Legend had it the Old Ones knew of the incoming end of the world for poor people. For corruption, greed, apathy, disinterest, broken hearts, putrid food, horny creeps, and slimy entrepreneurs would rule the world with an iron fist. They first called the evilness the Blackness, then they called it the Blueness, then they called it the Somberness, but since it linguistically evolved into the Sombrerosness, eventually it was decided that it should be called the Darkness and It killed, massacred, oppressed, suppressed, milked and then cheesed and yoghurted everything in Its terrible path.
But, so the Old Ones also predicted in their infinite wisdom and patient whipping sessions, that one day the Chosen One shall rise, born on the 11th month of the 111111th year at exactly 11:11:11, to lead the people, carry a Big Stick, save the world from oppression, and create appropriate traffic and market regulations so that the horrors inflicted on the populace for generations could be stopgapped for a couple of decades.
So, he was born the boy named George with a light around that shone from both his mouth and his behind to help people recognize him. When word spread that Chosen George had been born, everybody got wasted and stoned and threw a big party (that devalued itself into a gathering then upgraded into a partAY) in his honor which filled the streets with vomit, drunks, and pregnant females and males of all species.
Everybody who met Chosen George as he grew up into the Chosen Man agreed that he was unpleasant, lazy and incapable of thinking about anyone but himself. Some people said such was the proper attitude of the Chosen One, after all he was far beyond the comprehension of the simple plebes who surrounded him, while others said that raising a little boy into believing he was the savior of all creation had perhaps given him the wrong attitude to deal with those around him. Nobody had any other choice but to put up with Chosen George because so said the prophecy that he would save them whether they liked him or not.
The Darkness had evolved since its inception and by the time of Chosen George it was an amalgamation of a joint union of a togetherness of a group between the Evil Kings, the Bloodthirsty Empresses, the Awful Capitalist Governments, the Criminal Syndicates, the Landlords and Collectors, the Cactus Huggers, and Ice Cream Incorporated against the poor, drunk, dirty, filthy, but more numerous simple people and Chosen George.
But Chosen George seemed not too interested in fighting the Darkness. The Darkness ate one million people, enslaved another one hundred thousand, and gave dirt-and-licorice-flavored ice cream to the rest. This will not do, they said, Chosen George will save us. But Chosen George did not save them when The Darkness burned their crops, destroyed their homes, took everybody’s children away to work in the Ice Cream factory, made them listen to awful urban/heavy metal hybrid music for entire decades, and forced them all to listen to the world’s longest most boring, political speech over and over again at different pitches. Chosen George did nothing but sleep in his hammock and contemplate. He had also lost his Big Stick, and his arm, trying to poke an alligator.
The Old Ones noticed from the Great Below the flaw in their plan when it came to Chosen George for they did not predict that sometimes people are jerks, are raised being jerks, and die being jerks. Chosen George was such a jerk that he told the Darkness where his people were so he could be safe and since he was the Chosen One nobody really argued when, some many years later, he installed himself as the Ruler of All the Land, the Seas, the Skies, and the Ice Cream Factory. Such was the level of betrayal, that the Darkness and Chosen George consummated their relationship three different times with three different sensual organs and began sharing the same blobdy (blob + body) and Chosen George became Evil George.
The Old Ones turned their backs on the world and the people they created because they could not face the embarrassment of their awful plan, what people would say about them to their faces, or whether people would even vote for them in the next Old Ones Election.
Evil George stood in this world making a lot of money and being very happy with it.
And the poor people learned to never trust prophecies or any other non-organized, non-class-struggle-based leader or organization ever again.