My America
Jimmy 3000

Recently found documents have uncovered a draft of John F. Kennedy’s inaugural speech that was discarded at the last moment. Kennedy foresaw that someday in the future an African American President was a likely possibility, however during the writing of this document Kennedy was distracted by the television airing of the Eva Gabor Sci-Fi classic “Angora Moon Chicks from Mars” and his attention quickly drifted elsewhere:

John F. Kennedy

I believe we will have our Negro president. Several million years from now, when the Earth is spent like a Provencetown dance hall drag queen, then the Negro will have his 40 acres, the Negro will have his mule or quite possibly a robot mule of some kind, and the world, by that time, will be ready to accept such a man for this most noble title of Negro President and to him; the endless stream of floozies that come with it.

Several million years from now, when all the white upper class Americans will have left that dried up whore of an Earth for those tight perky bosoms of the stars, we will leave for the endless possibilities of space and more over "space sex". It is in that time we will travel in fast, fast, wicked-fast space ships filled with really hot broads in mini skirts and alien booze that makes Scotch look like baby formula. We will meet alien races and cultures from all over the galaxy and we will kill them as quickly and violently as possible. The will infect my brother Teddy with their deadly moon bites and he will have antenna sticking out of his head like a Maine lobster peeking out of a bowl of chowda. We white survivors must be ready for this tasty mutant with a big wooden spoon to knock his sorry drunk ass back in where space lobsters belong!

And to my devoted wife Jackie: She will have this thing on her head and when I press a button she will instantly forget about the lipstick on my collar and my combustible booze breath when I stumbled in at 4:45 AM and the space ship comes home without the front grill and missing a taillight.

We will travel to a planet of smoking hot broads. They will all have bazongas like that blonde bombshell in Cool Hand Luke, which will be made seven years from now. They will skimp around in these little get-ups that have less fabric than a 'kleenex' but somehow have never heard of a kiss. It will be the task of every American to teach them about the raunchies, no-holds-barred swinging you can imagine.

And when those Americans of future generations ask what did we do when we were called we will say that those chicks were being terrorized by enormous shrimp and we rose to the challenge and defeated them with laser cannons and bombs. Later the hot broads will thank us with bisque and kinky sex.

Rocks? Where are all the broads you were supposed to bring back chowda head?

And that, that is a future that all America can look forward to.

-J.F.3K
January 21, 1960