by the Council of Jehovah's 2067 Galactic Decree, and Stareena was Zap's one true love. Dressed in her white bodysuit, short white skirt, and with her bleached hair styled perfectly under her glass dome helmet, she was a vision of beauty and carnal pleasure. She pulled a chrome ray gun from her brown leather belt holster and gave a smirk. "I think it's time for a battle of the Princesses. I don't want some Martian whore around my man."

Zap laughed heartily and said, "My darling, I wouldn't worry about competition from Momodo. I don't think I want to kiss a cluster of tendrils."

Stareena approached him and let him grab her under her thigh, raising her leg up to his waist as they embraced. With a thunk, their glass dome helmets touched and their eyes locked, illuminated by their helmet collar lights. "My dashing husband, hero of the galaxy!" she said with a soft sigh, smiling at him once more. In the distance, the ungodly death-cries and gurgles of perishing Martian space marines could be heard as he caressed her shoulder tenderly. "I think the little girls of the galaxy need a role-model, as well, so it might as well be me," she said, tongue-in-cheek but not altogether joking.

"Alright, darling," Zap agreed, letting go of his voluptuous lover and advancing down the hall with Skip, Stareena following behind. "Stick close, because you never know what vile traps these rapscallions can set up in these disgusting vessels. I can't wait to turn this thing's autopilot on and send it hurtling into the nearest black hole."

"Aye aye, skip," agreed a disgusted Skip. "The sooner we're off this sorry excuse for a starship, the better. Come on, Momodo should be just up ahead. I'm sure the boys are having a field day blasting these green goons."

They approached the end of the corridor finally and stepped into a large central chamber from where the ship was controlled. Instead of a victorious American force resting on its laurels, however, the three heroes saw many of their Zed Force crewmates dead on the floor. The rest were in a frenzy of fear and adrenaline as a a massive spider-like creature, ripped its way through the entrails of many a Star-Spangled boy and let out ungodly and otherworldly howls of pain as the ray blasts from the American spacers hit its lobster-like armor plating.

"By the Prophet!" swore Zap as he heroically dragged Stareena out of harm's way and hid behind a nearby crate. Skip fired a few shots off before also diving under a piece of detritus. "They have a Red Beast on board! Probably taking it to one of their game reserves on the moons of Jupiter. Hancock! We need to take this thing down! It might be big, but there isn't anything alive that can stand up to American ingenuity!"

"MY LEGS, OH MY GOD, MY LEGS!" came the ear-piercing death-cries of an American spacer as his legless body flew through the air like a ragdoll before crashing into a ceiling light, sending sparks cascading down like the Fourth of July upon our intrepid adventurers.

Blood from the maimed trooper flecked onto Skip's helmet and his glass dome's wiper blades brushed it off. Another ingenious development from Colonel Goodyear, purveyors of all true-blue American Space Force equipment. Skip winced as the man's body plopped onto the ground next to him like a sack of potatoes. "Aye, General! What is your plan?" he cried from across the way behind his makeshift barricade. "If we don't do this just right, this could be the end of our run, Zap!" As if to prove a point, the Red Beast grabbed a brave young Yank in its front claw and proceeded to smash his glass dome helmet against the wall, his suit decompressing in the toxic atmosphere of the inside of the ship. With one final move, the creature howled and gutted the man with its other claw and raised the corpse up in victory. Another stroke of the wiper blades cleaned Skip's helmet of blood and juices.

Zap took a deep breath of the cocaine infused air supply, his eyes dilating and his trigger-finger itching. "Space Force heroes live forever in the hearts of their countrymen! Come on, you damn dirty apes, do you want to go to Heaven?!"

The remaining American spacers roared and cheered as they made a final desperate assault on the Red Beast, blasting away with everything they had. Using their surging attack as covering fire, Zap, Skip, and Stareena advanced behind the maze-like piles of trash and offal that adorned the floor. They quickly found themselves almost directly underneath the carapace of the Red Beast, its chest cavity dripping with mucus and covered in writhing tendrils.

"This requires a woman's touch, Zap," whispered Stareena, drawing a grenade from her belt pouch and fingering the activator switch.

Zap Zephyr clutched tenderly at his lover's arm. "Stareena, no! You are my most precious love, I cannot allow you to sacrifice yourself!"

She held him tightly before springing up from the wreckage, grenade ready. In a few frantic seconds, she thrust herself into the beast's chest cavity, the writhing tendrils sending chills down her spine. She forced the grenade in as deep as possible before frantically worming her way out. Not two seconds later, the grenade erupted, turning the creature into a shell full of jelly. The creature immediately fell over, a sea of fluids and liquefied organs flowing from its orifices. A moment passed but then Stareena pulled herself out of the nastiness, standing tall once again.

"My God!" Zap exclaimed. "That's one hell of a woman, by jing!" He scurried over to embrace her, their pristine uniforms covered in gore as they embraced under the shadow of the monster's slumped-over corpse.

"You're one hell of a man, Zap Zephyr," she purred as he stroked her back.

***

30 minutes later...

Princess Momodo, the heir of the Martian throne, felt the weight of the chains dragging her down. She was bound hand and foot but was being roughly carried by two American Space Forcers to the main control bridge of the Excelsior. This wasn't the first time she had been on an American vessel, but she had a good idea that would likely be her last before she experienced the vast, unfathomable emptiness of the Void.

