A Story of Love, Death, Power, and Mustard

Written and Performed by:

Paul Glenn, Jon Grantham, John Grayson, and H. Benjamin Stern

With Special Guest Appearances by James Richard Snyder

And Traci Dayhoff

"My theory of evolution is that Darwin was adopted."

-Steven Wright

As Roger stepped down from the train, he immediately sensed something was wrong.  Could it be the KGB?  No--they didn't operate out of this part of Istanbul.  He then looked down and saw that he had spilled mustard on his crotch.

He quickly removed his turban to hide his embarrassment.  Luella hadn't noticed--or had she?  She was staring longingly at his turban.  Did she want the jewel--or what?

Luella was surprised when she approached Roger.  In search of the jewel, she had found mustard and no jewel.  Bitter disappointment set in.

Roger grabbed her slender wrist.  He massaged it caringly, and stared into the deep blue pools that were her eyes.  "What are you doing, bitch?" he asked.

"You see, I had just bought a hot dog and..."

"The truth."

"I think there's a hot dog under your turban."

"Mind your own business."

"But, I had just paid for one and hoped to get another one free."

"Come with me!  I don't believe I got your name."

"Do you know what the penalty for stealing hot dogs is in Istanbul? They'll cut your slender wrist off," said Roger callously.

Unfortunately, both were cruelly maimed by the car bomb that the Muslim extremists had planted next to the hot dog stand.

You see, the story does not concern these two people; it actually is the tale of a young man named Akim.  Akim had a birth mark shaped like an inverted sheep on his left testicle.  Because of his birthmark, Akim was destined to lead his people to greatness.  On the down side, people were disgusted with the birthmark, and, as a result, Akim suffered from perpetual virginity.

Actually, we were lying to you.  The story is about his older brother, Jose, who had a non-inverted sheep birthmark and therefore was not a virgin.

Actually, Akim and Jose blew up with the hot dogs.  Good bye Jose and Akim!  Roger, being an experienced gymnast, walked away on his hands.  Luella met Mohammed the paramedic and immediately started dreaming.

She soon slipped into a coma and died.  Roger manually disemboweled Mohammed and caught the next tramp freighter to Athens.

Since our setting is Istanbul, we will for the moment ignore Roger--but don't worry, he'll be back.

When the autopsy was performed, it turned out that Luella was not dead, only feeling bad.  Seeing that the pathologist had fainted, she arose from the preparation table and began walking to the door.  As she approached the door, she heard the familiar sound of an orchestra.  It was not the Budapest String Quartet, but rather Joe Banana and his Bunch, and they were playing her favorite song, "I May Be Color-Blind, But I Know When I'm Blue."  She began to sing. (Special Guest Appearance by James Richard Snyder)

Later, in another room in the same hospital..."We'll try out the new cloning technique.  All that was saved is one testicle.  Let's incubate in solution...Oh my god, it's growing much quicker than we had planned!"

Jose and Akim both cloned into one person--an unfortunate mishap!  After three minutes of life Joskim met Traci and sawed her in half (lengthwise).

Dr. Nhidal, who performed the operation, breathed a sigh of relief.  It had come off without a hitch!  The scientific community had scoffed at him! Now he would clone millions of Joskims, and the human race would die out, because the only men would have repulsive sheep tattoos!  Revenge would be sweet!

Unfortunately for Dr. Nhidal, a strange principle of physics took hold.  The birthmarks of the inverted sheep and normal sheep were, respectively, matter and anti-matter, and so exploded according to the relation E=mc2 and created a heck of a mess that Dr. Nhidal had trouble explaining to his superiors.

Meanwhile, halfway around the world...what?  Oh.  From where.  Well, from Ongloe, a small island off the coast of Brazil that really isn't important at except for being halfway around the world from the place I was going to start talking about in my meanwhile sentence before I was so rudely interrupted!

Meanwhile (long pause) in Nova Scotia (okay, so maybe Ongloe isn't even good for being halfway around the world from here) Eddie stood sweating on the street.  Who sweats in the middle of Nova Scotia in January, you might ask?  Eddie.

You might ask why Eddie was sweating.  Well, if you had just narrowly escaped a horrible death at the hands of a vicious pit bull, you would be sweating too.  You might ask why Eddie was being attacked by a pit bull.  Well, Eddie had just dumped Michelle, and Michelle didn't like that much.  Too bad, thought Eddie.  I got awfully sick of watching "Jeopardy" instead of "Wheel of Fortune"--Eddie liked Vanna White.  You might also ask what happened to the pit bull--You ask a lot of questions, don't you?!  Well, John, Eddie's police friend, had come and shot Jamie, the pit bull.

Eddie headed back towards his apartment--if you could call it that.  In Nova Scotia, there was so much useless space, an apartment was actually a large house.  Eddie hated the six month nights in Scotia--it depressed him.

Eddie suddenly realized that Nova Scotia wasn't far enough north to have six month nights.  He took off his sunglasses.  Ahh, much better.

As Eddie walked into his apartment, he was confronted by three TV police.  "'Wheel of Fortune,'" they said incredulously. "The sentence is death."

"Can I buy a vowel?"  Blam-blam.

"Croak," said Eddie fatally.

Michelle found Jamie (her best friend) dead.  She found a note to John from Eddie asking for the lame beast to be shot.  Michelle invested in a bazooka and did in John, then paid cab fare to the airport to Athens, Greece.  (She had mustard on her crotch!)

RRRIIINNNGGG!!!!  Lynn woke up with a start.  She had fallen asleep watching a "Dallas" episode.  And Pam thought she had weird dreams!

Meanwhile, halfway around the world from Nova Scotia, absolutely nothing important or worth anything in the world, perhaps even in the universe, was happening on the small island of Ongloe (though the little puppy that little Timmy from Mayflower Lane got for Christmas peed on his foot, so Timmy proceeded to put the puppy in the Thomases' new microwave, but that's not important now.)

Back to Nova Scotia.  Scene:  a plane at night.  Fade to cockpit.  "Looks like it's going to be a fine trip to me."  Enter Michelle.  Captain:  "Hi, Michelle.  How are...Oh no!  The mustard!  It...It's after me!  I forgot my last payment!  Ahhhh!"  Fade to plane diving toward the ocean.

"And our last report for tonight, a plane bound for Athens, Greece, crashed today over the Atlantic.  No cause was found.  There were no survivors."

Back at Istanbul General...

"O.K....Clone experiment #2.  This time we have the left half of the body.  Here goes..."



Six weeks later...

"Well, Traci, it appears the cloning was completely successful.  Except..."

"Except what?"  said Traci.

"No, no. Never mind."

"Tell me," ordered Traci, with that look on her face that makes her appear quite menacing, but cute in a weird sort of way.

"Well, because we cloned the left half of your brain, and that half controls the mathematical side of you, you'll be a brilliant mathematician.  But since the right half, which you lack, controls the creative process, you can't write worth a damn."

"That's O.K....I have two right hands, so I can't write anyway."

Outside the lab, at that moment, a small, yellow creature slowly flows and crawls its way toward the door.  "Sure, send me out to do your dirty work," it mumbles to itself.  "Then the stupid captain freaked and sent the ship into the ocean.  Had to swim my way back.  What a pain.  See if I go out to collect any more protection money for him.  Hmph!"

Meanwhile, somewhere else in Istanbul, a voice was singing...

"I can't tell green from blue,

And I don't know the color of your shoe.

Yes, you can believe me, yes it's true,

I may be color-blind, but I know when I'm blue."

Traci walked down the street briskly, trying to ignore the pesky Jeremy Rifkin supporter on her left.  "Stop genetic experiments, missee.  Don't let those heathen bastards pollute God's green Earth with their experiments."

"Well, what would you say if you ran into one of those experiments?  What if I was one?"

The lunatic supporter began to back off.  And I thought I was weird, he thought.  "You're one weird chick!"

Traci then tried to call on the psychic powers that the cloning had given her.  Realizing it hadn't given her any, she walked into a fast food place and ordered a McLobster.

Let us now turn our attention back to the lab, where we find our hero, well, maybe not our hero, we find one character talking to his first clone attempt, the mustard.

"So you failed me again, did you?"

"No, master.  I...I didn't, master."

"Then where is the money?"

"It sunk."

"I can't continue my experiments without money!  Get me some money, or I'll do the most savage deed."

"No!  Not that!"

"Yes!  Now go get me money!"

Wide angle view of a fast food restaurant in Istanbul.  Zoom in on TRACI, waiting in line.  When it becomes her turn, she looks up, shocked.

Traci:  My God!  You!  You ended up working here?

Jon:  Yeah!  Hi, Traci.  Ever since they found out that the Nobel Prize winning project of mine was a fraud, I haven't been able to get a good job.

Traci:  Gee, I'm sorry.  But you look good in that McUniform.

Jon:  Thanks.

Traci:  Say, wasn't this the restaurant where a man died recently of food poisoning?  That wasn't you, was it?

Jon (nervously): me (runs out back door rapidly) How did she find out?  It doesn't matter--I'll have my revenge on that Nobel Committee!!

Traci:  I wonder what that was all about?

Meanwhile, Dr. Nhidal had a vision.  He cloned the right side of Traci's brain (which was frozen), thinking he would become rich from its various abilities.  This time he sped up the process.

Soon, Traci Right was writing two great works of literature.  They were hailed as unique because they only used the letters on the left side of the keyboard.

Traci's left hand was tired and sore after typing all day, so she headed home to her apartment in Istanbul's Latin Quarter (Bet you didn't know there was one!).  She turned on the news, waiting for Carson to start.  "...and today, a bizarre incident occurred involving the Nobel Commission.  One of the members was killed in a mysterious golfing accident..."  To hell with the news, she thought as she turned off the set.  Suddenly, she heard a noise coming from her bedroom.  She ran down the hall and opened the door to look in.  She was shocked!  She saw the left side of her body lying in her bed!

Traci stared at the sleeping imposter in bewilderment.  Fifteen minutes later she found the courage to walk over to the bed and wake up the imposter.  At the same time the doorbell rang. At 11 PM Traci thought the visitor must have some important news.  Upon opening the door, she saw a man wearing a turban, standing on his hands, without legs.  The man was with Jon and a few giant-sized Turks (five to be exact).

Jon introduced the man as Roger.  Then, the Turks forced their way into the apartment, tackling Traci.  Traci was calling for help as the Turks gagged her.

The sleeping Traci (Traci Left) heard the franistan and came out to see what the commotion was all about.

Realizing that it would be dangerous to proceed, the scene quickly changes to the Yukon, where Lynn (remember her?) is skinny dipping in a hot tub filled with 500 Slurpees...

Somewhere, a dog howls, and a microwave timer beeps.  And in the German countryside, the meeting of the Bavarian Illuminati was called to order...

Number One called the meeting to order.  "Our plan is proceeding well.  Our Turkish lackeys kidnaped the clonee and forced her to give us the name of the cloner.  We've also successfully kidnaped the cloner, Dr. Nhidal.  Number Seven, you still have the tissue cryogenically preserved?"

