🚀 go-pugleaf

(concluded from part five...)

                                      ***

     "We're hoping Ralph Nader himself will show up," Unorthodox Girl
reported, "though in the meantime he's got a group of grey-suited military
types keeping the spirits high by doing the Macarena for the crowd.  Those
who vomited because of this were shot by energy blasters by white armored
goons, who had to fire an astoundingly high number of times to hit --
really, this seems like a departure for the Consumer Advocate and his
traditional platform of safety and environmental and ecological stability.
In the meantime, we've been getting some other reports in... Nader has won
Oklahoma, Arizona, Colorado -- a big blow for Bob "please stop kicking me,
I've been up a long time" Dole there -- and in what has to be hard for the
President, Arkansas.  Also, the incidents of violence between the Reform
Party and the Green Party have increased, but it seems to be extremely one
sided -- for example, Perot for President Headquarters in Tacoma,
Washington was leveled by a Tie Bomber assault.  So, people are
enthusiastic here, and California -- traditionally both known for their
environmental agenda and for caving in when confronted by superior
firepower -- is now being closely watched.
     "We've also gotten word of Green Party Stormtroopers storming Congress
and initiating purges in the name of Emperor Palpatine becoming Senate
Majority Leader.  We don't know what district he's running in, but this
reporter thinks that district had better rethink their feelings on term
limits.  Back to the studio!"

                                      ***

     George and Martha Washington stepped off the stairs into a room
blazing with the light of hundreds of tapers.  Long tables filled the room,
a podium sat at the front of the room.  In the far corner of the room, Ben
Franklin and Thomas Paine argued.
     "There was never anything wrong with McGovern," said Franklin.  "If I
hadn't drawn that deuce, he would have made a fine president."
     Thomas shook his head.  "A lousy president, Ben.  Not worse than
Nixon, maybe, but he would never have been able to work with Congress.  You
think Carter had a rough time?"
     "I didn't back Carter," said Franklin.  "He was Hamilton's man.  A
Georgian, said Hamilton.  Peanuts are as American as apple pie, said
Hamilton.  Congress'll love him, said Hamilton."  Franklin spotted the
Washingtons.
     "George!" he bellowed.  "Martha!"   Franklin rushed across the room,
pumped George Washington's hand.  "Quite an outfit you've got there,
George," said Franklin.  "You've got to see my latest mode of
transportation."  Franklin smiled.  "More than a mode of transportation,
really.  More like a lifestyle."
     George pulled his hand out of Franklin's.  "Wonderful," said George.
"I'm glad you've found something new to be enthusiastic about, Ben."
Thomas arrived, shook George Washington's hand cordially.  "Nice to see you
again, Thomas."
     Franklin took Martha's hand, gently kissed it.  "You look as
astonishingly lovely as always," said Franklin.  "Though you do need to
stop letting him dress himself."
     Martha Washington smiled.  "You don't mean to tell me you're here
alone, Ben," she said.
     "Let him dress himself?" squawked George.  "Let him dress himself?
I'm the father of the country.  How I dress is no one's business but my
own, though I have to say, Ben, that this is an outfit that captures what's
happening in the country today.  I've taken the best of yesterday and
blended it with a contemporary look that emphasizes my individuality."
Washington turned, presented Franklin with a profile.  "It's a contemporary
way to approach fashion."
     Martha sighed.  She pulled her hand away from Franklin.  "You must
excuse him," she said.  "He got these new video tapes. Some man named
Fabulo Extravagante.  Really very silly."  Thomas took her hand, pressed
his lips to it, dropped the hand.
     George Washington pouted.  "I may support Fabulo tonight, Ben," said
Washington.  "Don't scoff.  He'd be the most telegenic President ever."
     Benjamin Franklin's laughter echoed through the underground chambers.
In the next room, something inhuman listened.  It waited.

                                      ***

     Fawkes turned a corner, smelled the air.  Independence Hall lay down
the block.  The bomb had become very heavy in his pocket.  It pressed
against his leg, tugged at his shoulder.  The spam-detonation device felt
like a boulder crammed into his coat.  The rage bled out through the pit of
his stomach.
     At the end of the street, a blue scooter gleamed in the streetlights.
Fawkes limped toward it.  The bomb grew heavier.  Fawkes leaned sideways,
the left side of his coat dragged against the ground.
     The scooter's engine roared to life.  It ran smoothly, rumbled with
the promise of power.  A faint dullness marred the seat where the man's
ticket had worn the rich leather smooth.  Fawkes rubbed at his neck.  The
scooter's engine revved, died away to a pleasant rumble.  Fawkes put his
hand into his pocket.  The bomb clung to his palm, part of his hand for an
instant, the time it took him to lift it, cast it aside.  A great weight
rolled over Fawkes, he felt as though layers of dead skin sloughed off of
him.  Light exploded through the dark spaces inside him.
     He walked toward the scooter and it moved toward him until, without
altering his stride, he found himself throwing his leg over the scooter.
He twisted the accelerator.  Years fell off him like leaves as the
cleansing wind blew over him, through him, the rumble of the scooter filled
him and the man who had once been Guy Fawkes left his memories on the
pavement and rode away into a beautiful dream, glittering with chrome and
leather, fogged with the tender perfume of two-stroke smoke.

