Monday, April 25, 2005

Ode to Frank J. (cont.)

Rover looked over at John. “Are you sure she can be trusted? That she’s truly one of us?”

John shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much. Considering Arnold’s in our party, she being one of us isn’t very hard to believe.”

“But are you sure?”

“Positive.” John reassuringly patted Rover on the shoulder. “You’ll get use to the provocative behavior.”

Rove looked at John darkly. “Eh ehm.” He coughed. John lifted his hand and quickly returned it to his side. “The cloak, right. No touchy.”

The two stood there without a word, waiting for the girl to finish her military campaign uniform shopping, when suddenly the air grew icy. John rubbed his arms and watched as his breathe appeared before him. “Is Hillary around? Cause it suddenly got really cold.”

Suddenly three cloaked figures appeared before them. Rover fell down into a deep bow. “Elders.” He said reverently. John looked at in quiet contemplation. “Hey, why are the members of the McLaughlin and Halliburton groups here? There isn’t any oil in Queens. At least I don’t think so.”

“Bow you idiot!” Rover said, grabbing John by the collar and pulling him down.

One of the Elders stepped forward and began to speak. “The girl, she is the one,” Pat Buchanan said.

Rover looked up and gasped “No! Impossible!”

“Yeah,” John added, “She doesn’t know kung fu.”

Rover delivered a small blow to the side of John’s arm. “Ow.” John said quietly. “That was uncalled for.”

“Silence you fool!” Rover hoarsely whispered, “The Elders speak!”

One of the Elders in the back spoke as well. “She is the fabled Republican Harlot, whose arrival on the back of the beast of hell shall ring out the definite doom of all democrats and liberals.”

“There’s a difference?” John inquired, only to be once again shushed by Rover.

“She is The One.” The other Elder spoke. “She is whom we Followers of Punditry have been waiting for.” The Elders began to disappear into a conveniently formed shadow. “Remember,” the first Elder spoke. “She is the one. Secure her for our purposes so that we might finally see the days of glorious punditry come to pass.” The Elders were gone.

Rover stood up as well as John who was rubbing his back. “I don’t see how you can keep a position like that while talking to them. It’s friggin painful. Your meetings can’t possibly last more than five minutes. I can’t see how you can do it…”

“I can’t believe it.” Rove said with evil delight. “The time has come! The Republican party shall finally truly be the majority of not only the Senate or congress, but the entire world!”

“Don’t get too excited,” John muttered, “It wouldn’t be very appropriate.”

Rover then pointed to the distance. “There she is! The One! She approaches.” John rolled his eyes. “You sound like a bad line from a biblical epic.”

Raquel came back riding on Chomps back. Although Raquel seemed to be having fun, Chomps seemed to be angry. Not because of Raquel’s riding, but at the fact that he had demolished everything that had begged for destruction on his way over to the store, and was now left with nothing to take out his anger on.

Rove smiled evilly. “Just as the Elders have predicted.”

John sighed. “Why am I not surprised?”

Raquel got off of Chomps and patted him on the head. “Good boy.” She smiled. Although Raquel seemed to be one of the people that made Chomps less angry, her smiling seemed to be mocking him.

He bared his teeth and was about to attack when he saw a lime green Honda hybrid drive by with a bumper sticker that read “Bush: The Anti-American.” Chomps’ anger was quickly and most violently redirected at the car, and it’s strange marking that made him even more enraged. He galloped after it, barking angrily and snapping his opened maw at the bumper.

“Cute little puppy.” Raquel smiled.

She merrily sauntered over to John with a sly little smile. “What’d ya think?”

John looked over Raquel’s outfit. She has traded in her jeans, Nuke the Moon tee shirt, and black Converse for something a little more…appropriate wasn’t the word. She was dressed in fishnets, combat boots and an old Desert Storm uniform with the pants cut into frayed capries.

“You just couldn’t wear a regular uniform could you?” John grumbled. He did a double take. “Is that belt made out of bullets?”

“Well I to have extra cartridges don’t I?” She asked looking down at the belt.

“That’s not how you carry them!” he chastised irately.

As John went on his tirade of gun safety and edicit, Raquel looked around confused. “Where’d Rover go?” She asked.