"Yessir.  Hitler's eyeball is unharmed."

"Excellent.  We will rule the world!"

Number Seven led Nhidal to the laboratory and then gave him the eyeball.  Number Seven asked the good doctor to have a look at his sore throat.  The doctor told Seven that he had some medicine that would ease the pain.  He described it as rather large, soft, and filled with juice, saying that all of it needs to be swallowed.

Number Seven quaffed the potion and began to cough.  "Aargh!  It's got mustard in it!"

"Why, yes.  Ah, haha!"

Number Seven collapsed on the floor choking.

"Good work, doctor.  Now I am Number Seven," said the former Number Eight.  "Now you become a member of our circle and we are thirteen again."


"Also in the news, the famous writer Hal has recovered from his almost fatal lack of creative energy and is now able to continue on with his new chain story though it may be a while before he gets his full potential of storytelling."

We now return to our story, already in progress.

"Thirteen!  Are you all right?"

"Don't call me that! I am the mustard!  Ha ha ha ha!"  (eerie music)

For those of you who have just tuned in, let us do a brief recap of yesterday's story.  After being led into the circular room, Dr. Nhidal (now known as Number Thirteen) had to perform the secret rituals of his new group, the Illuminati.  One of these was the eating of the sacred lamb's spleen.  After swallowing the spleen, a funny look came over Thirteen's face, and he exclaimed, "Hey!  I didn't order this with mustard??!!"  You see, the mustard had learned by his brief stay in the old Number Seven's stomach, that, when ingested, he could take over the person who had swallowed the mustard.  He had then excreted himself out of the old Number Seven to gain revenge on the man who had made his life so miserable for all these years, Dr. Nhidal.  This brings us back to our story.

The camera shifts to a lone figure lying on the floor of Nhidal's lab, slowly regaining consciousness.  "Ow...What happened?  I remember trying to cure my sore throat with something Dr. Nhidal gave me and then blank.  Must've been drugged.  I guess I better get back to the secret base.  I have no idea how long I was out."

Dr. Nhidal felt drained after the initiation rites and didn't feel up to cloning the Fuehrer.  "Let's start with Mr. Potatohead," said he.

A short while later...

"Ah, my creation.  Now, Mr. Potatohead, go to Istanbul and kill Roger!"

On a plane from Germany to Turkey...

"I'm sure people tell you this a lot, but, you know, you look a lot like Mr. Potatohead."

Mr. Potatohead decided to load a 12-gauge shotgun on the plane and blew the head off the man who said he looked a lot like Mr. Potatohead.  Next the stewardess sent for the co-pilot who asked both men to calm down.  "That will be easy for one of us!" said Mr. Potatohead, looking at Dave, who was bleeding profusely.

Dave then spontaneously clotted (not a pretty sight) and started shuffling through his airplane food and pulled out some sour cream.  "I'll smear you, Mr. Potatohead," he cried as he threw it at the giant tuber.  Ducking, Jorge (Mr. Potatohead's first name) chuckled as the sour cream splashed all down the front of the flight attendant's uniform.

Another shot was fired and Dave fell over for a second time.  Dave spontaneously clotted again (still not a pretty sight, but after the first time you get used to it).  Dave began yelling insults at Mr. Potatohead like, "I'm going to rearrange your face," and, "I'm going to make mashed potatoes out of you."  After a third shot was fired, and Dave clotted once again (not really a big deal anymore, is it), Mr. Potatohead began to get worried.  He looked around quickly, searching for some means of escape from the clotted figure advancing on him with fork, knife, and butter.  Salvation was found in the form of a parachute which Jorge quickly slipped on.  He then proceeded to open the emergency exit (this definitely was an emergency) and jumped out of the plane.  If he had had the benefit of hindsight, Jorge would have known that the plane would have been a safer place.  He was slowly floating down toward the famous Turkish headhunter country, who, upon seeing this gigantic, exquisite head floating down from heaven, proclaimed this day as The Day of the Head, or Thkh Blnk tud thkh Fshthlkthch in their language, and promptly made Jorge their favorite art piece on the center pole of town.

Meanwhile, at the Istanbul Circus,

"Where is our new exhibit?"

"New exhibit?  You mean..."

"Yes!  Dave the spontaneously clotting dude!"


Back at Traci's apartment, the franistan was still in progress.  Traci invited the Turks to have a drink when it was all finished.  In the drinks she placed a little rat poison and smiled at the men as she gave them drinks.

In Illuminati headquarters, a heated debate was taking place.

"And I think that we should make him a member."

"This would not only bring unwanted attention on ourselves, but one of our members right now would have to be kicked out."

"He could be abducted like Dr. Nhidal in secrecy so as to keep attention from ourselves.  As for a member having to leave, what have you done for us lately, Number Seven?"

Back at Traci's apartment, Jon decides that he isn't thirsty and doesn't have a drink.  Meanwhile, a representative from McDonalds cements a contract with the headhunter tribe for "a whole lot of French fries."

Jon being smart enough not to have a drink watches the Turks die.  Then both Tracis whip Jon into gear as their slave.  First job is to get rid of the Turks.  Jon dices up the body parts, puts them through a food processor, and sells them to McDonalds as hamburger.

Roger (alive due to the fact that he needs his hands for more important things than drinking and therefore survived Traci's franistan) "walked" back towards Germany to report the death of the Turks and to tell Number One that the Tracis had escaped.  As he walked down the street, a familiar walk and pair of feet approached him.  From his odd perspective, Roger had become able to tell people by their feet and walk since it is such a strain to try and look them in the face.  Roger immediately recognized this walk as Number Seven's walk.  "Number Seven, Number Seven."

"Shut up, idiot.  I'm not in uniform."

"Oh, sorry.  What happened to your uniform, Paul?"

"I've been replaced!  They thought I was expendable and got someone that they thought could contribute more to the group than me."

"Who could that be?"

"Dave, the spontaneously clotting dude!"

Meanwhile Lynn (remember her?) towels off as the aroma of Slurpees fills the air.  She walks into the house and begins to feed her pet bullfrog.

"Hello, Jeremiah."



Lynn turned on the TV to catch her favorite show, Oprah Winfrey.  "Today's guest is a wonder of medical science.  No one else has ever displayed such spontaneous clotting...Hey...What are those big guys in black uniforms grabbing Dave?  Come back here!"  Oprah stops to think (it takes a while)...........Turning to the audience, she flashes the famous Oprah grin.  "We have a slight correction.  Today's guest is a wonder of janitorial engineering, Bud the floor washer."

Meanwhile, in a deep, dark Bavarian castle...Number One speaks!!!

"It is good to see you again, Number Twelve-and-a-half," he said, speaking to the dark clad man with no legs.  "We can use your expertise.  As you are Number Twelve-and-a-half, and we can only go up to Thirteen, we have to cut off two limbs from our new member, Dave, but it won't affect him much, because of his amazing spontaneous clotting ability.  Get the power saw, Number Square Root of Three."  Number One thought to himself:  We have to get rid of this ridiculous numbering system!

Phil Donahue sat in his office, brooding.  "She scooped me on this floor washer guy.  And right after she beat me on the lesbian sex-change surrogate mother triplet sculptors.  This is intolerable."

He picked up the phone.  Beep-Beep-Boop-Bleep-Boop-Boop- Breep, he dialed.  "This is Number Ten.  Oprah has crossed the Rubicon.  Gesundheit."  Click.

One of Dave's spontaneously clotting clots unclotted and started spurting blood all over Number One and Number Square Root of Three.  Because of the deluge of blood, the power saw became clogged with clotting blood, and Dave's blood clotted again.

Lynn left the house.  Half an hour later, Steven entered the house.  "Jeremiah!  Pal!  Pour me a drink?"


"Huh?  Never mind.  I'll get it myself."

Steven poured himself a drink.  Then a few more.  And still more.  He decided to go into the hot tub, but he didn't want to be alone.  "Hey Jeremiah!  Let's go for a swim."  Steven turned up the heat and bubbles, grabbed Jeremiah, and went for a swim.  Presently, Jeremiah peed on Steve's leg.

"Number One, Number One.  Our agent in Vladivostok has been found dead.  Apparently he had smoked one too many tulips."

"Damn him, I told him to use filters.  Okay, send Roger."

Lynn (remember her?) returned home to find her boyfriend Steven drowned in the hot tub with Jeremiah croaking (as in the noise) on his head.

"Bad boy, Jeremiah."


But wait a sec!  Steven, the spontaneously hibernating dude, might not be dead, thought Lynn.  He might be hibernating.  And indeed he was.  Phew, scared me for a sec, thought Lynn.  "Hey, Bud, will you get the linoleum under the piano, please?"

"Sure thing, Lynn."

Number I called Number XII I/II (the Illuminati changed their numbering system) into his office.

"Well, Roger, we've got trouble.  Our agent in Vladivostok is dead.  He was watching that call-in game show that's so popular in the USSR, 'Call or We Kill You.'  He was calling to answer, 'What is Mikhail Gorbachev's middle name?'  He was..."

(Interrupting) "Well, what is it?"

Number I hesitated.  "What is what?"

"What is Gorbachev's middle name?  I'm curious."

"It doesn't matter."

"But I want to know."

Frustrated, Number I spoke.  "It's Sergeyivich, dammit!  Can we go on now?"

"Gee, I'm sorry.  I was interested."

"Just for that, you are being busted from XII I/II to XII V/VIII.  You've more than I/II a body anyway."


"Now get going."

Number XII V/VIII was given a ticket on the Trans-Siberian Railroad.  He first took a train from Istanbul to Novosibirsk.  The train had to cross Iran, which became a bad event.  It stopped in Teheran to pick up passengers.

Luella and a few Iranians got on together.  Luella recognized Roger and asked about his legs and turban.

Lynn (remember her?) started to drain the hot tub of the Slurpees.  She then hosed down Steven and Jeremiah.  Piter (the butler) opened the door and said, "A Dr. Phlegm to see you, madam."

"Let him in."

And at Traci's apartment, the phone rings...

Back at Lynn's place, Dr. Phlegm has just finished doing a check-up on Steven.

"(Cough) (Gurgle) Remarkable.  He is in a state of (chok (ch pronounced like ch in chutzpah)) (pitouee) deep hibernation (snivel)."

"Do you need a Kleenex, Dr.?"

"No, my sleeve is (choke) (gargle) softer."


At Traci's apartment, the phone continues to ring...

Steven slowly regains consciousness.

"Hep me!  Hep me!  I been hypmotized!"

Dr. Phlegm sickly propositions Lynn.

Suddenly, Traci's answering machine clicks on...

"Traci, I'm in jail.  They caught me for the Nobel Prize killings, and my cell mate, a 712-pound man named Bubbles, has taken a liking to me!  Get me out fast!"

"...I'm not home right now, but if you leave your name, number, and message, I'll try to return your call as soon as possible.  Wait for the beep."

Jon quickly punched out Bubbles and framed him for the killings.  The warden released Jon, who once again was free to roam the streets.