                                      ***

     "Michael Frobisher... as if.
     "Paid for by Hired Assassins for James Noddacrook."

                                      ***

     George Washington stomped his foot.  "Hamilton's not here," he
grumbled.  He tugged at the sleeves of his jacket.  "We can't start without
him."  Washington sat at a small round table.  Jefferson and Franklin sat
at two of the other seats at the table.  A green visor clung to Franklin's
forehead.  Paine sat at a table nearby, working the buttons of a
calculator.
     Ben Franklin squared the cards, tucked them back into his jacket.  "Of
course we can.  You went on without me back in 18?? when I was trampled by
buffalo."
     Washington shook his head.  "And you still haven't let us live it
down, Ben."  He sighed.  "You haven't seen him, have you Paine?"
     Paine sighed.  He flicked the calculator off.  "Twenty forty-four," he
groaned.  "I won't even know who's running by then."
     Franklin pushed his chair away from the table.  He stood, walked to
Paine's side, patted him on the shoulder.  "Remember, though, you beat me
out for 2001.  You'll have 2001."
     Paine sighed.  "Only four years and two months."
     "Unless I beat you in 2000," chuckled Franklin.  "I still have one
shot left."
     Jefferson stretched, reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigar.
"Well, Thomas?  We've all come a long way.  We might as well get it over
with."
     Paine nodded grimly.  "Right.  I've got the ceremonial candles all
laid out. Shall we begin with the procession around Philadelphia?"
     Washington shook his head.  "No, Thomas.  I know that you live for
these nights, but, quite frankly, I only want to get this over with as soon
as possible.  I move that we strike the ceremony, just move straight to the
vote."
     "Seconded," said Washington.
     "Aye," said Franklin.  "That's a majority.  Let's go to the vote."

                                      ***

     The spam device lay abandoned on the pavement, spinning slowly as the
cool autumn wind blew across it.  A gleaming red Vespa crept from an alley
behind Independence Hall.  With only a faint rumble, the Vespa glided
toward the bomb.  The bomb was drawn silently up into the Vespa's front
left fender.  The Vespa made a tight turn, glided back into the alley.

                                      ***

     "Smoke is now obscuring the stage, Jim!" Wally Carville yelled.
"Debaters are rolling and flying off of the stage at a frantic pace!"
     "There goes Harry Browne!" Jim Lehrer yelled.  "Following him is
Newt Gingrich and Colin Powell!  They've landed in the audience!  Oh,
my!  Just nine... wait, there goes Chelsea Clinton!  Eight candidates
to go!  Hot damn this is exciting!"
     "Wally, who do you think it is that's on top at this point?  Bill?
Bob?  Hillary?"
     "Hard to say, Jim!  My guess is... oh, my!  There goes Pat Buchanan!
It looks like he has Jesse Jackson's right shoe wedged up his... oh, that's
got to hurt!"
     "Just seven to go... and there goes Bob Dole!  Bob Dole has lost
the debate!  Strangely, it doesn't look like he was pushed or rolled...
I think he just fell off the stage!  That leaves... look out!"
     "Aaagh!" Wally shouted, as Al Gore landed on him.
     "Ow," Al Gore droned.
     "Down to five... there goes Hillary Clinton!  She executed a dazzling
pirouette in mid-air to land on her feet, but she is out of the debate!
And... look at this!  Jesse Jackson just got heaved off of the stage!
That means there are only three left... Bill Clinton, Ralph Nader, and...
and there goes the President!"  They watched as Clinton sailed over their
heads and crashed onto the buffet table.
     "That was amazing, Jim!" Wally Carville exclaimed.  "It was almost as
if he was propelled by the dark side of the force!"
     "Hold that thought, Wally!  Ralph Nader's still on the stage and...
there he goes!  Ralph Nader has fallen out!  This debate is over!  Somebody
turn on the overhead fans and get rid of all that smoke so we can see who
won this debate!"
     "It can only be the last entrant onto the stage, Jim!" Wally replied.
"The smoke is clearing now, and I can see... yes, it's him!  The winner of
the third Presidential debate is none other than... Socks the Ninja
Assassin Cat!"
     Socks padded to the edge of the stage, sat down, and started licking
his paws.  He looked up at the cameras.
     "What?" he asked.  "You were expecting Godzilla?"