John stopped and looked around. “Don’t know. We might have disturbed him beyond repair. After you left he kept on ranting about how you were some prophesied Republican Harlot. Elders came out and everything.”

“I thought I saw Dick’s minions wondering about.”

Bush sat in the War Room twiddling his thumbs. He looked around at everyone, who seemed to have a much larger span on patience for waiting then he did.

“Why the hell are we here anyway?” Bush asked confused.

“Rover asked us to meet us here. Something about a prophesied whore coming about to save us.” Cheney muttered.

Bush’s eyes grew wide. “A whore? In my White House? What do you people think this is, the Clinton Administration?” He slammed his hands on the table. “I’m not going to stand for this!”

Condi rolled her eyes. “She’s not a threat to us.” She groaned.

“You bet she won’t when I kick her out straight on her hind end!” Bush said determined. Rumsfeld walked into the room. “Rummy!” Bush exclaimed, “Where’s Chomps!? Some friend of that Monica girl is roaming around our White House!”

Cheney sighed and cupped his hands over his face. “It’s times like these I wish I would have supported you in that coup of yours Condi.”

“I told you to,” Condi said under her breathe. “But you just wouldn’t listen.”

“He’s out helping some kid and his lady friend rip through Howard Dean and a few other random liberal hippies.” Rummy said sitting down next to Condi. “And did I hear something about a violent uprising?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Rice said placidly, hiding a folder marked Plans for a Violent Overthrow of My Boss’s Administration under the table.

Karl Rove finally appeared from the shadows. He announced, “Rejoice! For soon we shall forever be the majority leaders!”

“Great!” Bush exclaimed. “And how are we going to do that?”

“The Republican Harlot.” Rove said with conservative glee.

“I thought I said I don’t want none of those floozies wondering around here with I was in power.” Bushed groaned. “What do I look like to you, a Kennedy?”

“Not at all sir.” Rover continued. “Yet this is not what it sounds like. The Republican Harlot shall be a vital tool in the downfall of those who stand in our way: the fat whale that is Moore and his liberal Hollywood minions! We merely must set her and her companion up with the proper tools.”

Bush mulled over this. “You sure she not a floozy?” Bush asked with concern.

“Flirtatious, but not a floozy Mr. President.” Rove said as he cleared his throat. “Her title is more like that of the Whore of Babylon. Ceremonial at best.”

“I say we go for it.” Cheney said. “I’m sick and tired of hearing those liberal idiots rag on about my business at Halliburton and my daughter being gay. You can only fight off so may assault charges without it looking like a regular thing.”

“Then it’s settled!” Bush exclaimed. “We support these guys on their campaign to eliminate those annoying liberals out there in Hollywood. Rumsy, you’re in charge of overseeing their activities since you’re in charge of the military and stuff.”

Rumsfeld grumbled. “I’ll give them a couple of cell phones and Chomps. That should be enough. Chomps’ been needing to do some heavy exercise. Figure a long hard campaign of ripping through liberal scum should be the trick.”

“Umm, I was figuring we’d give them some guns and stuff. You know…so they can actually kill something when they get over there?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll supply them with weapons and ammunition. Christ, always have to make things more complicated then they have to be.”

Scott McClellan stood in front of the White House press core, which seemed to be having a field day.

“Scott!” A report exclaimed, “Is it true that President Bush has sent out an adolescent and a PhD student to kill all the liberals in Hollywood, with their main target being Michael Moore?”

“Yes.” Scott announced to the astonishment of the press core. “We are soon going to release a limited edition playing card set similar to that of the ‘Iraqi’s Most Wanted’ series to commemorate our invasion and their eventual slaughter. Although we do not expect it to reach that series’ popularity, we are sure New York City street merchants will exploit the idea and sell them at over marked prices all the same.”

“But Scott!” another reporter exclaimed, “Isn’t the White House concerned about how this is going to look?”

“Not really,” he answered. “Considering all the people who would have protested against it are going to be slaughtered anyway. Any other questions?”

The core sat quietly, in pure amazement at McClellan’s behavior. “Wow.” Muttered one of the shocked reporters. “They really must be sure on this one to be so blatant about it.”

“Bet your sweet ass we are.” Scott gloated. “All you liberal jerks sitting out there in the press core can kiss your behinds so long!”



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