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%% The Rumpus Chronicles Part VI: Rumpus Vice %%
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%% =========================================== %%
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%% Brought to you by The_Omnipotent_Corporation %%
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Disclaimer: The Rumpus is a purely fictional character. Any similarities
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=-=-=-=-=-= between the Rumpus and anyone named Romeo Casiple living in the
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suburbs of Chicago, Illinois is purely coincidental and
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unintentional. The Rumpus is a copyrighted trademark of
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Omnipotent, Inc. Thank you for your time.
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When we last left Rumpus, he was on a jet headed for Bogota, Columbia
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after being defeated by our heros in Alief. Here's where the story
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continues...
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BOGOTA, COLUMBIA:
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At the Bogota International Airport things were hectic. A flight from
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Alief, USA had been delayed for over thirty minutes, but was now arriving.
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There was no explanation from the crew except to say that they had some
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maintenance problems. What really happened was far stranger. They had a
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sudden loss of pressure in the cargo compartment so they pulled over to check
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it out. When they walked around to the port side, they found a large hole in
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it with mousse-hardened hair sticking to the metal. The pilot walked back
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around to the cockpit and started the jet back up to continue on their way.
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What the crew doesn't know was that just on the outskirts of Bogota,
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Rumpus had pushed his way out of the airplane and plummeted several thousand
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feet into a big pile of cocoa leaves. A few hours later when he woke up,
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Rumpus was surrounded by poor farmers that were cursing at him in some foreign
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language.
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Rumpus said, "Unh!" That was the most intelligent thing that he could
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think of. WHIRRRR! He was barely remembering what happened to him last. When
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he looked around, he saw the farmers that were now staring at him in awe. "He
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fell out of the sky," one shouted loudly. "He must be one of the gods!"
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proclaimed another. "Yeah, but he's so funny-looking," said a third. "That
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must mean that he is Supmur, the God of Power!" said the second, "He is
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supposed to have been disfigured out of jealousy by the other gods for having
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so much power."
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The natives all dropped down to their knees simultaneously and started
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moaning strange things. Rumpus was so scared he wet his pants and passed out.
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When he awoke, he was high atop a ceremonial chair where the natives had placed
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him. He looked around and thought to himself, NOW THIS IS THE LIFE!
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After bathing him, the natives asked Rumpus what they could do to serve
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him. He told them to bring them their most valuable possession. After several
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minutes, the natives gathered a large pile of coca leaves in front of him.
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"These coca leaves are our livelihood, oh Supmur, they are our only source
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of income in this world (tax free, of course)."
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COCOA LEAVES, Rumpus thought to himself. THAT WOULD HIT THE SPOT ABOUT
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NOW. "Fetch me a fresh cup of cocoa!" Rumpus ordered, "Or feel the wrath of
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Supmur!" He added a WHIRRR! onto the last syllable of the his order. All of
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the natives cowered down and ran to prepare the fabled drink for his holiness.
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After drinking about twelve cups of "cocoa", Rumpus was feeling mighty
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powerful. "Follow me, my people," he shouted as he ran for the jungle, "I will
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show you how the god, Tarzan, travels where I come from." His mind raced as he
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headed for the trees. He had several of the strongest men lift him up into one
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of the trees. Rumpus ran out to the edge of a branch and leapt through the air
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and grabbed hold of a dangling vine. The vine stretched and finally made a
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loud SNAP! under all of the weight. Rumpus fell several feet and hit the
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ground with a THUD!
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A few hours later, Rumpus came to. His mind was wandering around
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aimlessly sort of like a bad text file. Then he remembered everything. I WAS
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IN ALIEF ABOUT TO GET REVENGE ON THOSE PEOPLE WHEN SOMEONE HIT ME IN A TRUCK!
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He screamed for the natives to step-up production on the cocaine. Within
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hours he had the first batch ready. When the delivery men from the largest
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drug cartel in South America came to pick it up they realized that the weakling
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natives had a new leader. Rumpus met them. He was decked out in a white suit
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and dark sunglasses.
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"Who are you?" the two thugs from the cocaine cartel asked Rumpus
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simultaneously. M16 rifles so thoughtfully provided by the American CIA
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perched under their arms.
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"I am the new force in the snow business," Rumpus told them. "Tell your
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boss that he now answers to me and me only. Got that?"
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"I got 'dis for you," the larger of the two men said to Rumpus as he
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leveled the M16 at Rumpus and started to pull the trigger.
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With blinding speed, Rumpus reached up and pulled a spike of cocaine-
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mousse-(holds shape better than normal mousse)-hardened hair off his head. He
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flung his wrist so slightly. The spike flew through the air and into the
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barrel of the M16, jamming it. Two more follow-up spikes pierced the kneecaps
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of the large man and he fell over and screamed. The other man, just slightly
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underweight, shook everything out of his pants leg as his now-depleted bowels
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quivered. He threw his M16 down and begged for Rumpus to spare him.