The phone rings, and a weird infrared disturbance turns on Traci's remote-control TV.  The neighbors complain about hearing "Hogan's Heroes" at full volume.

Number XII V/VIII continued to ride the train towards Vladivostok.  Things grew a little hairy near the Sino-Russian border, but Roger made it okay.  Luella went back with her Iranian friends.  Roger called Number I (collect) from Vladivostok.

"Just checking in to get instructions."

"Good, good.  By the way, you're No. 16.625 now.  We had a Numbering Committee meeting, and we decided to change again."

"Gees, this is getting complicated."

"Don't feel bad.  Remember Number Square Root of Three?  He's now No. 1.7320508.  And that's only to the ten millionth.  You should hear his formal name."

"So what are my orders?"

"Oh, No. 2 wants a chicken salad sandwich, and I'd like a cheeseburger, no onions, lots of relish."

"What?  I'm in Vladivostok!"

"Oh, I'm sorry.  We were talking about No. 1.7320508, and I got confused.  We sent him out for lunch."

No. 1.7320508 went to McDonalds to get the food.  Jon was back at his old post and handed 1.7320508 a humanburger with cheese, no onions.  He exclaimed "Wunderbarr" at completing his task.

Night, outside of the maximum security prison Jon recently got freed from.  Sirens are wailing.  Guards with dogs are seen searching the area.  Deep underground we see a tremendous figure dragging its way toward the outside wall.

"Damn!  I broke a nail!"

Fortunately for the free world, a guard shot Bubbles with a flame thrower.  The flames ignited the lubricating oil he had smeared all over his body.  Bubbles was reduced to carbon dioxide, water, and a few trace elements.  The trace elements seeped into the water table and caused a mysterious series of warthog poisonings.


"Vladivostok, a city seething with intrigue.  No one comes in or out without KGB surveillance.  And now GRU is trying to muscle in, since the new aircraft carrier SPS (Soviet Peoples' Ship) NOVGOROD was being built here.  It is a top secret project.  Details on page 11."

Roger threw the Vladivostok Post-Dispatch away angrily.  "What a waste of 12 kopecs!  I read about that last week in The Enquirer!"  (By the way, it's incredibly difficult to buy, read, and throw away any newspaper, not just the Vladivostok Post- Dispatch, with no legs.)

Later that night, Roger went to the disco (he likes to show off his dancing skills).  He was dancing when he saw Luella, who propositioned him.  "I'm on assignment," Roger replied.  Luella agreed with the information and asked if she could help with the job.

Lynn (remember her?) kicked Dr. Phlegm out of the house.  She jumped into her Zamboni and went to her job at KHHH.

"Hello, this is Lynn.  You're on the air.  Do you have any questions for Mr. Hart?"

"Hello...Hello, am I on the air?  Hello?"

"Please turn down the radio, sir."

"Mr. Hart, if you become President, how will you deal with the Illuminati conspiracy to revive Hitler?"

"Heh heh.  Next caller."

"Hey, Gary.  When are you showing up at my condo?"

"I told you not to call me here."

In a lab in Bavaria, Dr. Nhidal stood distressed.  "Damn it!"  he thought.  This cloning of Hitler is harder than I thought.  I've tried three times, and each time has ended in failure--three deformed Hitlers.  He released them into the countryside--they were pretty normal for Bavaria.  Well, one must try.




Just to refresh your memory, we've decided to list all the members (known members) of the Illuminati by number.


1 ?

1.7320508 ?

2 ?

7 Dave the Spontaneously Clotting Dude

8 ?

10 Phil Donahue

12.625 Roger

13 Dr. Nhidal

That leaves five open spaces.  Let's now make them up:  No. 3, No. 6.2831853 (2 Pi), No 9 (Nicknamed No. 32), No. 6 (affectionately known as 3!), and No. 11.  If some of these numbers are inconsistent with past references in the story, that's because the Illuminati is not a static organization.  Things change--things even we don't know!!

With No. 10 being investigated for the kidnaping of Oprah, No. 1 decided to rescue Phil from the interrogation.  He decided that it would take a few days to figure out a plan.

Meanwhile, in Vladivostok, Roger was taking a shower.

What we didn't tell you was that Roger was showering with Luella.  In Vladivostok, it's an ancient custom to shower with someone after sweating with them and exchanging secret information with them in a disco.

"Sledgehammer" was playing on the radio, and Roger began to get ideas.  "Oh Luella, won't you let me be your sledgehammer?"

"Roger, stop panting, you're steaming the glass.  I'm going home."

"Home?  To Istanbul?"

"No--I moved to a village outside Vladivostok.  I got a real nice condo."

No. 1 swore to himself.

"Damn," he said.  "Get me No. 6.2831853."

"Yessir," said Damn.

"No. 6.2831853 reporting."

"This Adolf thing that we've got No. The Sixth Prime (That's 13 to you and me) working on isn't coming along as quickly as we had hoped.  Therefore, I've assigned you to head a new project-- Project Obladi Oblada."

"What the hell is that?"

"That's your problem."

This was just not Dr. Phlegm's day.  First Lynn rejected him, then he accidentally locked his keys in his car, and now, while trying to hitch a ride on this deserted road (why he got out of his car, locked all of the doors, and didn't take his keys with him I really couldn't tell you (where was I...oh yeah.  Thanks!)), he had been chased by three warthogs who had blown up and covered him with warthog pieces.

"Hey, mister, need a lift?"

"Yeah.  Sure."

Roger decided to go see Luella the next day.  He started for her house and then decided that meeting Luella was a waste of time.  Instead he went to the docks for a swim.

Roger got hit over the head with a sledgehammer by a GRU agent and started remembering...


As Roger stepped down from the train, he immediately sensed something was wrong.  Could it be the KGB?  No--they didn't operate out of this part of Istanbul.  He then looked down and saw that he had spilled mustard on his crotch.



And suddenly the Earth was consumed in flames.

Whoops, too far.  REWIND.

Number 6.2831853 replied, "Oh sure.  The Project's coming along fine."

The experimental subject listened to the White Album for the 451st time.

Back at Lynn's...

Jeremiah was worried.  What could be taking Lynn so long?  She had never been gone this long before at work.  When will she get home?  Could she be in trouble?  Who is going to feed me?  Now it was out.  That was the question that had been nagging at his mind for many hours.  Certainly not that schmuck, Steven.  He was out cold again on the floor of the kitchen.  I knew he should have let me mix those drinks.  Well, I can't stay here waiting forever.  Jeremiah hopped out of his froggy door (kind of like a doggy door, but shaped like a frog) and walked down the road smoking his Havana special and looking for adventure.

What Jeremiah forgot was that it was Thursday, and Lynn was at Rev. Henley Dodson's charismatic service.

"That's right, my child!  God will save you...For only $25!"

"Really, Rev. Dodson?  Say it's so, please?  For only $25?  What a bargain!"

"That's right, Lynn.  Also, I'd like to make available to you the Osmond Christian Family Collection on compact disc!  For only $39.95!"

"But I'll have to hock my 'Sonny and Cher' collection!"

"You mean, you still have that?  Sonny Bono is the Anti- Christ!"


No. 1 called No. 9.  "Get me Roger on the phone."

No. 9:  "Roger isn't in his hotel room.  The front desk said that he went for a swim."

Donahue sat in his jail cell puzzled.  The night before he had a dream about Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald on the way to the courtroom.

"I got you, babe,

I got you, babrlrkspfft."

"What are you doing listening to those Satanic records?"  Lynn asked questioningly.

"Sorry," said Piter (remember him?) (no relation).

"It's just hard to get Christian help these days."

Meanwhile, in a laboratory in Bavaria...

"We have completed Project Obladi Oblada, Stage I.  We have produced Desmond."

No. 6 was talking to No. 1.

"Dammit, No. 1, this guy is really getting to me!"

"We'll take care of it, No. 6.  We'll use our connections in the court.  His lawsuit won't get anywhere."

"Can I countersue?"

"Why not?  We'll have the court officially verify your statement."

No. 1 hung the phone up and turned to No. 2.  Wearily, he said, "He's brought too much attention to the Illuminati.  Eliminate him."


-Bono, throwing his blue turban to the floor in anger, vehemently denied the charge.


-"Sonny ain't the Anti-Christ.  Didn't y'all ever learn in Sunday School that Sonny, Elvis, and Zamfir are th' same as th' Holy Trinity?"

Steven the spontaneously hibernating dude dehibernated.

"Lynn, honey, where are you going?"

"Don't call me honey.  Call me sugarbottom."

"Lynn, sugarbottom, where are you going?"

"To bail out Piter..  They're holding him for murder."

Piter sat in jail, brooding.

"Well, I may be in jail, but I'm now No. 11!"

Meanwhile, No. 1 got to thinking.  "Hmm.  No. 10 is Donahue.  He's in jail; he's going to talk.  He needs to be killed."

No. 1 called his bomb expert Ben and asked him to perform a duty.


What the Illuminati assassin didn't know was that Donahue was the incredible spontaneous head-pieces-flying-back-together man!  Donahue coughed to make sure the parts were correctly in place.

"Can I have lunch, please?"

Oprah was shocked.  She had been not believed and rejected by her own crew!!  After her Illuminati captors had had her in starvation captivity, she had lost almost 100 pounds.  And since her escape, no one believed she was Oprah Winfrey!!  "You're too skinny to be Oprah!"  And now, with Oprah off the air and Donahue in jail, Sally Jesse Raphael was the talk show queen!  And the talk show war was heating up.  Joe Franklin was threatening to go network, and Carson was being moved to prime time!!

Too bad for Donahue.  On his way to the arraignment, Ben (the bomb expert) blew up the building.  Unluckily for Donahue and a number of policemen, the ceiling fell on top of them, burying them with many tons of concrete, steel, and other objects.

When the debris was eventually cleared out, six bodies were found.  Five were policemen, and one was Donahue, but his head had fallen off.  Though his body was completely mangled and broken, it was later found that his head still functioned.  He could talk, see, hear, smell, taste, (though, after eating, it was gross to watch the little pieces of chewed-up food fall out of the bottom of his neck), and he could even roll (by pushing off the pavement with his tongue) and swim (by flapping his ears).  Though his fighting ability had been reduced, he still lived on.

Traci looked at the sign, "Luge contestants enter here."  She had joined the French luge team six weeks ago.  And now she was going for the gold.  Well, actually, the bronze.  She didn't want to get her hopes up.

"Excuse me, ma'am," said Lynn Swan, as he bumped into Traci on his way to the biathalon competition.

Nearby, Ethelred cut the brakes on the French luge.

"Ha, ha, ha.  J'noir c'est violant."

"Bon chance, Traci."

"Oh, merci, Jean-Luc."

"Est-ce que votre luge est pret?"

"Oui.  Je m'inqunete un peu parce que il (pointing to track) est couvre avec des glaces."

(In case you're wondering what this was all about, how do you think Traci was able to join the French luge team if she couldn't speak French?  Here's a translation for you not-so-bright people.

"Good luck, Traci."

"Oh, thanks, Jean-Luc."

