I wonder what New Zealand is like in this timeline? I get the feeling that the Marois wouldn't go down fighting, maybe the English designate them with similar status as the African Americans in the RU.
While we're close to 2019, is there anything different about New Years celebrations in the RU due to the AFC or no?

I figure there are public celebrations that are 'family friendly' and sponsored by the AFC, MDP and other civic organizations. Fun for all the family with free beer for the midnight toast. There are private celebrations in the homes and private clubs of the wealthy with good liquor. Even the Inferiors may gather around with some food and drink.
I was just wondering what art is like at the beginning of the 20th Century in the Madnessverse?

I could see the Empire having a similar Expressionism movement as in real life with it competing against Neo-Realist art inspired by Roman and Renaissance art.

The Nordriech probably has a movement similar to Futurism rearing it's head whilst others embrace the more left wing Modernist and Cubist style movements whilst others become influenced by African and Asian art possible leading to some kind of Orientalist movement.

RU probably having a Neo-Romantic movement but having it support Yankee values, sweeping pieces depicting Pinnacle Man fighting the Dragon of Inferiors etc.
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I doubt RU would be similar to what we or this sorry state of a world given the great indoctrination ivolved in their education and beliefs. I would rather call it "Yankee Romanticism", if it will be ever taught in schools outside of the Union. The Union can't care less about periods beyond what the AFC says, and may just discuss literature one-by-one, given that the books are censored anyways.
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I doubt RU would be similar to what we or this sorry state of a world given the great indoctrination ivolved in their education and beliefs. I would rather call it "Yankee Romanticism ", if it will be ever taught in schools outside of the Union. The Union can't care less about periods beyond what the AFC says, and may just discuss literature one-by-one, given that the books are censored anyways.
I get the feeling that Yankee art would be similar to the art works that came from Nazi Germany, influenced by a mixture of Romantic and Realist art depicting square jawed soldiers, Columbia style figures etc. There will be some writers and artists as they will be useful for propaganda (posters, newspapers etc.). I get the feeling that photography will be developed more to depict America and it's people natural "beauty". Also I get the feeling that modern art from Europe will be seen as degenerate even if it's made by members of the NordRiech.


Monthly Donor
NO! JUST NO! IF one person is to be untainted by madness Mr Rogers is to be it. Put this idea back in the box where it came from and lock it away forever!

Mark Twain was saved from the Madness and as of the late 1880s is living a quiet life in one of the most okay places in this world: Ireland.

"I have thought some more since then and I have read carefully the different treaties between the European powers, themselves and the natives, and I have seen that we do not intend to free, but to subjugate the people of Africa. We have gone there to conquer, not to redeem. It should, it seems to me, be our pleasure and duty to make those people free, and let them deal with their own domestic questions in their own way. And so I am an anti-imperialist. I am opposed to having the eagles--be they Franco-Spanish, Nordic, or American--putting their talons on any other land. The same goes for any other European power."

Virginian Great American War veteran, author, humorist and political theorist Samuel Clemens in his essay, "The Emperor's Folly", first published in Ireland while living in exile, December, 1889

Fred Rogers should also be a voice of reason in this world, even if it means he can't live to see a good world rise from the ashes of a broken one.
How powerful is the Kingdom of Ireland in the scheme of the Bonapartist states?
There just happy to be there, Ireland seems to mainly be just be a place for Bonapartist Troops to be stationed in case the UK collapses again. That probably has benefits for Ireland though, I get the feeling things are a little more liberal there than Europa.
I figure Ireland is a small, liberal monarchy based mainly on agriculture and trade. You may seek lots of Irish serving in the Imperial military and various security companies. Lots of offshore banking later on.
Play both of these with the song slightly louder to experience what I imagined while writing:



Advertisement for the Colonel Goodyear, Goodyear Air & Rail's most powerful and advanced aeroship ever

It was the night of December 10, 1900, in the skies over Boston. Colonel Goodyear, the flagship aerodreadnought of the CGYE corporate fleet, was on a routine mission to fly to New York City to bring Colonel Charles Goodyear himself to his huge Centenary Jubilee. 100 years ago, the Old Republic still stood, raggedly, under the Articles of Confederation, men wore wigs, the Federalist Plot was just unraveling, and no one had even really heard of Aaron Burr. Now, a century later, Charles Goodyear rode in a giant airship the size of a mansion, the American Fundamentalist Christian Church was the most prominent part of American life, and the Union stretched from Vermont to Panama.