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"That's more like it," Rumpus said as he followed the other man to a U.S.
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Army surplus jeep. The small man drove them to a large mansion overlooking a
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waterfall and a small lagoon. They got out and the little man said "'S cool,
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man" to the bodyguards that stood outside the entrance to the palace. Rumpus
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followed the man into a large hallway that seemed to stretch on for miles with
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many smaller corridors and doorways stretching to either side of the hall. A
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small cart pulled up with yet another Columbian on it. The three of them rode
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down the hall then took a right turn about half a mile down. After passing
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through several more large rooms, the cart pulled to a halt outside of two
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ornately decorated doors.
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"Wait right here, man," the short Columbian said to Rumpus.
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"You'd better not jerk me around," Rumpus threatened.
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The man smiled to reveal a gold tooth on the upper-left side of his mouth.
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He turned around and headed through the doors. Rumpus stared around at the
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plants and other things. The driver sat passively staring into non-space.
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Rumpus was about to strike up a conversation with the man when all of the
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sudden, two large men came out and picked Rumpus up under his arms.
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They dragged him into a lavishly decorated room with a large polished oak
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desk sitting in the middle. The floor was covered by a large oriental rug.
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The room appeared to be some sort of library/office/study judging from all of
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the books on the shelves.
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The two men dropped Rumpus down in a chair in front of the desk. They
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stood on both sides of Rumpus. He was starting to get very nervous and started
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to perspire. The large chair that was behind the desk started to turn around.
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It was a very large, Guido-looking, Columbian with slicked back hair, polished
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teeth, and a white Italian suit to match.
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"I don't think I'll have any trouble with this one," the man said to the
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two larger men. "You can leave."
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The two men left Rumpus' side and walked out of the room closing the
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double doors behind them.
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"My name is Juan Jose Ramirez Galindo Phillipe Chico Rosenbaum (my mother
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was Jewish)," the man started to say. "I am in control of all of the cocaine
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production in Columbia. I hear that you have decided to move in on my
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territory with the peasants. That was a very poor decision on your part,
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Mr..."
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"Rumpus, sir, your highness," Rumpus managed to stammer out.
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"Yes, Mr. Rumpus. You see, everything around you was paid for by the sale
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of cocaine to America (and partially by the CIA). If I feel there is something
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that is going to threaten the flow of the cocaine, the flow of the money, the
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flow of my very existence...I will take whatever measures are necessary to
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eliminate that threat."
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With this, Juan opened up a drawer on the desk and withdrew a pistol.
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Rumpus was now starting to shake with fear. Juan walked behind Rumpus, drew
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the slide back on the pistol to chamber a round. He then brought his hand up
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high in the air then brought it forcefully down on top of Rumpus' mousse-
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hardened skull.
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Outside the room, the two bodyguards were talking among themselves when
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all of the sudden they heard a gunshot come from inside the room. They both
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smiled at each other. But after they heard the sound of a scream, then
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furniture being knocked over, they broke into the doors which had been locked
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from the inside.
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Once inside, they saw Rumpus sitting in the chair behind the desk. Their
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former boss was hanging naked from the rafters on the ceiling with a torn anus.
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Rumpus was smiling.
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"Alright you numbskulls! I'm now in command here. If you don't do
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exactly as I say, then the same thing that happened to Mr. Juan Valdez up there
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will happen to you. Comprende?"
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They both nodded in unison.
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"Good! Now go step up the production of the cocaine. I have many plans
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to attend to. And also, dispose of him," Rumpus gestured to the man still
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slumped over one of the rafters.
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They took their former boss down and left. Rumpus looked around the
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office at what was at his disposal. He picked up the phone and started
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rattling off more orders for what was to ultimately be the greatest sinister
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plot ever devised.
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ONE YEAR LATER:
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The announcer began, "And now the President of the United States."
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George Bush stepped up to the podium and shuffled his papers before
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turning the microphone to himself. "My fellow Americans, as you know, over the
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last year, our great country has been plagued by the worst drug epidemic ever
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to hit our nation. Drugs are being passed out on the street free of charge by
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drug dealers. Many elected officials have been found with torn anuses babbling
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something about short Filipinos. Our economy is in turmoil. Spark plugs are
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failing to work. Cats and dogs are mating. We believe all of this to be the
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work of one man."
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Picture of Rumpus Casiple's sophomore high school picture flashes on the
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screen.