"Is your luge ready?"

"Yes.  I'm a little bit worried because it (pointing to track) is covered with ice.")

"Would all contestants in the Istanbul Luge Championships please report to the warm-up area."

Traci was nervous.  The fact that this announcement was repeated in 27 1/2 languages, all of which Traci understood, didn't help (it was 27 1/2 as opposed to 27 or 28 because on the last language, Bengal-dialect Hindi, the announcer couldn't remember how to translate the last half of the message, so he just stopped).  Traci grew even more nervous as the favored team from Brunei walked by exuding confidence.

"Oh my god!" exclaimed Traci.  "That jerk from Brunei is using my luge.  Wait!"

But it was too late.

Smash.  Bang.

Traci rushed over to the injured luger.

"What happened?" queried Traci in Arabic.

"They cut...the brakes," said the dying competitor, who coincidentally was a Muslim extremist who had placed a bomb at a hot dog stand in Istanbul.

"But...luges don't have brakes," said Traci.

"Excuse me, ma'am, U.S. Marshal Service," said the tall man in a cowboy hat who had walked up next to Traci and the dead Arab.  "This man is wanted for terrorism."

"But he's dead!"

"That's beside the point.  Reagan wants us to get tough on terrorism.  Okay, fellas, take him."


-Reagan says, "I told you we were getting tough on terrorism.

Nah nah nah!"

-Judge commutes sentence in respect for convicted's condition.

Back at Istanbul...

Traci raced her best race ever.  She made it down in record time, beating all her practice rounds by over 5 seconds.  But it just wasn't good enough.  The Brunei team still stole the gold.  When she walked over to congratulate the Brunei team, she noticed something odd about the short one.  He had taken off his luge suit and she noticed that his skin was, sort of, well, green.  He was also shorter than she had thought and was shaped sort of strange.

Unfortunately, a recently adopted rule stated that "no competitor who does not belong to a species which bears its young live shall participate in the luge event."  Traci was relieved until she found out that one Frenchman was actually a duck-billed platypus.

"And now...(and now...[echo effect]) The winners of the Istanbul Luge Championships.  The bronze medal goes to...the Bangladesh team.  The silver medal goes to...the team from Botswana...and finally, the gold goes to the team from Odenton."

Traci was still upset that she and the French team had been disqualified, but at least the Brunei team was also disqualified.  Stupid rule, she thought.  So what if Jean-Jacques didn't bear live young?  She, Jean-Luc, Jean-Michel, Jean-Claude, and Jean-Paul had protested, but to no avail.

Traci was philosophical about the race.  "You win some, you luge some."  At least there was still the doubles competition.  Oh, yeah.  Jean-Billie was a crustacean.  Traci was sick of all these animals.  She went over to the Liechtenstein embassy.  "Hello, I'd like to defect.  Hello?"  Seeing no one there, she filled out the paperwork herself.  She then hopped on a plane to Liechtenstein.  Arriving there, she was shocked to discover that every single Lichetensteinian had disappeared.  What had happened??!!

Jean-Paul, who was infatuated with Traci, had followed her to the airport.  However, Jean-Paul and his friend George-Ringo, were too late.

"Why did she have to go, George-Ringo?"

"I don't know, she wouldn't say!"

"You know, suddenly I'm not half the man I used to be."

"Hey, there's a shadow hanging over you."

By the way, here's a hint for those of you stumped by the Mystery of the Disappearing Nation -- Bavaria is very close to Liechtenstein!!

After the race, a very disappointed Jeremiah entered the bar at Istanbul Central.

"Give a double."

"Of what?"

"I don't know.  Oh, forget it.  Alcohol gives me heartburn anyway."

"Can I interest you in some food?"

"What do you got?"

"Frog's legs."


If you're wondering why Jeremiah could speak Turkish, the fact is he was a Turkish frog. That's why Stephen never understood a single word he said.

Translated from the Russian . . .

"Doctor! Doctor! The patient is suffering a relapse!"

"I'm on my way!"

"Oh my God! He's dead!"

"No he's not, he just needs intensive care! Get the heart massager."

"Why do you want a heart massager, doctor? He was hit in the head with a sledgehammer."

"Because that's the way the state wants us to do it."

I'm sure that a lot of you want to know the significance of Liechtenstein being near Bavaria. Well, Bavaria was celebrating its centennial and you didn't have to pay to join in the Oktoberfest festivities.

Traci got bored sitting alone in all of Liechtenstein. She called her other half (who was writing another story). The Tracis decided to meet in Bavaria. While on the phone, Traci in Istanbul heard a large crash.

Dr. Nhidal finally perfectly cloned Hitler's eye. Unfortunately, Nhidal let Hitler drive to meet the Illuminati. Along the way, Hitler hit a trash truck.

Nhidal didn't have a gas mask and died, but Hitler loved the smell and thrived on it.

Deep in a small community on the outskirts of Istanbul . . .

(Translated from the Turkish)

"Hey Mohammed."


"What was that your girlfriend was . . .Hey! There is someone in the back of the truck."

"What? Wait a minute. I'll be right there." (Pause) "Who is he?"

"I don't know. What is he doing?"

"Why is he picking up that trash? Oh, that's disgusting! I think I'm going to be sick."

"Wait. He's about to do that again."

(Retch) (Auugh) (Aug) (Gurgle) (Spit)

"Maybe if I compact the trash . . .Yeah that's it."

Flight 977 from Istanbul to Liechtenstein . . .

Traci got on the plane.

Later, Traci got off the plane in Liechtenstein and hailed a taxi. She got in and said to the cabby . . .

"The French Embassy and step on it!"

But when the driver turned around, Traci was face to face with Dr. Nhidal!

(You see Dr. Nhidal always kept a spare clone to be activated in case of untimely death.)

Traci turned pale white and then fell out of the cab. Nhidal sped off with her clothes in hopes of finding some money or other valuables.

Traci then spent the night looking for her other half, and eating out of a McDonalds that she broke into.

Morning breaks in Liechtenstein . .

"Even though everyone is in Bavaria, I still have to go to work," Jon thinks as he stretches and heads for the shower. Once out of the shower, Jon feels much more awake and ready for the new day. He even hums a few bars of the Liechtenstein fight song on the way to work. When he arrives at the McDonalds, he sees the glass on the front door has been shattered. As he enters the McDonalds, he notices a figure lying on the floor amid many quarter pounders, Big Macs, and fries, and spilled strawberry shakes. The figure wakes as Jon approaches.

"Traci! What are you doing here?"

Mash. Brog. Aaag. Compact. Aack. "Sieg Heil."

"OK, Mo. Let's let him out."

"Look, you compacted him too much. He's too short."

"Ich habe Keinen Plattenspieler."

"What's he saying?"

"Something about being taken to the airport and flogged I think. I never did understand German that well."

Back at McDonalds . . .

"Traci, I have a question. If sex wax is used for surfing, what kind of wax do you use for luging?"

Traci didn't know the answer. She wasn't feeling too well, so Jon bought her a cup of coffee, and she sat down. Jon went back to work. A dashingly handsome, seemingly ageless man, walked up to her. "Traci?"

"Yes? Do I know you?"

"Well, in a way. Can I sit down?"

"Yeah sure. You seem depressed."

"I am. This world of ours is in pretty lousy shape. It really gets me down."

"Well, we can't really do much about it--it's not our fault either. Why worry?"

"But it is my fault. You see, I'm God."

Traci was shocked. "The God?"


Suddenly, Nietzsche burst through the door. "God is dead," said he. And it was so. And he saw that it was. Maybe. Traci slapped herself. Then she slapped Jon.

"Oops," said Jon. "I shouldn't have given her the Ecstasy Special Coffee. I knew I should've labeled the coffee pots."

In Vladivostock General Hospital.

"Yes nurse, show her in." (This nurse understands English)

"Roger, you look so dark!?"

"Yes, Luella, the pollution in Vladivostock harbor is terrible."

"Will it ever fade?"

"Tomorrow, I'm going to what they call an acid bath. I think it will burn off a few layers of skin . . .but so did the harbor."

"Ow. Hey. Ow!"

"Sirs, please move away from the Pan Arab ticket counter."

"Adolf Hitler, please pick up the white courtesy phone. Adolf Hitler, please pick up the white courtesy phone."

Hitler escaped Mohammed and the other trashman and shuffled over to the WCP. He lifted the receiver.

"This is Number One," a voice said.

"Here are you orders."

God was feeling much better. He had always been intrigued with watching sports, but he had never understood why the people of Earth enjoyed them so much. Now, with the wind flying through his hair as he sat on the small luge sled, he finally understood. He had never felt so alive in his life, except maybe during creation which was a pretty good time. As his mood brightened, strange things began to happen on Earth. Roger regrew his legs. Donahue regained his body. Oprah became fat again and got her show back. Hitler grew and finally shaved off that stupid little moustache. Jeremiah lost his horrible nicotine addiction. And one last thing happened that scientists, astronomers, historians, and philosophers still don't understand even today. Bubbles returned.

"Well, thanks to popular support and an act of God, I'm whole again, acquitted, and back on the air," said Donahue.

(Applause) "Well, today's guest is a man very dear to my heart--and for that matter, my whole body--ladies and gentlemen, let's have a round of applause for God."

"Thank you, Phil."

"God has a new book out. Why don't you tell us about it?"

"Okay. It's called Why I Made the World the Way I Did."

Mom and Dad God came down to Earth. They were very distressed to see God luging. Mom said, "Get Him!" and ended God's fun.

"Desmond has escaped. You must find him and bring him into our custody. But you must not damage him."

In Vladivostok General Hospital . . .

"Where did you find legs?" (the nurse translates for the doctor)

"Um, I don't know."

"Ready for your special bath?"


Thirty minutes later . . .

"Where did your legs go?"

You see, God wasn't being careful when he made Roger's new legs, so they were only papier mâché. But that didn't matter, because Roger couldn't walk with his legs anyway, since he had only used his arms for the past few months.

"Hey Number One!" said Rog (he decided to drop the -er; he'd always considered it silly) over the phone. "Can I have a ticket home?"

"Yeah, sure."

"First class?"

"We can't afford it, because Project Burgermeister is exceeding its budget. You fly coach."

In coach, Rog took his seat next to a member of one of the four basic food groups. "Say, aren't you Mrs. Potatohead?"

The deceased potato's wife whipped herself into a frenzy.

Donahue learned soon after his body was recreated that God is not perfect. He climbed into his shower for the first time since he lost his body and realized that his new body was not skin and bone. It was chopped liver. Yes, that's right, chopped liver. If this wasn't bad enough, thought Donahue, I'm allergic to chopped liver. (Sniffle) (Sneeze) This problem was soon taken care of, though, as he entered the shower and the hot water broke the molecular bonds of his new body. In a matter of minutes, only a head was left. What did I do to deserve this?, Donahue thought.

Meanwhile, back at the French Embassy, Traci drank the last bottle of birch beer. "Wait a second," she thought. "How did this birch beer get here? It wasn't here yester . . ." She slumped to the floor.

