Like some kind of organized clockwork, it was December 25th again. Atlantis was quiet. It would be easy to assume that Atlanteans celebrate the birth of Christ the holy baby, and you would be completely wrong. In the same way you’d be wrong if you assume all Koreans eat watermelon, all Brazilians are good at math, and all Sudanese are always hungry. Atlantis sunk many years before the birth of Jesus on the surface land, making them unaware of the event as it happened, thus making it irrelevant to their culture. And who can blame them? Do they blame or shame us when we don’t acknowledge Mollusk March Day? FYI: they do.
After years of land dweller pressure, Atlantis felt left out knowing that 46% of one third of Earth celebrated Christmas. Atlantis wanted a day of celebration. They declared December 25th to be True Labor Day, a holiday when every denizen of Atlantis fixed something broken, as well as throwing something needless out. It was also their duty to coerce their government to work for them. To keep things fair, the government had to accept these terms.
Aquaman brooded standing atop the highest point of the kingdom. On the surface, so beautiful, but between the nooks and crannies, not so much. He was at war with himself. He fully understood his civic responsibility, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Why must a King do things he dislikes? Aren’t there underlings to do the menial junk? It always comes to this. The bottom line. Everything is a pain in the ass. After this pain in the ass, there will be another one, and then another. This is the sequence of maturity or something. With this, he made his way to the Atlantis Heptagon.
As Aquaman strolled through Congress, he lifted his trident proudly in the air, the audience erupted with applause. Even through the din, he could hear some of the Senators murmuring. “Is he high?” “Can’t trust the human side of him.” Gill-less shit.” “Orange makes him look fat.” He heard each and every word crystal clear. It was one of his many powers, a heightened aural ability because of the half-human side of him responding to the added depth and pressure of underwater living, and voilà, super-hearing.
If you’re a good leader, you will naturally have enemies. To be the best leader, you make a list of the enemies first to die by your vengeful hands. Aquaman stood behind the podium, looked at each and every enemy in the audience, etching each detail into his photographic memory. The wood of the podium cracked when he gripped his fingers firmly into it.
“Welcome fellow citizens, brothers and sisters, each and every one of you from the dwarf pygmy goby to the whale shark. Happy True Labor Day to all of you. It is an honor to rule such hard working living specimens. You fill me with pride. You complete me. Even you, lazy sea cucumber. Your purest of pure heart overcomes your exasperating sloth. You move me to tears. I must be very candid with my intentions, but I will also be loquacious, terse, flowery, and legitimate. We face a brave new world, and we shall not step forward until we are armed with knowledge and new and improved killer karate kicks. It is what you, the best and brightest people, deserve. Give yourselves a hand, for today, you fixed something. You have shown an inanimate object what’s what. Shine on, it looks good on you. You have also made our nation less cluttered. Happy True Labor Day to all of you. You have also requested my royal presence. I love you all. Happy True Labor Day to all of you. If you follow the news from above, you are familiar with the term shithole or shithouse. I assure you, Atlantis does not have those. At best, we have holes of glory. Glory holes!”
At this moment, Vulko, consignliere extraordinaire with a down-to-the-ground-white beard, abruptly stepped up and whispered in Aquaman’s ear. They both blushed.
Aquaman continued to politicize, address, and in short, drone on. All the while, his goons eliminated three of his greatest political enemies: The Jets, The Sharks, and The Barracudas.