It was storming heavily, with lightning striking all about and the rain pelting the mighty flying behemoth as it flew through the clouds. An old man sat in a wheelchair on the above-deck, under a large awning. The navy blue canvas above did little to shield him from the rain, however, as the wind was blowing it in sideways buckets. The old man sucked on a lozenge as he gazed out over the deck railing. Below was the city of Boston. Decades ago, when Charles was still a very young man, he saw the British Army from Canada burn and desecrate this city. Set it back a thousand years, the brutish redcoats cried! Looting, and killing, and raping as they torched all before them. As Charles' father Amasa's body laid smoldering in a hill somewhere near Mt. Greylock, young Charles was trying to take care of his siblings and mother as best as he could. They fled, and shortly after they left Boston, the Canadians burned down their house and all they owned. But through it all, through all the bloodshed, chaos, and mayhem, a young man was discovering himself. A man who could take care of an entire family at age 14. A man whose hard work and determination brought him from the bowels of wartime poverty and loss of everything he ever knew to the cusp of deification.

For it was Charles Goodyear who helped forge the Erie Canal with his own bare hands and grit, even when those lazy Inferior workers set his schedule back. It was Goodyear who fought tooth-and-nail through the kabuki theatre of the World Congresses, becoming a hero to Americans everywhere. It was he who built the greatest capitalist force the world had seen since the height of the British East India Company. Presidents came to him for advice, church leaders asked for his support, and charities asked for his piles of coins he could never spend in a thousand lifetimes. The world's first billionaire, Goodyear had donated left and right to all sorts of noble causes, from the Wounded Veterans Organization to the building the largest orphanage on the East Coast to bring up the next generation of great minds. Goodyear knew what it was like to be homeless and orphaned, and he never wished to see that pain inflicted on any Better child of society. Thousands of libraries stood across the Union, providing the gift of (government censored) knowledge to the next generation of Americans.

But the Inferiors... by good Jehovah above, the Inferiors.... It had largely been Goodyear who molded the public's perception of the "lecherous Inferior, incapable of Heaven" and as a "slothful buffoon, drenched in blood, alcohol, and with a disgusting desire to degenerate the Anglo-Saxon race with their inferior genes and foul fluids." Indeed, without ever having been elected to or named to any political office, Goodyear had molded the Union in his own image, equaled only by the Prophet Burr. In most ways, Charles Goodyear was the Union. A tall, strong Anglo-Saxon man of Pinnacle blood, rags-to-riches off the sweat of his brow. He had worked among the everyday laborers and rose to wear the whitest of white collars.

But now it was 1900, in that aerodreadnought over Boston in a stormy night. Now Charles Goodyear sat in a wheelchair, these epic events of his past playing on a loop in his head like a celluloid film strip from one of those motion picture shows that were all the rage. He breathed in the cold winter air. It was unseasonably warm for Boston in December, however, which was good for his trip, as ice caused far more problems with aeroships than rain. But the cold never bothered him anyway, as the cocaine lozenges he constantly had in his cheek gave him the energy he needed to still run the largest company in the world.

A figure strode across the above deck toward Goodyear. It was a dapper man in a bespoke tweed suit and two-tone shoes. His normally perfectly combed hair was plastered to his head as he desperately tried to use an umbrella to shield himself, to little effect. "Father!" Charles Goodyear's late-in-life son called out, "Do come in out of this rain, father! It's perfectly intolerable out here!"