Dr. Nhidal entered the room. "Aha, it worked. She should be unconscious for 10 hours. I have to hurry and find the other one so that I can conduct my experiment."

About this time, there were seventeen impostor Adolf Hitlers running around Bavaria. At the Oktoberfest, even these guys were drinking heavily. All these guys started dancing, one hit another, he hit the one that he thought had hit him but it was another--they all look the same--so it turned into a giant rumble which spread across the Oktoberfest grounds.

"You're Jewish!"

"No! You are!"

The Hitlers were engaged in verbal as well as physical abuse. Actually, they weren't impostors, but were related to Hitler in the same way that off-white is to white, so they were Off-Hitlers.

The real Hitler, who happened to be at Oktoberfest, escaped the fracas because he shaved off his moustache, and he looked more like Larry King than Adolf Hitler.

At the McDonalds in Liechtenstein . . .

Knock knock.

"Who's there?"

"A giant tuber wearing her mad face."

"A giant tuber wearing her mad face who?"

Crash. Using her giant pipe as a battering ram, Mrs. Potatohead broke down the door. (Oh yeah. The Surgeon General took that away from her. In that case, the door was unlocked.) Creak. "Where's my husband?"

Meanwhile, at Oktoberfest, the fight continues.

A pipe, lying on the outskirts of a wood. A perfectly ordinary pipe to all who look at it, but the pipe was in an unusual circumstance. Lying amid the mud and muck around this pipe is some chopped liver, but no ordinary chopped liver. This is God's chopped liver. It lives. It lost its head, but it still functions. It breathes. It thinks. It moves.

In the ensuing McFracas, Mrs. Potatohead got tangled up in the milkshake machine and helped to create a new flavor: Potato pancake.

Traci immediately had a flashback to the franistan in Istanbul. She saw Mrs. Potatohead turn into milkshake, and at the same time she remembered seeing Jon turn 5 Turks into Big Macs. Now Jon turned Mrs. Potatohead into a milkshake. "Wow! This would make a great story!"

"Potato pancake shake please."

In the Munich International Airport, a passenger gets off the Coach section.

"Thank you for flying Illuminati Air."

"Paging Rog Samuels, paging Rog Samuels."

"I'm Rog Samuels."

"This was left for you, sir."

(From the note) "Rog: GET OUT OF BAVARIA!!! Here's a ticket-it was the cheapest one, so I don't know where it's going. Signed, Number One."

Ten minutes later, a disgusted Rog boarded Illuminati Air Flight 597 to Hong Kong.

Meanwhile, at Oktoberfest, the fight continues.

When Rog finally arrived in Hong Kong, he was greeted with a big surprise. For the first time since he lost his legs, he could look people in the eye while talking to them. This brightened his mood considerably as he "walked" down a Hong Kong street.

Jon turned around. Where'd she go? Oh well, he thought as he munched on a McDonaldland cookie. The ones that were shaped like Grimace always tasted the best.

Meanwhile, in a lab under the city of Vaduz . . .

Dr. Nhidal stared at the two Tracis. He flipped the switch.

Zzzt. Crackle.

Now, where there were two, there is one.

Dr. Nhidal's experiment failed. When he opened the door, four new ones came out. Each one now had a double. One of the new ones found a chain saw and sawed Nhidal in half--lengthwise!

Zzzt. Crackle.

One of the Tracis disappeared.

Pop. Phooey.

Another vanished.


A third Traci was gone.

You see, Dr. Nhidal had not given enough energy to the apparatus and had only succeeded in creating virtual Tracis, which seemed real but were not.

Traci sniffed. "I smell sulfur."

Actually, when Traci got out of Nhidal's apparatus, Nhidal saw Traci's image in three different mirrors, as well as the one real Traci. To come to be sawed in half, Nhidal was busy sawing a table and in his astonishment he held the saw above himself and dropped it by accident.

SCENE 112: Hong Kong. A man with no legs walks down a narrow alley towards a phone booth. He picks up the phone and puts $.25 HK (Hong Kong dollars) into the slot.

Rog: This is No. 12.625. I'm in Hong Kong.

Mysterious Voice: Good, good. This is HK Controller. Meet me at the peak at 5:00.

Deep in Nhidal's underground laboratory, Traci slept. As she slept she had a dream about Roger's name change (she still referred to him as Roger because she had just learned about his name change). Inspiration struck and she woke up with a start. "I want a three letter name!" she said. "How about Tra? No, that sounds stupid. How about . . .Art! Yeah, that's it! I will now be called Art," she beamed.

(Well, all I can say is that it's better than Rat.)

Meanwhile, at the Oktoberfest, the fight continues.

Lynn slipped off her kimono. "Well, it looks like Cool Whip today." She did a cannonball into the hot tub.

"Ow, hey, ow."

"What the . . .Stephen?"

"The pumpkin pie at the bottom could use a bit more sugar."

Meanwhile, in Vaduz . . .

"Art! . . .Art? . . .Art. . .Nah, that doesn't sound feminine enough. Maybe the last three letters. Aci . . .Ica . . .Cia (pronounced like "Sha") . . .Yeah, that's better."

Dr. Nhidal walked in. "Wherefore art thou, Traci?"

Meanwhile, back at the Oprah Winfrey show . . .

"We're here today with an amazing group of people--all 17 of them look astonishingly like Adolf Hitler. So, why don't we start with Off-Hitler number one. What's it like looking like Hitler?"

"Vell, I certainly don't like being called a Hitler-look-alike. I am Adolf Hitler."

"No you're not, I am!"

"Shut up, you Jew!"

"No, you shut up, Jew!"

"Excuse me, gentlemen, could we please calm down?"

"Shut up, you black, fat Schweinhund!"

"Hey, you shut up, you Kraut pig!"



"Black pig!"

And the Off-Hitlers fought again . . .

Jeremiah sat pondering his fate. How does one get from Istanbul to the Yukon? Maybe by plane. He checked his pockets. He didn't have the fare. He hopped down to the Canadian Embassy to plead his case. They let him work his way back on the tramp freighter. (Bet you didn't know frogs had pockets)

Under Vaduz . . .

Cia sat in thought. If she changed her name, everyone she knew in this story who doesn't read this story, would have to be told of the name change. So she decided to escape from under Vaduz.

"And tonight's top story. Chicago's own Oprah was arrested after a massive racial-religious-sexual preference-favorite color riot. Also involved were approximately seventeen Germans who look remarkably like the late dictator Adolf Hitler. When our reporter asked Ms. Winfrey about the incident, she replied, and I quote, 'Get lost, you honkey-fascist-homo!' The Off-Hitlers commented, but we don't speak German, and we didn't bother to translate."

Jeremiah jumped into the bucket. Well lubricated, he slid across the ship floor. Helluva way to swab the deck, he thought.

In Vancouver, Jeremiah disembarked. His whole body suffered from deck-swab hands. Now, how to get from Vancouver to the Yukon?

Hong Kong, at the top of Victoria Peak. Rog sat sipping tea, waiting for the Illuminati Hong Kong Controller. Now who could it be, thought Rog.

A bald man in a silk vest, silk knickers, and bare feet stood arms akimbo, looking at Rog. His eyelids were raised, and he glared at Rog. He lifted one leg, and without bending his knee, stepped towards Rog. He repeated this process, arms still akimbo and the same glare on his face, until he was next to Rog.

"Rog," he said in a deep, rolling, booming voice. "I am . . .Hong Kong Controller."

"That's funny, I could have sworn you were Yul Brynner."

"I'm not. I'm . . . his clone."

Jeremiah joined up with a biker gang travelling north for the summer.

Stephen turned to Lynn. "Will you marry me?" he said, as he wiped pumpkin pie filling off his shoulder.

"What do you want?" asked Rog.

"You see, I'm in love with an English woman, but she doesn't love me. I want your help to woo her."

"Yul--you're confusing reality with the movies again."

"Oh . . .I'm sorry. I want to replace No. One."

"But you're not even a No. yet! You're only a controller!"

"That's why I need your help."

The Off-Hitlers went to Austria to meet Kurt Waldheim. Waldheim wanted to reward the Hitlers for rioting in Bavaria and on the Oprah Winfrey Show. One Hitler saw Waldheim's car drive by and pull up to the curb. Waldheim got out of his car and tripped over the chauffeur.

The Off-Hitlers were getting tired of everyone believing them to be exactly the same. They each had a separate personality and they didn't want to be considered one. They decided to do something about this, but what . . .

And in the Yukon, Lynn replied, "Yes."

Traci finally escaped from Vaduz. She quickly hopped on a bus for Kabul. She stepped off the bus, and heard the blare of a loudspeaker.

"Ladies and gentlemen . . .The biggest, baddest luge showdown of the century. It's the Franistan in Afghanistan!"

And in Bahrain . . .

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Sharif don't like it."

And in Munich . . .

Desmond looked around. No one was looking. He packed the nitroglycerine under the drive-in window and ran slowly away from the Burger King.

After the nitroglycerine exploded, the Burger King manager stood in disbelief. "I can't believe the Burger Wars have heated up this much," he said to himself.

The Hitlers decided to wear different outfits that Hitler wore at different times in his life. Some examples are: The Bavarian leather shorts, the Official Nazi Leader Bathrobe (stolen from Kurt Waldheim), and the "I Don't Live Here--I Just Killed Jews Here" sweatshirt.

In the Yukon, Lynn buys a 500 page notebook to make up a guest list of all the characters in this story . . .

In Kabul, Traci slipped into her skin-tight luge suit and headed to the track. "These damn things chafe like crazy."

Meanwhile, back in Hong Kong . . .

"But why should I help you?"

"Because I know who No. One is."

"Really? Who is he?"

"George Plimpton--or is it his clone?"

"That pompous ass! Sure, I'll help you."

In Istanbul, Jacques had to go to work. Before going to Liechtenstein, Traci had hired Jacques to clean up the house. The night before, he had a party at Traci's and now he had to clean up his own mess.

At the house, he was jumped by five Turks who were watched by Rog.

You may ask, "What the hell is Rog doing in Istanbul?" Well, Rog had abused a prescription drug and had hallucinated the George Plimpton incident. Rog laughed at Yul's clone and left Hong Kong.

"Should we invite Jon?" asked Lynn.

"Who?" answered Steve.


"As long as he stays away from the golf clubs and the appliances."

In Bavaria, No. Two stopped typing. Boy, he thought, I'll make a fortune once Project Burgermeister is published! But I still don't know how the manuscript got mixed in with the rest of this story.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned."

(Boy do I hate this job.)

"It's been four years since my last . . ."

(There must be and easier way to make a living)

" . . . And I saw my wife's dog, Fifi, lying on the floor all cute like. And, well, no one was home, and . . ."

( . . .Some way to make it into the easy life, with minimal work . . .)

" . . .Coming home from work, I pass this farm everyday. The sheep in the field looked so lonely . . ."

( . . .Some job I . . .this guy is sick! . . .With little skill, could perform)

". . .And last week, I performed the lowest sin possible. I gave two thousand dollars to Jim Bakker!"