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"He is known by many names in the underworld, but we just know him as 'The
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Rumpus'. He is allegedly the most dangerous man in the world at this point. I
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will be offering a one billion dollar reward (or your own savings and loan) to
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any person giving information which will lead to the arrest and prosecution of
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The Rumpus--"
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Just then, one of Rumpus' dreaded stormtroopers, the elite "Rumpus Guard",
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jumped up from the crowd of journalists and photographers and shouted, "Long
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live the Rumpus!"
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He managed to throw two custard pies at the president before being
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wrestled to the ground be Secret Service agents. He was also found with a
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cream pie in his possession which luckily wasn't launched at Mr. Bush.
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MEANWHILE IN COLUMBIA:
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Rumpus smiled to himself as he turned off the television. His plan was
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coming along just fine. He picked up his telephone on his desk and ordered for
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his plane to be fueled up. He would be heading to America soon.
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After a seven hour flight, Rumpus' plane landed at a hidden airfield in
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Virginia. His bodyguards rushed him into a waiting Mercedes Benz and sped off
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with him in the back seat. Along the way to Washington D.C., they stopped at a
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Stuckey's and had a very nice breakfast consisting of two scrambled eggs,
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toast, bacon, and a glass of orange juice for only $2.99.
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They shortly arrived at the Vice President's Mansion where they ran into
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their inside man in prearranged meeting...
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"Dan Quayle, it's been too long," Rumpus said to his longtime friend.
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"It sure has. I just can't wait until all of this is over. Now the deal
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is still the same: I get you into the White House so you can take care of
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Bush, then you let me have the Oval(tine) Office. Right?"
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"Of course, Dan," Rumpus lied to the Vice President.
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LATER THAT NIGHT:
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The Vice Presidential limousine pulled up to the White House for what was
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to be an unexpected visit. They all shuffled out and quietly snuck up to the
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Oval Office where George Bush was waiting for Dan Quayle to meet with him after
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getting him out of bed because he "really has something important to say."
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When the doors to the Oval Office swung open, George Bush said, "Okay,
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Quayle, what's this about you little shi--"
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He didn't have time to finish his sentence before the three leaders of the
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Rumpus Guard, Colonels Larry, Moe, and Curly, rushed behind his desk and pinned
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him to the wall. Rumpus casually strolled in followed by Dan Quayle.
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"Dan! How can you do this to me? I thought you liked me since I kept you
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from being drafted and sent to Iraq," George was whining.
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Rumpus shouted, "Shut up you fool! He works for me. Larry, Moe, and
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Curly: Take Bush up to his bedroom and lock him in there with that old woman
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he calls his wife." They dragged Bush out screaming and carrying on.
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Quayle started to get excited and hopped behind the desk and started
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saying, "Yippee! I'm the new puppet-leader of the free world."
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"I believe there had been a change in the plans," Rumpus started as he
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locked the doors and started to unzip his pants. All that was heard in the
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White House has a high pitched buzz followed by a loud scream.
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SOMEWHERE IN A CHICAGO SUBURB:
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The television on the coffee table was tuned to Cable News Network which
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was broadcasting a live transmission from the White House where Rumpus was
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addressing the nation and declaring martial law.
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Rumpus Senior stirred on the couch. His wallet was not in his pocket
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where he had left it and he had a large welt on his head. He looked over at
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his wife who was still making gurgling sounds with her head in the plate full
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of food on the table as it has been since we last heard from them.
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He was shocked to see his son addressing the nation on the television
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declaring martial law. By the time he found his own empty wallet laying on the
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coffee table next to the emptied contents of Rumpus Junior's wallet he was
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starting to get extremely angry. He picked up his telephone and dialed 1-212-
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456-1414.
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Meanwhile, from the Oval Office, Rumpus was rattling off terms like
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"controlled press" and "concentration camps" when the red Batphone next to him
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started lighting up. At first, he just barely glanced over at it since he was
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still addressing the country on live television, but it kept ringing. He
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picked it up.
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"Hello?...Yeah, what do you want...But, Dad, I'm in the middle of a coup
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here...I can't come home right now...I didn't mean to take your fuel-injected
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turbo 1988 Yugo GT, but I had to go out...please don't ground me...please
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please please please please please pleeeeeeeeeeease!"
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He hung up the phone. "My fellow Americans, please ignore the previous
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broadcast. I have to go home now." With that he got up and left.
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CNN went back to it's regularly scheduled "Larry King Live" program.
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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(c) 1990-91 Omnipotent, Incorporated
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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This has been a Tampered-With Production. All rights reserved. Braile
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transcripts are available at the Library of Congress (ISBN 0-713-10841-9).
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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If you have any comments, death threats, or if you want to report an Yvette
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sighting, please contact Omnipotent, Inc. by e-mail at reflex@darkside.com or
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lc179@works.UUCP. We can also be reached on the following quality boards:
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_______________________________________________________________________________
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EOF
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