"Beats Jack-in-the-Box", she murmured to herself.
"There he is! THERE he IS!", Kent screamed at the top of his lungs. He ripped his "liberated" regulation navy cap off his head, yanked the dolphins off, and threw the cap high into the air. The dolphins went into his left pants pocket.
The crowd began to cheer, mostly. A few disgruntled, former aerospace workers began a chant decrying the President, but were swiftly silenced by a couple of large, good old boys standing nearby. As the cars passed, the crowd's cheering grew to an incredible roar. Only a few small children seemed to mind, but nobody was worried about that right then.
Suddenly, the President's car stopped right in front of Kent. More Secret Service agents than Kent had ever imagined seeing suddenly surrounded the vehicle. George Bush opened his own door, hopped out, and walked quickly straight to Kent, who could merely stand frozen with his mouth wide open. His fiancee noticed how bad his teeth were, not for the first time.
The President did not offer to shake Kent's hand. His face was a mask, apparently under rigid control. His wife, Barbara, emerged from the vehicle, a bemused smile upon her face until she looked at Kent. the First Lady's face turned white, and she got quickly into the car. The President finally spoke.
"What's that tee shirt, mister?"
Habit won out, and Kent jumped to attention, or at least to the closest imitation his drug-burned body could manage.
"Uh, it's a, um, computer sort of thing, sir, it's uh...", Kent looked helplessly at his fiancee, who merely played the bimbo and flashed a winning smile for Kent and the President.
"I know that! It's from talk.bizarre, isn't it? Want to tell me what it means?"
Kent turned beet red. "It doesn't really mean anything, sir. It..."
George Bush cut him off. "What does it say? Tell me NOW, mister!"
"Sir", Kent began, "you are my commander in chief, but I really don't think you want to ask that."
"Which service?", the President demanded.
"Aircraft Carrier? I have a lot of fond memories of aircraft carriers. Or subs? I have a LOT of respect for submariners."
"Sub, sir. I had the helm of the Batbarf the day...", Kent's voice trailed off as he realized mentioning his part in the biggest submarine disaster in US history probably wasn't such a good idea.
The President went rigid. The Secret Service agents looked uneasily at each other, and several moved their hands closer to their guns.
"Mister, tell me what that tee shirt implies!!!"
"Go jump in a lousy volcano, you stinking cave newt! Sir!" Finally at full attention, Kent could not bring himself to repeat the full slogan to the President of the United States. It made no difference.
Kent was so upset he didn't notice how the crowd was drawing back. Even his lovely fiancee was now standing several meters away. The nearest two Secret Service Agents started to lunge forward, but the President stopped them with a wave of his hand.
"Crime in the streets, drugs in the schools, and the economy in the toilet, and people like you run around free, with no better purpose in life than to try to get the most revolting fashion statement on the face of the Earth on TV with the President of the United States in the picture! What that picture alone has done to set back democracy in China, I hate to think."
Kent stared open-mouthed at the President. Various denials and rebuttals wandered through his dilapidated brain, but he was in such shock none of them even caused his mouth to twitch.
Bush turned, started back to his car, and stopped in the open door. "What would you call 10 to the third machine guns blazing away at you, just before you died, anyway?" He sat down, pulled the door close, and the limos began rolling. The crowd was by now over 10 meters away from Kent, but most of the Secret Service personnel had merely backed up a couple of steps.
"Ten to the third? That's a thousand. Hmmm", Kent mused as Bush stared at him from the retreating window. Suddenly Kent brightened. "A thousand points of light!" He grinned at the car, but Bush was no longer looking in his direction.
The chatter of a thousand machine guns split the air just for a second. Nothing larger than a nearby poodle dropping was ever found of Kent.
Nearby, his fiancee opened her mouth. She though of the past few weeks. She thought of the insurance papers they had signed just days ago. Thoughtfully, her eyes followed the disappearing limo, and she began to cheer.
Pulling off the mask, Richard Nixon sighed. He always breathed so much better without it, and it felt good. Smiling at his wife, who was also removing a mask, he picked up a newly-installed phone next to the Hot Line, and waited for someone to speak.
"Great. I got rid of the first one today, too. What was he doing in Dallas?"
"I've no idea, Richard. Which one was it?" A scaly claw writhing like an excited snake reached back to scratch an aural receptor.
"Kent Paul Dolan. We might as well start Operation Net right now."
"Very well. Please keep me appraised of further developments."
"Okay, Rasmussen. Talk to you tonight after the Summit." Smugly, Nixon relaxed in the leather upholstery, as his wife leaned against him. "We'll have this country straightened out in no time", he sighed.
The motorcade sped towards Houston.
Last updated: 16 Dec 1994
Copyright 1991-1994 Miles O'Neal, Austin, TX. All rights reserved.
This article may be freely distributed via computer network or other electronic media, or printed out from such media, for personal use only. Any non-personal (ie, commercial) use of this article voids the warranty which prevents my wasting hundreds, if not thousands, of yours and my dollars in lawsuits. Commercial copy permission may be granted if, in the author's sole opinion, other usage of this article is for purposes the author holds near and dear to his heart and/or wallet. For such permission, contact the author via email at roadkills.r.us@XYZZY.gmail.com [remove the "XYZZY." to make things work!] or via mail at the address below. Appearing in person at the author's residence during daylight hours for a personal audience is also permitted, provided no weapons are brought along. This notice contains no MSG, sugar, artificial sweeteners, sunlight, air, or other known carcinogenic substances or energy forms.1705 Oak Forest / Round Rock, TX / 78681-1514 / USA
This copyright may be freely used, distributed and modified subject to the conditions noted above in the preceeding paragraph. Miles O'Neal <roadkills.r.us@XYZZY.gmail.com> [remove the "XYZZY." to make things work!] c/o RNN / 1705 Oak Forest Dr / Round Rock, TX / 78681-1514