(. . .Two thousand dollars?)

"I don't know why. . ."

(. . .For no reason?)

" . . .I was just watching TV, and . . ."

(. . .This may be my calling . . .)

". . .And then . . .Father? Father? Are you there?"

Later on channel 38 news . . .

"And also in the news, Jim and Tammi Bakker, watch out! A new member has entered the TV evangelist realm, calling himself Luke "Hot Air" Bubbles . . ."


The helicopter gun blast punched the storage tank.

Jaak emerged from his shelter. His face was charred from standing close to the storage tank. He shook his fist in the air.

"Curse you, Sharif!"

The Turks were looking for Traci and got Jacques instead. Because it was Jacques and not Traci, Jacques swallowed his front teeth.

Meanwhile, at the Franistan in Afghanistan . . .

Traci got her first run and had a personal best time. The next two runs were not so good because Traci put her sled in a piece of chewed gum and the gum made her sled go slower.

Once again, Brunei was the favorite team at the Franistan, event without Jeremiah. However, this time East Germany sent at team. Traci went to get her luge, but instead bumped into a tree--but it wasn't a tree. "Hello, I am Helga."

Desmond stepped onto the tarmac in West Berlin. He went to a photo shop and bought a 35mm Nikon. He then went to a department store and bought some brightly colored shorts. "There," he said, "Camouflage."

He innocently approached the Wall. To the burly East German guard in the watchtower, he appeared to be just another tourist leaving his chewing gum. "Damn" thought the guard. "I'm still upset Helga beat me out for that spot on the luge team."

Desmond walked past the Berlin Wall Gift Shop and onto the sidewalk. He stepped into a phone booth. The phone rang.

"Desmond, this is Jaak. Allah has stopped the music, and there is one fewer chair. We must make sure that it's Sharif's. You know what to do."


"Will the Liechtenstein team please report to the judge's booth?"

Traci stood up and walked to the booth. When the door opened, the judge looked impatient. "It's that way," he said, gesticulating in that direction.

"What? I'm the Liechtenstein team."

"You are? I thought you were looking for the rest room."

"Well, now that you mention it . . ."

This year, the Russians figured that heavier people go down hill faster. Knowing this, the Russians sent a few fat women who beat everybody. They had problems fitting into the suits, but the tight squeeze turned out to be worth it.

Commercial--"Holy heresy, Bubbles! Do you see those pagans?"

"Sure do, Short Fat Guy. If only we had more money we could make this a free country for all Jehovah's Witnesses." (Stares into the camera. Sad music plays in the background) "Help us make this country beautiful again. Send your checks to 1-800-Hott-Air. Thanks for your support."

Sharif looked around. She swivelled in her chair. By Allah, I love these swivel chairs. Why, before we discovered oil, they wouldn't give us rocking chairs. But now . . .Oh well. She hit her intercom button. She didn't have anyone to call; she just liked the intercom button.

"You wanted to talk to me?" said Traci.

"Yes," said the judge.

"Well, talk already!"

"Oh yeah. About your sled . . ."


"We discovered that your sled was once paid for playing baseball, therefore losing its amateur status. You're disqualified."

At Illuminati Headquarters . . .

"Hi Ben! How are you doing?"

"I'm doing great. Where is everybody?"

"Well, Hitler's getting his moustache trimmed, Rog's in Istanbul, and everyone else is trying to fix the dead lightbulb."

"No. 1, what time is it?"


"I'd better be leaving."

"See you later."

"Rot in hell," Ben said under his breath. Fifteen minutes later, a massive explosion ripped through the HQ.

Deep in the Iowa rain forest (bet you didn't know they had one . . .They don't? Well, now they do)

"To the Bubcave, Short Fat Guy. Injustice calls!"

"What's the crime this time, Hot Air?"

"We've got to stop the marriage of Lynn and Steve!"

Traci sighed.


"Well, I've still got one more run left, even though it doesn't count."


She luged as she had never luged before. The spectators screamed "No, don't go! The track is too slick!" But she didn't listen.

Crash. Smash. Bongo.

A stunned silence fell over the crowd. And suddenly, a voice started singing.

"Leader of the Pack, and now she's gone . . ."

The crowd slowly and mournfully filed out of the luge stadium.

"Damn this is embarrassing," thought Traci. "And now I've got snow down my luge suit!"

Meanwhile, back at Illuminati HQ . . .The Illuminati Firemen were surveying the damage.

"Pretty damn bad," said IF (Illuminati Fireman) 1.

"Hey, there's No. 1's body."

"Let's take off his mask."

"Oh my God--It's Pete Best!"

"I thought he was dead."

"He is."

In Istanbul . . .

Rog: Man, am I glad I wasn't at HQ last week.

Luella: So am I. Where do you get off calling me man?

Rog: Oh! I'm sorry. (Rog was thinking of a way to stop Luella from following him around)

Luella: Well, what do you want to do?

Rog: Kill you! (Rog hits Luella with a meat cleaver. He hits her three times, removing her head to hang on his wall.)


"Well, what?"

"What are you just standing around for?"

"Why are we going to stop this wedding?"

"God told me to."

"I did not!" (Had to bring Him back)

"Oh my God!"


"Holy holy, Hot Air. It's God!"

"Yes, it is I. It is me? Never did get that right in school. Whatever. I am here to personally supervise the marriage of Steve and Lynn."

"And by the power vested in ME by ME, I now pronounce you dude and dudette. You may now smooch with the babe."

"God is hip, isn't he?" whispered Jeremiah.

"The hippest," replied Piter.

Lynn and Steve smooched.

In Berlin . . .By a wall.


Gum flies everywhere.

In the Yukon . . .In a hot tub club.

"I hate cola Slush Puppies."

In Istanbul, a voice is heard singing.

"I want your skulls

I need your skulls

Cut the heads off little girls and

Put 'em on my wall

Hack the heads off little girls and

Put 'em on my wall"

And Roger is seen dressed in black staring at an unidentified female's head on his wall.

In Bavaria, the G.B.P.F. (German-Bavarian Post Force) was flooded with millions of letters. No. 1's (formerly No. 2) new scheme was brilliant--only an accountant could have thought of it!!!

Jan. 12, 1988--In millions of households around the United States, letters arrive from the IRS (supposedly), requesting that the taxpayers all file extensions for their tax payments. . .

April 15, 1988--When only 120 people file their income tax, the U.S. faces bankruptcy.

"Whoah!!" commented an IRS executive.

"Right, Bill. Once the country falls into economic chaos, it will be easy pickings for our takeover. Talk to you later. Bye."

"Hi Dad."

"Hi, Benj."

"Who was that on the phone?"

"That was Mr. Regardie."

"Oh. Well, talk to you later. I'm late for school."

"Okay. Bye."

(He waits a minute) "Now that my wife and kid are gone, I can quit this charade, jump into my private jet, and return to my life as No. 1!!"

And around the world, this situation repeats itself twelve times. Thirteen professionals with different backgrounds, each sharing common goals in the Illuminati. What motivates these men (okay, let's not be sexist) and women? What do these people have to accomplish? I have no idea, but I'm hoping that someone who does will continue on with this plot line while I move along . . .


"Yes, God. I'm right here."

"I've got a job for you. Bring me Donahue's head."

And in Tucson, Arizona . . .

Lynn squeezed Steve's hand. "When do you think the rally will begin?" she whispered.

A hush fell over the crowd.

Senator Joseph Jones stepped up to the microphone.

"Beloved supporters, friends and colleagues. Several years ago, I left Washington D.C. to go on a soul-searching mission. I have thought a lot about myself and my duty to this country. And while I've been gone, much has happened. Unrest is threatening our vital interests in Bahrain, and our President is too weak to send troops. The Treasury has run dry and the President is too dumb to solve the problem. A terrorist has been blowing up Burger Kings and landmarks across Germany, and the President hasn't awarded him the Medal of Freedom. People are actually giving this guy Bubbles money. Bubbles now has a larger budget than NASA. Because of this, I want to . . .Nay, I will be your next President. And now I'd like to introduce my running mate, not only someone who knows an incredible amount about social unrest in Burundi . . ."

Traci turned to Jon. "Am I wearing too much make-up?"

". . .Not only a world-class luger, but one fabulous babe: Traci Dayhoff."

Rog awakened screaming and in a cold sweat. He immediately looked around for objects on the walls.

Reassured, he rolled over to fall asleep, but instead put his arm on Luella (who Rog had forgotten was there), causing him to scream again.

In Bonn, because of massive stamp sales, the government decided to buy something--Like Rhode Island.

Bob Stern, a pillar of the Crofton-Jewish-Accounting community, flew back to America from Bavaria.

"Hey Dad, can I borrow twenty bucks?"

"Sure, Benjie. What's it for?"

"Oh, nothing."

Back in Donahue's apartment a lone head wakes up feeling very damp.

"Ugh. I thought this was all a bad nightmare. How long have I been trapped in my shower? Unable to roll on this slippery floor, or swim because the water is too shallow? Look at me! Even my nose is pruning! Wait! What was that noise . . .Hey who are you? What are you doing in my shower?"

"My name is Bubbles, and I'm here to take you to God."

A little while later, on a high mountain in what used to be Iowa's rain forest (God doesn't like rain forests), a voice is heard calling . . .

"Hi God! I'm home!"

"Did you get what I asked for?"

"Right here."

A sack is provided. From the sack, Donahue's head is removed.

"It's about time you took me out of that sack . . .Where are we?"

"Donahue," a commanding voice is heard.

"Wait. Who is that dashingly handsome, seemingly ageless man? Do I know him?"

"Well, you should. I told you I was taking you to God."

"Well, God, what do you want with me?"

"I'll start by saying I have enemies. No, don't object. I do. I just stumbled across their secret meeting area and learned that they are plotting my demise. I want you to go to this meeting and learn their plan."

"Why me?"

"With a certain disguise which I will provide, you will be the perfect spy."

One week later at Bowl America (where only hundreds cheer--business has been slow lately) . . .

"I can't believe I'm here. This is so degrading. First I'm taken from my apartment, then I'm told I have to spy on some people I don't even know, and now, now's the worst. I'm a bowling ball trying to listen in on these four circus sideshow freaks' conversation, when I'm not being hurled down an alley toward ten defenseless, and very painful, pins. I better get one hell of a commission for this."

"Damn it."


"We can't let JoJo call us weak. Let's invade Bahrain."

"Oh goody. Oh goody goody gumdrops."

"Calm down, Mr. Secretary."

". . .Was campaigning for today's Alaska caucuses. She is expected to help JoJo to an overwhelming win with the luge fan vote. Kooky Finstein, ABC News. Now back to you, Vic."

"Thanks, Kooky. And in the Middle East, a surplus B-52 bomber took out the entire Bahrainian Navy, and their airport. The President had no comment, but a top aide, who wanted to be identified but doesn't deserve the publicity, said, "Yeah. Yeah. We really kicked some butt. Ooh ooh yeah!"