                                      ***

     Razor found that the pizza was quite tasty, even slightly cold.
Grease coated his fingers, his cheeks, his chin.  Strands of hardened
mozzarella clung to a glittering blade on the desk next to him.  He lifted
the last wedge to his mouth, crammed as much of it as he could into his
mouth.  He chewed.  Small sounds of pleasure leaked from his throat.  He
stuffed even more pizza into his mouth.  His cheeks bulged.  Saliva ran
over his chin.  On the television, a cat was being interviewed.
     Atropine's phone buzzed.  He hurriedly slapped the pizza onto the
desk.  He picked up the phone.  His throat worked as he tried to swallow
the pizza.  "Mmmrph," said Razor.  "Cruntmurfrle urmph."
     "Tonkin reporting.  Operation successful.  Proceeding at speed toward
MIB Headquarters.  Repeat, operation successful, target in custody,
proceeding toward Headquarters.  Medical assistance required upon arrival."
     Cheese caught in Tonkin's throat.  "Ugmmimum achumm," spluttered
Tonkin.  "Urnum."
     The phone crackled.  "Uh... understood.  Will await further orders at
headquarters."  The line went dead.
     Razor's adam's-apple twitched.  The cheese broke loose, slid down his
throat.

                                      ***

     The four Founding Fathers sat at the card table.  Each held a slip of
paper and a pencil.  Thomas chewed on the eraser of his pencil.  He rubbed
the point of the pencil against the back of his ear.  He twirled the pencil
between two fingers.  "Look," he said.  "Can't we just do one of the
ceremonies?"
     Franklin sighed.  "You aren't going to vote until you get a ceremony,
are you?"
     Thomas shrugged.  "It would make it easier."
     Washington scribbled on his paper.  "I'm done."  He folded the paper
neatly in half.  "Ready for the count."
     Thomas set his pencil down on the table.  "We should at least have the
call to order."
     Jefferson set his pencil down.  "Well, I can't concentrate with the
rest of you talking.  You might as well do the call to order."
     Thomas pushed away from the table.  He stood up, extended his arms.
"Hear ye, hear ye.  The Grand and Honorable Electoral College of the United
States of America is now in session.  Gentlemen, we meet here tonight to
decide on who will lead the United States for the next four years.  It is
our solemn duty, a duty imposed upon us by the Constitution of the United
States, preserved for us over the years by people who we will never meet.
We must discharge this duty to the best of our ability."
     Thomas nodded once quickly, then sat down.  He scribbled a name on the
paper in front of him, folded it.

                                      ***

     "We can't believe it!  Nader's taken California!  He's over the top!
The Dark Side of the Force has carried the presidential election!  And
here, now,  at last -- LORD RALPH NADER!!!!"
     The band launched into the Imperial March, as Stormtroopers and red-
suited Imperial Guards and lots of people in black saluted, looking away
from terrified liberals who applauded madly in the name of their Sworn
Leader.  Nader looked around, peering slightly and looking vaguely
disturbed, before he reached the lectern.
     "My fellow Americans," he started, and looked at his speech again.
"Excuse me, this is the wrong speech.  Oh well.  I'll wing it.  I have
always stood for being myself, and for the betterment of the common man."
     "Like, we love you Ralph!" shouted a stoned liberal.  He was, of
course, shot by a stormtrooper.
     "This election, frankly, comes as a total surprise to me," Nader said.
"I spent only $5,000 on the campaign.  Frankly, we were hoping my minor
notoriety would give voters a valid third party alternative to Ross Perot."
     "Death to the Eared One!" howled several zealous types.  They were, of
course, shot by stormtroopers.
     "Still," Nader said, peering around himself, vaguely disturbed, "this
all is a bold step forward in the name of Progressive and Liberal Politics,
in the name of rationality and generosity in government, and in the name of
safety over profit margins.  We will take this opportunity to express our
gratitude to those field workers who got out the vote.  Thanks and, well,
we'll see you in Washington."
     "And there he goes -- this is Unorthodox Girl saying `Man, are we ever
whacked!'  Back to the studio!"

                                      ***

     The Vespa cradled the bomb carefully between its handlebars.  It drove
carefully to the edge of the city, across the Potomac, it rolled down the
interstate.  It pulled off at a secret exit known only to scooters.  The
scooters were patient.  They had the bomb, they had Fawkes.  The rest could
wait.

