...
The air in the room was thick with the scent of power and vestigial conviction. Secretary of Defense Longinus McClung was literally twiddling his thumbs in his chair when President Elston D'Aquino entered the room, and Gen. Erasmus Flynn was standing at full attention, gazing intently beyond D'Aquinos head.
"It's the transmission from the Kappa quadrant, sir", McClung said, hesitantly.
D'Aquino sat down, and his men in black dutifully fell into place behind him. He gazed intently at McClung. Longinus was, for lack of a better word, a sweaty man. Everything about the man perspired, from his faintly shining brow down to the wet, sticky, odorous mess that was his very soul. Friends would helpfully suggest medication, but McClung was a closet Scientologist and refused all medication that did not come in the brightly colored shape of a cartoon character.
"It was ... there was a most unsettling, shall I say, for lack of a better word or means of conveying the unsettlingness of the matter, sir, it was, uh ...Perhaps Gen. Flynn may fill us in on the details."
Flynn nodded. As he would speak, he was haunted by the image of his wife, Bienvenida Goddard Flynn, making passionate love to Eric Rombokas, whispering the sweet nothings that stood the hairs upon her neck on end more firmly than Flynn's own surgically enhanced spine stood as he spoke.
There is a robot, sir," Flynn said. "A killer robot. From outer space."
D'Aquino sighed. He knew that his legacy, like every one before it, would come down to moments like this - moments when Fate hurled an arrow our way, unmercifully, perhaps with some kind of sling, and the futures of millions, including a small pool of misfit teenagers who needed something to give them hope in the future, would stand inalterably altered by his will. It made him, for lack of a better word, horny.
"Is there any hope?"
"Our calculations, sir, indicate that our army will face casualties in the quadrillions were to take down this enemy via conventional means."
D'Aquino pounded his fist on the table. "Well, you eggheads are just gonna have to start THINKING OUTSIDE THE BOX, THEN!" He shot out of his seat and stormed out in a counterfeit of conviction, stealing a couple of mints out of the bowl on the table first.
"It's the transmission from the Kappa quadrant, sir", McClung said, hesitantly.
D'Aquino sat down, and his men in black dutifully fell into place behind him. He gazed intently at McClung. Longinus was, for lack of a better word, a sweaty man. Everything about the man perspired, from his faintly shining brow down to the wet, sticky, odorous mess that was his very soul. Friends would helpfully suggest medication, but McClung was a closet Scientologist and refused all medication that did not come in the brightly colored shape of a cartoon character.
"It was ... there was a most unsettling, shall I say, for lack of a better word or means of conveying the unsettlingness of the matter, sir, it was, uh ...Perhaps Gen. Flynn may fill us in on the details."
Flynn nodded. As he would speak, he was haunted by the image of his wife, Bienvenida Goddard Flynn, making passionate love to Eric Rombokas, whispering the sweet nothings that stood the hairs upon her neck on end more firmly than Flynn's own surgically enhanced spine stood as he spoke.
There is a robot, sir," Flynn said. "A killer robot. From outer space."
D'Aquino sighed. He knew that his legacy, like every one before it, would come down to moments like this - moments when Fate hurled an arrow our way, unmercifully, perhaps with some kind of sling, and the futures of millions, including a small pool of misfit teenagers who needed something to give them hope in the future, would stand inalterably altered by his will. It made him, for lack of a better word, horny.
"Is there any hope?"
"Our calculations, sir, indicate that our army will face casualties in the quadrillions were to take down this enemy via conventional means."
D'Aquino pounded his fist on the table. "Well, you eggheads are just gonna have to start THINKING OUTSIDE THE BOX, THEN!" He shot out of his seat and stormed out in a counterfeit of conviction, stealing a couple of mints out of the bowl on the table first.
Labels: silly
posted by wrp at 9:45 AM
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