Meanwhile, the West German government bought Bahrain instead of Rhode Island by accident (it's easy to confuse the two). Upon discovering their mistake, the Germans loudly denounced American Imperialism and demanded retribution.

Having a lot of money left over (Bahrain went cheap), the Germans bought the remains of the Berlin Wall from an economically strapped East Germany. They also donated a big chunk of the money to the Illuminati Training Center (otherwise known as the Frankfurt Accounting Institute).

No. 1, that pillar of the secret society community, landed in Bavaria. As he stepped off the plane, Bill Regardie greeted him with a report.

"What's this, Bill (I mean No. 2)?"

"It's the Hitler-clone report."

"Gee, I'd forgotten about him. Where is he?"

"In Vienna."

"Well, go get him!"

In Washington, D.C., the government was in a bind. The attack on Bahrain had cost them most of the '88 fiscal year budget. And Capitol Hill Democrats were once again decrying Reagan's defense expenditures . . .

April 15, 1988. A representative of the West German government buys Anne Duroucher for $40.00 at the Arundel Auction Dance . . .After all, they still had some extra money.

Rog was brought out of dreamland by a knocking at the door. He went to the door and met 17 guys who looked like Hitler. Rog's eyes lit up. "Hey, you were on the Oprah Winfrey Show!"

Bob returns home late Friday night. He goes up to bed immediately. He is woken with a start by some banging coming from the garage. He goes down into the laundry room and opens the door to the garage.

"Oh, hi Dad."

"Benj, what are you doing? It's three o'clock in the morning."

"I'm putting together my thermonuclear warhead device that I ordered from Ronco for $19.95."


" . . .And the sixth number is 35. That makes today's Mega-Lotto combination 14-6-28-19-40-35. That's 14-6-28-19-40-35. If you are the lucky Mega-Lotto winner, you receive the Jackpot that's been accumulating over the past 143 weeks. That's $30 billion now."

"Damn, Madge, lost again. No one's won in over two-and-a-half years. It's like someone has some high-tech science fiction-like Quantum Probability Drive."

Jon turned a dial on his High-Tech Science Fiction-Like Quantum Probability Drive. "And they denied me a Nobel Prize for this!"

Jorge hadn't thought much when he sent in the Sweepstakes entry. In fact, Jorge never really thought much. One didn't need to when one was a file clerk at Housing and Urban Development. But now, he got a check with a letter that said you, Mr. HUD, have just won our $15 million Super Grand Prize.

In fact, all across the country, nay, the world, the Federal government won every single lottery, sweepstakes, raffle, and bingo game.

Jon kicked his HTSFLQPD. "Damn, damn, damn."

Rog had had a rough night. The Off-Hitlers had shown up at his door and demanded to be shown to Traci's apartment. Rog took them to the Latin Quarter to her apartment (it took a while because the Off-Hitlers were always fighting). As he was heading home, he looked back at the Fascist dictators breaking into Traci's apartment, and he thought he saw a non-Off-Hitler among them.

"Looks kinda like George Bush," muttered Rog.

" . . .After a huge win in the Virgin Islands primary, JoJo and Traci have now felt the heat. George Bush's campaign presented evidence that Traci once got drunk at the USNA Officer's Club. Bush commented,'I told you she was a skunk! Thphttt!!! (Bronx cheer noise)'

"In local news, Bob Stern, that pillar of the Crofton-Jewish-Accounting community, became the first in the area to have his own missile silo in the backyard. However, Bob's uniqueness isn't likely to last long: neighbors are reportedly digging furiously.

"Oh yeah, West Germany declared war on the U.S."

The next day Iran and Libya joined forces with Germany and embarked on an all-out war against Reagan.

The Illuminati allied itself with the U.S. and incorporated the Off-Hitlers to cause a popular uprising in Germany.

Iraq remained at war with Iran and ignored the rest of the world (they were now very successful at fighting).

The Illuminati's plan did not work. The Hitlers started fighting but most of the Germans were still hung-over from the Oktoberfest.

Deep underground in a small community in Maryland, Bob Stern, the pillar of the Crofton-Jewish-Accounting community, also know as No. 1 of the Illuminati, reached a decision.

"The Germans are hung over and can't fight so the U.S.'s war with them will easily be resolved. But those Iranian and Libyan nationalists could bring us into a long, costly war. I can't allow this to happen."

A key is turned, buttons are punched on the keyboard of the enormous computer, and a noise of twenty-three 50 megaton nuclear warheads being launched is hear.

"That should take care of them."

Traci returned home from Salt Lake City after a five day campaign for the Utah caucuses. She opened the door to her house and walked in. She stopped, suspicious. Why wasn't the door locked? She heard a noise from upstairs. Worried, she rushed up to her room. As she opened her bedroom door, she saw a lone figure crawl out her window. She frantically looked around the room. That was strange. Nothing had been touched . . .Except . . .What was that? Her underwear drawer was open and it had been ransacked.

"Benjie, would you turn that music down? It sounds like twenty-three 50 megaton missiles being launched up there."

Bob hit the button again, but again nothing happened. Damn!

Upstairs, Benjie turned down Led Zeppelin IV.

No one in America seemed to notice that they were at war. Until the Germans invaded Florida. Then, thousands of angry vacationers urged the Congress to declare war. Debating late into the night, Congress finally voted. The result: no war--just three votes short. (However, war was declared on Brunei)

"Hello, Police?"


"Someone broke into my house and fondled my underwear!"

"Can I have your name, ma'am?"

"Traci Marie Dayhoff."

"Heh heh. Nice publicity stunt." Click.

Iran and Libya then drew a line from Norway, around Africa, and to India, saying that if any U.S. ships crossed the line that they would be sunk. The U.S. Fleet sailed around Africa to the Persian Gulf before meeting Iran (Libya never showed up). Iran's fleet was destroyed. Reagan, in press conference, is quoted as saying, "Well, that's the way things go."

The Illuminati, after failing in Germany with the Hitler scheme, brought the war to the Jewish homeland. The 17 Off-Hitlers and the real Hitler geared up for battle and were then airlifted into Jerusalem. Word of the plan spread and the PLO launched a full-scale attack on the West Bank.

While flying over Israel, a huge wave of Judaism swept over the Hitlers. Panic struck the plane. Hitlers were running everywhere (not a pretty sight). All but little number 12 (actually he is the same size as the rest of them, except he's timid and therefore seems small). Number 12, feeling that Jewish spirit, seized a parachute and jumped out the sun roof (I know, I know. Planes don't have sun roofs. Number 12 didn't know this, thought) and parachuted down onto Israeli land. He later changed his name and became world renowned as Rabbi Ben Malashik. The remaining Hitlers returned to Germany feeling drained from their "war" with that Jewish feeling (not unlike that loving feeling).

The street had been blocked off between 8th Street and 23d along Willow Avenue to let the motorcade pass. JoJo looked at the crowd. Someone yelled, "Get back, JoJo." He smiled. He waved from his seat on top of the limo.

"I've got him in the crosshairs. What? Of course I'm secluded. I'm right behind this clump of trees. As soon as I shoot, I go down this water drain right behind me. Don't worry."

A shot rang out. JoJo tumbled from his seat. Five Secret Service agents threw themselves over him. (Well, actually four Secret Service agents and a guy named Burt. Burt had always wanted to a Secret Service agent. He was later taken in for questioning and died during interrogation of a brain hemorrhage.) JoJo tried to sit up but fell down again. Blood was running onto the pavement.

"He'll live," said Dr. Phlegm. "But he'll have to lay off campaigning for at least a month. That means no to the debate in Muskegon."

Traci being an athlete, Rog thought he would give professional athletics a try. Without legs, the world of athletics didn't have a lot of openings so Rog took up billiards. His problem was not taking shots--It was his opponents shots. He didn't have enough time to get out of the table when his opponent would take his shot. Rog from time to time nailed by the balls causing contusions and fractured phalanges. Because of this, Rog wanted to find a safer physical activity.

Some news flashes . . .

. . .George Bush calls JoJo a coward for turning down the Muskegon debate . . .

. . .In the Hawaii primary, JoJo and Traci win the Naval vote unanimously . . .

. . .In Bonn, Helmut Kohl comes to his senses, sues for peace with the U.S., and declares war on France . . .

. . .Public outcry over the government's failure to end the Good Humor Man strike led to Secretary of Packaged Desserts Lindon's resignation . . .

. . .(Weekly World News Headline) "Traci picked me up in O-Club" claims Navy woman . . .

Scary Jerry the very hairy and partially claustrophobic tarantula was bored and partially nervous. He was partially nervous because of his partial claustrophobia was kicking in while he was being carried in his partially closed box. He was bored because . . .Well, what can a hairy, partially claustrophobic tarantula do when confined in a partially closed box being transferred from one cage to another? Every once in a while, an eye would appear in one of the smallish holes in the side of the box, but other than that, there wasn't really anything to see.

"Hi Benj. What have you got in the box?"

"A tarantula, mom."

"No, seriously."

"Really, look."

"Aarrgh!! Aoowgah!! Ahhh!" Faint. Clunk.


"Diane Sawyer wants to interview you before the debate."





"Here's Miss Sawyer."

"Miss Dayhoff, what do you think of your opponents?"

"Well, I'm paying more attention to the issues than to my opponents. Say, who are they?"

"We have Bubbles, Bush, Babbitt, Hart, and a few other schmucks."

Rog reported to Illuminati headquarters and met Gary Hart at the front door.

"What's Hart doing here!?"

"Sorry sir, a girl gave me this address to meet her at," replied Hart.

"Up to those stunts again. You're a brave soul."

Headline: Hart seen in Germany searching for Woman--A Scandal Revisited

(A steady sound beats out)

"Here are the contestants on Today's Debate: Bubbles, a televangelist from Kansas, Bruce Babbitt, former governor of Arizona, Dick Gephardt, a Missouri Representative, Traci Dayhoff, a championship luger as well as a fabulous babe, and our returning champion, George Bush, whose eight year cash winnings total $18 million. And now, here's the host of Jeopardy (and the debate), Alex Trebek!"

"Thank you . . ." Alex began.

"Excuse me, Alex."

"What's that, Bubbles?"

"I'm not a televangelist."

For one brief second Alex forgot the camera was on, put his hands on his hips, and flashed a very angry look at Bubbles.

"I can't believe a man with such an aesthetically unappealing name as 'Bubbles' would want to draw attention to himself by disagreeing with ME on the air," thought Alex.

But his senses and poise returned quickly. Smoothing over his hair with his left hand, Alex turned towards the camera, looking just a bit to left so as to exhibit his best (though all were good) side.

"And now, a word from our sponsor . . ."

A commercial for Depend Undergarments came on. George Bush seemed unusually enthralled by the commercial. Traci kept commenting on how "adorable" the old people in the commercial were. Suddenly, a reporter in the audiences screamed . . .

"Miss Dayhoff."

"That's Ms. Dayhoff, thank you."

"OK . . MS. Dayhoff, what about that night at the O-Club?"

(Bush smiles)

"Which one?" replied Traci.

Alex leaned over to shush Babbitt, who was busily trying to explain his position on luxury crop subsidies to Gephardt.