                                      ***

     Thomas counted the last ballot.  "Well," he said.  "It's done.  We've
chosen..."  He paused, and looked up at the others.  "You've *got* to be
kidding me."
     "How so?" Franklin asked.
     "Ralph Nader, Godzilla, Socks the Cat and Bill Clinton.  A four-way
tie."
     "Godzilla is an excellente candidate," Washington noted.  "I had to
vote my conscience."
     "I was impressed by the cat's debating skills," Paine noted.  "A pity
they never aired that last debate."
     "I picked Clinton because he and I share many attributes," Franklin
said.
     "Such as your girth and eye for the ladies?" Jefferson asked.
Franklin smiled and shrugged.  "I picked Nader because he's a family values
candidate."
     "Come again?" Paine asked.
     "Think about it," Jefferson said.  "Remember how he tried to get his
son, Luke Skywalker, to join him in opposing the Emperor?  If that's
doesn't show respect for the power of the family, I'd like to know what
does!"
     "My friend," Washington replied, "I think you will find that it was
Darth Vader who was Luke Skywalker's father, not Ralph Nader."
     Jefferson was silent for a full minute.
     "Hmmmm," he finally commented.
     Another full minute passed.
     "Guess I'd better change my vote, then."
     "That is your right," Franklin said.  "To who?"
     Jefferson thought about it a while.  "To Clinton, I suppose."  He
noticed Paine looking at him strangely.  "Godzilla's not a naturalized
citizen... and I never liked cats, anyway."
     "We'd best make it official, then," Washington spoke.  "There's no
telling what strangeness has been reported so far."

                                      ***

     "It is now confirmed," Nouveaux Skunk said, "as you just heard, Ralph
Nader has stunned the nation by winning the election.  He will become the
forty-third... wait!  This just in!  It would appear there was a slight
error in the vote count.  For the revised electoral college map, let's go
to Flores Lame now."
     "Yes, Nouveaux," Flores said.  "A *slight* error.  It now appears that
most of the states Ralph Nader appeared to have won earlier in the evening
were actually won by Bill Clinton, with a few going to Bob Dole.  According
to this, it appears that a number of Nader's supporters have been
performing jedi mind tricks on the technicians responsible for lighting up
the states on the screen."  She paused.  "Though, frankly, it seems more
like someone snapped their fingers and changed their mind."
     "Don't be ridiculous, Flores," Nouveaux said, dismissively.  "So Bill
Clinton has won re-election.  How are the Congressional races panning out?"
     "Better news for the Republicans there," Flores said.  "It appears
that they will retain control of both the House and the Senate.  Jesse
Helms has won his race against Harvey Gantt in North Carolina.  In
Nebraska, a shocking development: Michael Frobisher, the challenger, was
winning, when he suddenly dropped out of the running.  When asked why, he
indicated the weasel's head and the knife that had been laid on his pillow
in his hotel room.  Authorities are investigating.  Meanwhile, incumbent
James Noddacrook is celebrating with hookers and booze in Lincoln."
     "Thank you, Flores," Nouveaux said.  "Now, we have Bill Winstead
again, from Bob.  Bill?"
     "Good evening.  Bill Winstead again.  Sorry about that earlier.  I'm
feeling a lot better now.  We have with us one of the more popular local
individuals to talk about the election.  Captain Non-Sequitor, what's your
assessment of tonight's vote?"
     "Well, Shanice, the soup is a little cold, but I'm afraid the giant
army ants will be here any minute."
     "Um... yes.  Are you surprised by the results?"
     "Saxophone!  Saxophone!  Saxophone!"
     "Uhhhh... and what's your opinion of the winning candidate?"
     "Tota Gallia in tres partes divisa est, und im Muenchen steht ein
Hofbrauhaus."
     "Yeah.  Well... there you have... it.  Back to you, Nouveaux."
     "Al," Nouveaux Skunk growled.  "Could you sever the connection to
Bob City, please?  Preferably with a large axe?  Thank you."
     "How will we learn who won the Mayor's race in Bob?" Ignorantman
asked.  "Is that not important?  What about the issues?  Why is the
Electoral College called the Electoral College?  Don't they ever graduate?
Do they give out degrees?  Could they beat Navy?"
     "I don't know," Nouveaux sighed.  "Let's go to Rad on Planet
California for the outcome of the Ottsamaddawiduan elections.  Rad?"
     "Like, thanks, dude," Rad responded, his extremely well-tanned face
appearing on the screen next to the Skunk.  "My wife's, like, party, the
Unity Party, has, like, secured a slim, like, majority thing, like, in
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