The centenarian billionaire enjoyed watching his snot-nosed son endure the elements. Charles II never had felt the pain of poverty or not knowing where he would spend the next night. Charles I's much younger late-in-life wife Ethel had spoiled their boy. Indeed, the Colonel had spoiled his wife as well. Despite it all, he never believed she truly loved him. Rather, Goodyear suspected Ethel Eaton had always been after his money and the "good life." But this was perplexing, as she always adamantly claimed to adore him and the ground he walked on. She passed at just age 52 in 1895 after falling from a horse on their estate. Now the old man would never know if the love of his life truly loved him. He had no way to know. Instead he had a company to run and 35 year-old spoiled brat to keep in check. "Go back in, son!" ordered the billionaire in the wheelchair. "I'm perfectly fine. It's times like this I feel alive!"

The son finally arrived before his father and tried to stand under the awning with him while still attempting to use the umbrella. "Father! At this rate you won't make it to your 100th birthday! Please do come in! I have something of great import I need to discuss with you."

The old man turned his head away, again gazing out over the increasingly distant city of Boston. The rain let up a bit, ending the need for shouting. Then he said, "I have no desire to return inside at this moment, Junior. If you have something to discuss with me, you can do it out here."

"Father, it's a serious matter. Can't we at least go sit down like gentlemen?" his son whined.

The father replied, "Son, what is it? I'm trying to enjoy the majesty of God's creation in peace for once."

Junior looked down, shuffling his feet a bit nervously. "Well," he awkwardly began before pausing, "... Well, let's just say this news means you'll be able to relax finally and enjoy that majesty of our Eternal Creator more often."

"What do you mean?" spat his father, beginning to suspect what was coming next. His bony hand formed an angry fist as it clenched.

"Father, it is time for you to retire. I am more than capable of continuing the company into the next century. You have raised me well, and I hope I could possibly one day create an impact even half the size of yours."

The old man cackled before replying, "I am soon to be 100 years of age, but I'm just as capable as ever to run this company, boy. I enjoy peace and quiet sometimes, but I am nothing without Enterprises. I have no reason for existence without my job. Labor maketh a Christian man. I will not waste the last of my days sitting idly by while a whelp does my job for me so I can feed some damn birds in the park. I refuse to let you take my place until I either grow too ill to work or I die. That is final."

Junior looked incredibly upset and visibly angry at this matter-of-fact rejection. "Father, I am very sad that you are so hellbent on working yourself to death when you should be enjoying retirement and the fruits of your honest labor."

His father scoffed and waved his hand, saying, "Oh, please. Spare me your theatre, son. Now leave me alone and let me think."

His son grew more rigid, standing up straight. "Father, the board..." he trailed off, reluctant once again before, again, regaining composure. "The gentlemen of the board have elected me as the new Chief Executive of Colonel Goodyear Enterprises."

A century-old man suddenly filled with the rage of a young bull, smashing the arm of his wheelchair with his fist, demanding answers. "What? Is this some sick joke, you ninnyhammered guttersnipe? You dare organize a coup against me while taking me to my birthday party? You sick little deranged boy, I won't stand for this!"

His son's brows lowered in anger, his body tightening under the tweed. "Father, I mean no disrespect, but you need to retire. The company needs to transition into a new era. You have created something wonderful, and now the board has entrusted me to even greater heights."

"Bah!" spat the Colonel. "You little whelp. You lecherous traitor. Judas! I have created many, many things in this life of mine. I have created things which fly, which kill, which explode, which build... and the only thing I regret creating is you. Inform the gentlemen of the board that they are released from their positions with full pay and pensions. Tell them all to leave Colonel Goodyear Enterprises and never look back. Ever. And as for you, my precious little son, you may consider yourself disinherited. I shall make sure you never own or control a scrap of this company, do you hear?!"

Junior shoved his finger in the Colonel's face. "I hate you! All you have ever done is work, work, work, and work. I am done. This company is done. You're a constipated old man wracked with arthritis and barely able to stand. This company needs a Pinnacle Man upon which to build the new century! It needs a Strong Man! And according the Strong Man Theory, the strong shall destroy the weak. You are no longer strong, father. Though mighty you once were. This company is mine now. Billions of dollars are mine. One day, they shall build statues to me on the moon!"

