EDICT SIXTEEN:
"Beer"

Like in QUEBEC, a MESSED-UP PROVINCE with some REALLY GOOD FEATURES, beer shall be AVAILABLE IN GROCERY and CONVENIENCE STORES, but ALL BOTTLES will be RETURNABLE BY LAW. SCREW this CONSIGNMENT crap. I'm SICK of IDIOTS breaking BEER BOTTLES all over the place because ... well, I'm NOT SURE WHY.

BETTER YET, all BEER BOTTLES will be equipped with an EAR-PIERCING ALARM that will sound if you SMASH THE BOTTLE. Then the FLYING CYBORG MONKEY ENFORCERS will arrive and FORCE YOU TO EAT all the BROKEN GLASS. That'll learn ya for PUNCTURING MY BIKE TIRES, you BEER-BOTTLE-SMASHING BASTARDS.

The SOFT FOAM BEER BOTTLE HOLDING THINGY industry will boom, which is A-OK. NOBODY'S BIKE TIRES ever got SHREDDED by a SOFT FOAM BEER BOTTLE HOLDING THINGY.

I SHALL RULE THIS PLANET.

EDICT FIFTEEN:
"The Idiot Edict"

IDIOTS are always a PROBLEM when a HIGH-MINDED RULER is given TOTAL CONTROL OVER THE WORLD. I mean, on the one hand, they get in the way and BREATHE THROUGH THEIR MOUTHS and CLOG UP THE MALL. On the OTHER hand, SOMEBODY has to work in the JELLY BEAN FACTORIES and provide raw labour for the SALT MINES.

The BEST PROPOSAL, I think, is to start CATEGORIZING THINGS by I.Q. and THINKING RESPONSE tests. IDIOT MALLS will help keep the SLOW-MOVING MORONS from GETTING BETWEEN ME AND THE LAURA SECORD ICE CREAM STANDS. There will be SPECIAL TELEVISION STATIONS for IDIOTS that show nothing but GAME SHOWS and SOAP OPERAS and FOX NEWS.

ACCIDENTS will no longer be statistically categorized by AGE OR GENDER groups, but by IDIOT, DUNCE, MORON, AVERAGE, BRIGHT, and BRILLIANT categories. "A new study shows that 6855% of all car accidents involved IDIOTS over the last year" and THAT SORT OF THING.

We will SOON BE ABLE to make this a safer, better world. Wait until I re-designate MANHATTAN as "IDIOT ISLAND." You'll LOVE IT. TRUST ME.

I SHALL RULE THIS PLANET.

EDICT FOURTEEN:
"National Celebrations"

As future TOP BANANA, I have naturally spent much time CONTEMPLATING my style of rule. Should I use the ROMAN approach of essentially leaving nations alone with their customs and habits, or the BRITISH system of TOTAL SUBJUGATION AND SOUL-SHATTERING CONTROL?

As EVERYBODY knows, Orwell beats Ghandi NINE FALLS OUT OF TEN at THUMB-WRESTLING, so subjugation seems to be the order of the day. KISS YOUR QUAINT REGIONAL FESTIVALS GOODBYE.

Ooh! It's the Fourth of July! Oooh! It's Canada Day! Ooooh! It's Guy Fawkes Day! Ooooh! It's Bolivar Day! Oooh! It's National Slug Wrestling Day down at Murray's Hot Ribs and Slug Wrestling Pit!

FUGGEDABOUTIT, YOU SISSIES. You will set aside MARCH SIXTEENTH of EVERY YEAR and celebrate "THE DAY OUR LORD HIGH EMPEROR DECIDED NOT TO KILL US ALL WITH THE AMAZING DEATH BEAMS THAT COME FROM HIS EYES AND FINGERTIPS." It will be a big global party every March 16, with little hats and rattles and lots of cake. Until the March Sixteenth that I finally decide to destroy all of you with the aforementioned amazing death beams. So be good.

MARCH 16. BRING FIREWORKS AND YOUR OWN MEAT TO BARBEQUE. I WILL PROVIDE THE POTATO SALAD AND CHEAP WATERY BEER.

I SHALL RULE THIS PLANET.

EDICT THIRTEEN:
"Jelly Beans"

Aren't ENOUGH of 'em. YET. When I am KING OF THIS PARTICULAR CASTLE, JELLY BEANS will be CHEAP, PLENTIFUL, and AVAILABLE IN ALL COLOURS INDIVIDUALLY. What is UP with those CHEAP PURPLE ONES? They taste like WHAT A MONGOOSE PASSES SIX HOURS AFTER EATING DISH SOAP! And the GREEN ones? JEEBUS! Who in their RIGHT MIND would ever EAT MINT JELLYBEANS?

Your leaders, until now, have been too WEAK to DEAL WITH THIS. Under ME, there will be no less than SIXTEEN (and up to TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-NINE) flavours of JELLYBEAN available in EVERY STORE. You will be able to MIX AND MATCH to your HEART'S CONTENT. BOOKS on JELLY BEAN COCKTAILS will be published. The world will FORSAKE THE DEMON CHOCOLATE and COME BACK to the SWEET CANDY OF ITS YOUTH.

I SHALL RULE THIS PLANET.

EDICT TWELVE:
"Cycling"

NO SLOW PEOPLE ON BIKES. Period. When I am LARGE AND IN CHARGE, all cyclists will have to maintain a MINIMUM CRUISING SPEED of 8 km/h. THAT AIN'T THAT FAST, KIDS. I'm sick and tired of FOSSILS JAMMING UP THE TRAILS with their $4,000 bicycles, WHEEZING ALONG to the CRAPPY MUSIC on those ANNOYING LITTLE HANDLEBAR RADIOS. For PETE'S SAKE. If you can't KEEP UP, you should TRAIN AT HOME on gol-danged STATIONARY BICYCLES until you're FIT TO JOIN SOCIETY. What's that? You want the SCENERY? TOO FRIGGIN' BAD. You can STARE AT RICHARD SIMMONS' FREAKY-ASSED SELF and SWEAT TO THE OLDIES until YOU CAN BIKE FASTER THAN I CAN CRAWL BACKWARDS WITH SIXTEEN FAT BABIES STRAPPED TO MY CHEST. Which is about 8 kph, if you're wondering.

What's that? You're OLD and CAN'T GO AT A REASONABLE RATE OF SPEED? See the future edict on "OLDTOPIA" for your IMPENDING PARADISE RESORT/RETREAT. And MAKE ME YOUR RULER QUICKLY, OLDIE, before your HEART STOPS. For now, just STAY OUT OF MY WAY. I'M A TWO-WHEELED RACECAR AND I'M ZZZOOMIN' ZZZOOMIN' ZZZOOMIN'!

I SHALL RULE THIS PLANET.

EDICT ELEVEN:
"Humidity"

HUMIDITY is CRAP. When I am RIGHTFUL MONARCH of EARTH, I shall put all of our RESOURCES towards building WEATHER-CONTROL SATTELLITES that will keep things from EVER BEING THIS HUMID. I HATE it when my UNDERWEAR sticks in my CROTCH and I sweat when I'm just SITTING STILL WATCHING OLD "BATTLE OF THE PLANETS" DVDs. It is TOO HUMID. A GIANT MAGNIFYING GLASS will be LAUNCHED INTO ORBIT to break up BIG POCKETS OF HUMIDITY. And maybe sear giant pictures of my face into cornfields for future generations to puzzle over.

I SHALL RULE THIS PLANET.