Zap Zephyr stood tall at the helm of the ship, this time free of his breathing apparatus and glass helmet, and Skip was nearby activating switches and getting ready to warp back to Earth once the stolen Eagle Station plans were recovered from the Pride. "Well, well, if it isn't the green queen herself," Zap spat with righteous fury in his voice.

"This is outrageous, General Zephyr!" Momodo cried, her tendrils twitching with rage almost equal to our hero's. "We were on a transport mission bringing wild game to stock my father's hunting reserves and you dared assault us and murder my men and cargo! This is a violation of the Treaty of Oculus! My government will not stand for this."

Our valiant Yankee general moved close to her face, standing toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye. "We know you have the secret plans and we will get them one way or another, I'm afraid. Where are the Eagle Station plans."

"Eagle Station? What are you talking about, you shub-monger?" she spat.

With a loud smack that echoed through the bridge, Zap rebuked her. "You dare use such vile profanity addressing a general of the Republican Union Space Force? I ought to kill you where you stand, Infee scum. Now, for the last time, where are the plans? Don't make me take you to the brig interrogation for some special time alone, if you pick up what I'm putting down, you dumb broad."

Another tendril twitch. "I don't know what in the name of the Red Gods you are talking about, General."

Zap's nostrils flared and Skip shook his head in disgust. Zap told her, "Well, don't worry, my dear friend. When my men finish searching your pathetic excuse for a ship, they'll find the plans. And then I'll bring you back to earth with me to drag the Princess of Mars through the streets to wallow in shame before the President orders your execution. Then Zed Force shall use the power of Eagle Station to reduce your home to dust and embers. We shall turn your world into a new living space for the Chosen Race of the New Jerusalem, Treaty of Oculus be damned! Guards! Take her away, and let me know as soon as the plans are found!"

As the prisoner was dragged off, Princess Stareena entered the bridge, her long flowing locks adoring her bare blue shoulders. She had changed to a revealing white blouse and and also sported an apron. "Zap, honey, Patriot-Saints Day dinner is almost ready. Will you be joining me in our quarters?"

Before Zap could answer, Marty Carter, one of the chief engineers, burst into the bridge and interrupted in a frantic tone. "General Zephyr, sir! The men just discovered Momodo transmitted the Eagle Station plans to Mars itself! Likely to her father!"

"Son of a bugaboo," muttered Zephyr. "Drat and double drat! Looks like we're launching a little miniature invasion of the Red capital. We'll get our plans back, one way or another, damn it. Skip, take us to Mars! Carter, tell the men to prepare to warp into a combat zone. I'm sure Momodo's green pig of an old man won't be happy to see us."

Skip looked a bit down as he punched in the coordinates into the Excelsior's central tabulatics. Noticing his morose composure, Zap put a hand on his first mate and best friend's shoulder, he asked, "What's the matter, Skip? Did losing so many boys earlier get to you?"

Skip shook his head. "Nah, Zap. I just wish I could be home for Patriot-Saints Day, not on some godforsaken Martian crater."

Zap laid a finger on the Republican Union flag patch on Skip's sleeve. "You see that?" he asked him.

Skip looked puzzled. "I mean, it's our flag, all hail. What about it?"

Zap put his hands on his hips, puffed his chest out, and said in his charismatic tone, "That patch is America. This ship is America. Skip, Patriot-Saints Day isn't about being at the heart of Philadelphia, or singing songs around the Liberty Tree with the creature comforts of a luxury home. Patriot-Saints Day isn't reserved for home or earth. Deep inside us all waves the Star-Spangled Banner, and wherever the grav-boots of Pinnacle Men may trod, so too does America. This galaxy is American, set aside by Jehovah. And by the Prophet, we'll celebrate our national day no matter how far we fly among the stars."

Skip looked up, in awe of his commander and loyal friend. "Thank you, sir. I realize how truly blessed I am to be here with you. It's Patriot-Saints Day, Zap Zephyr. And a Happy New Year, also, sir!" The two men locked forearms and hands together in a meaty, manly handshake.

Zap released his first mate's hand and gave him another pat on the back before oozing his way over to Stareena, grabbing her around the waist and nibbling at her ear.

"Oh, and shall I give the order to execute all prisoners from Momodo's ship, sir?" Skip asked, matter-of-factually.

Zap breathed in the aroma of his lover's exotic perfume and the scents of apple pie and green bean casserole from her apron. It made him glad to be a man. He gingerly kissed her supple blue lips. "Oh, yes, of course, Skip. Whatever you say," he muttered, waving his hand as he danced into his private quarters with his wife.

Skip shook his head and showed a crooked, knowing smile. He was glad such a true hero could have time to unwind between missions. "Right," he said, pulling himself back to the tabulatic system, turning a few green blips on the screen red. "Out the airlock with the lot of you. Happy Patriot-Saints Day, Infee Scum!"


EDITOR'S NOTE: The preceding story was taken from the 1936 issue of Zap Zephyr Monthly, and was distributed as propaganda to increase morale among American troops participating in Operation Manifest Climax who were unable to spend the holiday stateside with their families. The story was wildly popular with American troops. Among them was a long-time avid Zap Zephyr fan named Chuck Oswald, soon to prove himself in some of the worst fighting ever seen in American history. The impact of Zap Zephyr upon the future President cannot be understated, and the similarities between the two men, both possessing heroic levels of bravery, voluptuous wives, and movie star looks, is obvious to any student of American history. All hail President Oswald, Hail to the Chief!










 
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