Colonel Goodyear stood up from his wheelchair, standing to face his son eye-to-eye. Though he had shrunk over time, he was still as tall as his son. His wild white hair blew in the wind and his sunken eyes lit with fire unseen in decades. "You are no son of mine! All you ever wanted was power and money, instead of realizing a higher calling as I did. I built this entire damn country from the ground up! I built this damn freak of nature we are flying on now! I am a roman god! And you are a vapid ignoramus incapable of managing anything aside from your harem of whores. I should have snuffed you out in your cradle, you and that money-grubbing whore mother of yours!"

Hands flew. A railing snapped. A scream was heard through the din of the storm and machinery. The argument was over.


The next day...

"This is urgent breaking news!" exclaimed the talkiebox man, Gregory Hightower. His voice was being heard by millions of talkiebox owners across the Union. "This is Uncle Sam's Talkiebox Station and the time is nine am on the morning of December 11, 1900, and we are receiving a major alert from the government of our good Union. Oh the humanity! Woe be unto this our nation! Colonel Charles Goodyear has left this earthly realm! Oh! Bless us all and bless the Goodyear family during this time of agony and sorrow not in the Union since the passing of the Prophet! Again: Colonel Charles Goodyear, hero to millions of God-fearing Americans, has passed away! Once more: Colonel Goodyear has been taken from us! Too soon! Even at almost 100 years old he still had so much to give of himself for the Betterment of our nation! Stay tuned to Uncle Sam's Talkiebox Station for more breaking news as it comes in! Uncle Sam's Talkiebox Station, Keeping America Informed!"

9:30 AM:

"We interrupt our scheduled patriotic music for this important and tragic news update. I am your host, Gregory Hightower. FLASH! More news is coming in about the demise of our beloved hero, Colonel Charles Goodyear. The Good Colonel passed away on his private airship today after suffering a fall from 1500 feet. He was sitting on the deck in his wheelchair accompanied by his dapper young son Charles Goodyear II when, as Charles II, handsome and charismatic heir to the Goodyear Fortune reports to us, 'the Good Colonel's chair suddenly slipped toward the railing and crashed through a weak spot, sending him and the chair rolling off the nose of the ship.' He then plummeted a mile to his death. While it may seem horrifying and ghastly, Charles II comforts the nation by assuring us that the impact was so quick, Goodyear couldn't possibly have felt a thing. Remember this day, children! It is likely that one of you children listening will live to the year 2000, the New Millennium. Remember this day and be a link to the glorious days when Colonel Goodyear was alive and well. Be a link to history!"

11:00 AM:

"News flash! We interrupt this talkiebox documentary, The Story of Brutus the Younger, to bring you an update on the tragic death of beloved icon and philanthropist, Colonel Charles Goodyear. Charles II has announced he is now in full control of the company and business shall continue as usual. He also says not to mourn his father's passing, but to rejoice that he is now singing patriotic praises with all the Patriot-Saints in Heaven. 'My father is bedecked in heavenly red-white-and-blue robes and is sitting near the Throne of God, glorifying Him and asking for Him to smile fondly and bring about the Manifest Destiny of this Union, our earthly homeland's Holy Endeavor.' More breaking news as we have it. Stay tuned to Uncle Sam's Talkiebox Station! All the news that's fit for the Betters of Society to hear!"

2:00 PM:

"News alert, listeners! The nation mourns the passing of industrialist and philanthropist Colonel Charles Goodyear, who died last night by falling from his airship in a tragic and horrific accident. All flags in the country today have been lowered to half-staff to honor his passing. Black drapes and banners were hung from Independence Hall and the new Capitol Building in Philadelphia a short time ago as President Custer has declared a 30 day period of mourning. All government offices, with the exception of the Offices of Racial and Religious Affairs, police and fire departments, have been closed. Citizens are encouraged to wear black, and to pin on a Foot of Mercury badge on their lapels as a show of solidarity with the Goodyear Company and Family during this time of immeasurable sorrow. Charles II has announced he is in intense grief and is 'simply mortified' and 'will not be able to talk to the press or police for at least a month.' The prayers of a mighty nation are with you, Charles II! A mighty nation which your father forged out of the wilderness like Prometheus bringing light to the darkness. God bless you!"