"I still say we don't need to protect the water chestnut farmer."

"But what about Belgian endive?"

Somebody in the audience screamed. Suddenly, a streaker ran across the stage. "Hoo boy," said Alex. "I think he took 'Anatomy' for $400. Heh heh."

"Stop it," yelled Bubbles, as he picked up Alex and threw him into the audience, where he was torn apart by screaming groupies.

"Well," said Traci, "Now that that's resolved, we can get on with the debate. George, what about that news report that you tried to convince the President to send troops to invade Cuba to protect cigars that you bought?"

"Listen, MISS Dayhoff! I don't think everyone came here to hear a rehash of Bay of Pigs II. I'm not going to judge your career by that week you spent at the Naval Academy. Or by the contents of you lingerie drawer . . ."

These lingerie accusations were scaring Traci. "Just how many people have viewed the contents of my drawer when I was in Salt Lake City?" she wondered.

Bush pulled out a pair of red and black lace panties. "As you will clearly see here . . ."

"Wait a sec, George."

"Yeah, Bruce?"

"That's a Queen-sized piece of fabric there."

Bush stuttered. "Oh no, was that from my lingerie drawer?" he thought, horrified.

Traci kept on the offensive.

"Well, MR. Bush, how did you find out about my USNA experiences? The only evidence was in my apartment at the Iron Gate apartments in Istanbul!"

The audience gasped.

Bush faints. Traci says, "Ohh!" and gets a sad look on her face. She runs over and throws water on his face.

Recovering her composure, Traci returns to her podium and begins to debate with Bubbles over the role of God in the recent luge championships.

The Off-Hitlers were in Liechtenstein terrorizing a small group of cows. One Hitler said, "Hey, let's change our name to the Fighting Hitlers. Off-Hitlers is stupid, because we don't get off all the time, and we do fight all the time, so that name is more appropriate." (Hitlers tend to talk in long sentences)

Eight Hitlers agreed, eight did not, and the other was getting off with a cow.

Another fight began.

God was worried. He hadn't heard from Donahue for days. Could his enemies know about the bowling ball spy? God couldn't doubted it. Where could Donahue be?

Back at the debate . . .

A group of young revolutionaries had seized the hall and taken the candidates hostage. They were forcibly tie-dying George Bush's suit when a shot rang out.


A group of revolutionaries had seceded from the main group in a dispute over the beatification of Alex Trebek.

Bubbles began to cry. Bubbles suddenly caught Bush's eye . . .Bush admired a man who could cry. Bush wondered why he hadn't noticed Bubbles before . . .He was a hot dude.

God knew he should've "divinely intervened" in these scandalous affairs, but he was too occupied with Donahue's whereabouts.

Gephardt began to criticize Bush's supposed "get-tough-with-terrorists" policy. Bush replied (and I quote) "Shut up, Dick! You don't know what it's like to have your suit tie-dyed!"

The young revolutionaries threw a grenade at the seceded young revolutionaries. Floorboard pieces, light bulb fragments, and seat cushion chunks flew everywhere.

"Stay tuned. We'll be right back with Double Jeopardy!"

This writer is feeling very uninspired with the debate. So he added the Socialist Party candidate, Ivan Gorbachev. Ivan entered the studio and the terrorists attacked him. Ivan brought out his karate techniques and blocked bullets with his steel-soled boots and then he kicked the terrorists out cold.

God was bored. What should I do about Donahue? Ignore him and intervene in the debate? Yeah! That's it.

Suddenly people began to appear. Jose and Akim appeared brandishing submachine guns. Eddie began flooding the chamber with sweat. Jamie began chewing on Alex Trebek's remains. Basically, total chaos came over the room. People were dying horrible deaths all over. Then some strange but wondrous music was heard. Bright white lights flared into existence and God strolled in.


"Oops," said God as he got to his feet and brushed himself off. "Damn carpet." Suddenly, the carpet disappeared in a cool blue flame.

"Well, as long as I'm bringing people back . . ."

Suddenly, John Lennon appeared in Traci's lap.

"Uh hi. Do you live around here often?"

George Bush began to whine. "No fair! You brought a tag-team partner!" he yelled at Traci.

Bruce Babbitt said "Wow! You're John Lennon! I saw you at Woodstock!"

"I wasn't at Woodstock," replied John.

Bubbles yelled "'Let It Be' played backwards says 'I Love Satan'!"

Traci said "Wow! Those are neat glasses! They go great with your shirt."

John said, "Anyone know where Nike is located?"

George broke in again. "Hey, I really LOVE that song 'Money Can Buy You Love.' Gary Hart and I want to make it the Republican theme song!"

John just looked at Bush and sighed. "What's wrong with you anyway, Bush? Your lovebeads strung too tight, man?"

God was having a field day bringing back the dead. He thought about bringing back Elvis. But Elvis is EVERYWHERE anyway. So he brought back Camus and Sartre. Yes, Jean-Paul, or at least Jean-something. Somehow, someway, Sonny Bono also miraculously appeared, singing "Babe . . .I got you Babe." (To everyone's dismay, he started trying to sing Cher's part, too.) As soon as Bono and Lennon realized who Sartre and Camus were, God knew he'd made a grand faux pas. But, alas, "it's too late, baby, it's too late."

Bubbles fainted. Seeing God here was just too much.

Camus and Sartre began debating with God over the existence of the supreme being. God began to regret their resurrection. Especially since he was losing.

John began insulting Sonny. "'I got you babe,' huh? Real original, Bono."

Sonny replied, "But at least I've been Appreciated!"

John was hurt.

Gephardt and Babbitt decided to form their own party and run for president. "We can have our Convention in Minnesota!" said an excited Gephardt. After discussion, they named the party the "American-Pro-Protectionism-Pro-Choice-Pro-Labor-High Taxes-Welfare State Party," or the BP (Bitchin' Party) for short. They then began debating over their platform.

"Can I borrow you glasses?" asked Traci.

"Sure," said John.

"You know, I really hated the 60's," said Bush.

"Shut up, George!" said three-quarters of the studio.

God thought, "If Don McClean was here, he'd write a song about this."

(God never was good at using the subjunctive.)

Suddenly, Buddy Holly began to sing.

John gave Traci his trick glasses (they leave black rings around the eyes of whoever wears them).

Traci read what she wanted and then returned the glasses, while the crowd laughed hysterically.

Traci asked, "Why is everyone laughing?"

John replied, "Look in a mirror" as he punched Sonny in the nose.

Suddenly, Bubbles regained consciousness. "Tray-cee, Tray-cee dahling . . .That eye liner . . .It's you. Oh . . .The things I could do with your hair . . .Have you ever had your colors done?"

Traci by this time was thoroughly disgusted by the immature behavior of the men around her.

Suddenly, a somber voice comes on the loudspeaker of the Jeopardy studio.

"Can I have your attention please." (pause) "We regret to announce the death of one of the presidential candidates . . .JoJo was found dead by his little brother. The cause of his death is Autoerotic Asphyxiation. And . . .On a lighter note, the temperature outside is 78 degrees Fahrenheit, and it's SUNNY . . ."

"Oh no!" Bubbles entire, obese body began trembling (not unlike Jello) as he broke into sobs. "JoJo was hit by a car! But what about the Presidency?"

Alex T. (he was brought back by God) handed Bubbles his monogrammed hankie. But, remembering it was HIS monogram, he took it back.

All eyes turned towards Traci, except Bush, who muttered something about hoping it reached 85 today. And, he also said something rather incoherent about throwing away some plastic bags.

God, complaining he had and Excedrin headache, returned to Heaven for a little "Soul/head-healing R&R."

Jose and Akim experienced reciprico-erotic asphyxiation and exploded again.

Lynn and Steve looked at their watches at the same time. "Did we have to get our pictures taken?"

And on the other side of the auditorium, Joe Banana and his Bunch played the final strains of "Doin' Da Butt."

Jon stepped up to the microphone, looked at Traci and began to sing.

"Baby, I want to clone ya

'Cause one of ya just ain't enough

Honey I want to clone ya

And hug ya and squeeze ya and stuff"

John got an idea from Jon's song. "Wouldn't it be neat if we cloned Traci, so she could be her own running mate?"

"Say Tapioca!" said the photographer as Lynn and Steve held their faked smiles for one more second.

Click. Bawff! (flash bulb noises)

"I can't see!" whined Steve.

"We'll be back in about twenty minutes," said Joe as he and the Bunch stepped off the stage.

Bubbles leaned towards his campaign manager, the Short Fat Guy. "Do you think this will get me the sympathy vote?" he asked between sobs.

Rog awoke in his apartment in Istanbul to a ringing phone.


"Report to the Dardanelles for the Special Olympics swim race. You are supposed to drown the man without arms."

"No problem, but how does he swim?"

"How the hell should I know?"

Rog raced to the airport (well, he wasn't as fast as possible for someone with no legs).

Traci's manager was listening to the radio in this office. All of a sudden, a brilliant idea overwhelmed him.

"Yeah, that's the ticket!" he exclaimed, as he madly began scribbling on his note pad marked "Potential Campaign Slogans/Jingles."

In the background, on the radio, Kim Carnes was still belting out the words to "Bette Davis Eyes."

Potential Campaign Slogans/Jingles

Her hair is brown and bold

Her lips tell no lies

Her hands are always cold

She's got Slo-vak-ee-an eyes

She'll handle all your dough

She's no Donna Rice

So give her all your votes

And live in Paradise

Vote 4 Traci

Traci's manager hurriedly stepped out of his office onto the Debate floor. He just had to tell Traci his idea.

"Hey, you look just like Juan Epstein, from 'Welcome Back, Kotter'!" someone in the crowd yelled. Dammit, thought Traci's manager. Am I always going to be known as "Juan Epstein" because of a few years on TV?

Someone bumped into Juan. "Hey, are you a geneticist?"

"NO!" said Juan as he walked on through the crowd.

Damn! thought John. There's got to be a geneticist here somewhere, so we can clone Traci!

Joe and the Bunch got back on stage and started performing "Just Shut Up and Dance."

Steve and Lynn started looking for Piter. They ran into him (literally) at the Jello Bar.

Traci handed the paper back to Juan. "I hate it," she said.


Mr. Snyder lifted his head off his desk, rubbed his eyes, and looked around him. "Sorry to wake you, Mr. Snyder. I just needed a Kleenex," said Benjie, as he opened Snyder's desk and took a tissue.

Mr. Snyder made a "that's okay" noise. He noticed that he'd drooled on his copy of the Advanced Placement Modern European History book. Weird dream, he thought. Boy am I tired! At least the school year is almost over, and I can rest over the summer.

He looked up to the class, who stared back attentively. "So kids, how do you think you did on the A.P. test?"

A silence fell over the class. "What are you talking about?" inquired a puzzled Paul. "It's the first day of school. The test isn't for months!"

Snyder almost went into convulsions. He laid his head back down on the book, groaned, and went back to sleep. Just before nodding off, he looked down: he had mustard in his crotch.