Goodyear's gristly remains (or what was left of them) were loaded into a pompously ornate coffin and sent to all of the Union's major cities by airship to "make sure all Americans can set eyes on their hero('s closed coffin) one more time." On February 1, 1901, Colonel Charles Goodyear, the seemingly immortal, tyrannical, industrialist task-master - and intensely racist and xenophobic stateman - was buried outside the Capitol Building in Philadelphia in a site known as Patriots' Rest. He joined the military and political dead that had been buried there for the past 100 years. His monument was ridiculously grand, largely because it had already been constructed and designed by the late colonel himself in the event of his own demise 20 years prior, and 50 Union troops from all branches were placed on permanent honor guard duty. It was the grandest funeral since Burr, and it would not be equaled until Custer's demise. The next century was upon the Union. Even more change was on the horizon. And the bloodiest war in the history of mankind was approaching....


Goodyear's Tomb at Patriot's Rest, Philadelphia


Goodyear's casket is taken to a hearse after a final service at Philadelphia in Aaron Burr's original AFC church


Mourners gather as soldiers and Manifest Destiny Party members march in the procession to Patriot's Rest


Charles Goodyear II, CEO of Colonel Goodyear Enterprises
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I also tried to humanize Goodyear a little more. Despite him having everything literally in the palm of his hand, he has no idea if his dead wife actually loved him. He died bitter and totally alone in the world despite being "a god."

Sorry for the delay guys! I was going to post this a few days ago, but had the opportunity to cosplay Madness (okay joke, I was wearing normal clothes) and fire my 1891 Mauser at a farm and didn't pass up the opportunity. lol XD
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Ironic that Charles believed in the Strong Man theory, for he was not strong enough to overpower his son. Bless that Patriot Goodyear, and may he be able to enjoy the afterlife with Burr and Jehovah in a Better afterlife.

As the millennium turns ITTL and a new year dawns in ours, may this TL (and ours) be blessed with good luck and prosperity! Especially to you, Napo, and all other readers, as well as the Pinnacle Men and all Betters!
It was completely unintentional that 2019 arrived IRL and the Turn arrived ITTL. Fitting, though!

Indeed, sir! May he rest in the eternal paradise of all the true Patriot-Saints, and may his departed soul rally unto the Lord Jehovah on Judgement Day. Goodyear shall come down a Strong Man once again, riding a pure white unicorn and with the trumpet of the Lord in hand.

Goodbye and Good Riddence, never has a horrible man deserved a more fitting fate. The Second Goodyear still seems like a dick but more of that pampered whimpering rich boy model instead of the horrifyingly xenophobic and petty man he killed.

Is it prerequisite for all Industrials in the Madnessverse to be evil or to dream up horrible ideas or is that just me?


Gone Fishin'
I also tried to humanize Goodyear a little more. Despite him having everything literally in the palm of his hand, he has no idea if his dead wife actually loved him. He died bitter and totally alone in the world despite being "a god."

Sorry for the delay guys! I was going to post this a few days ago, but had the opportunity to cosplay Madness (okay joke, I was wearing normal clothes) and fire my 1891 Mauser at a farm and didn't pass up the opportunity. lol XD
I love it. I love the sick irony of the fascist ideologue being deemed unworthy by the very fascists he raised up around him. The completely worthless, empty misery that is his life, completely wasted on mindless hate.

There's a guy who died in Pakistan a few years back, philanthropist not unlike Goodyear in some ways. Built a massive infrastructure out of nothing (in this case, an ambulance network), was inspired by a traumatic event (the Partition of India and surrounding famine and ethnic cleansing), was pretty much the only universally respected man in his entire country (Pakistan), and was mourned by the entire nation after his death, national day of mourning and all. He died owning only two sets of clothing and living in a two-bedroom apartment next to his charitable foundation's headquarters, on a ventilator after kidney failure.

Abdul Sattar Edhi was probably happier and more fulfilled on the worst day of his life than Chuck Goodyear was on the best day of his. And I really appreciate the way you wrote Goodyear here, because it illustrated just how straight-up pathetic people like Goodyear are. Lashing out in hatred at the world as a sort of self-intoxication to deal with a hole inside that because of their mindless hatred can never be filled.