

Barbarian King

by

Frank B. Thompson, III

This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2015, 2017 Frank B. Thompson, III

All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN-13: 978-1546789734

ISBN-10: 1546789731

One of the most bizarre tales ever put to paper—the story of a swashbuckler, a woman of rare beauty and a weird, prehistoric world inhabited by the most peculiar race of cannibals ever spawned.
Prologue 1

Principles 2

Final Struggle 5

The Beginning 9

Hunger Pangs 13

Secret Love 16

The Hairy Fiend 20

Fore! 26

Run! 33

Another Dimension? 39

Two Butterflies Emerge 43

A New Us 49

Ball Busting 55

Wasted 61

The Prophesy 66

Go South! 73

His Life Story 82

A New Day 90

Tres Stooges 95

Liberal Ancestors 101

Numbing Change 106

Bain of Cannibalism 117

The Yaks 125

Primitive Sex 136

Barbaric Destiny 140

Celebratory Orgy 146

Woodland Warriors 151

Quack Clan 158

El Conquistador 166

Military Genius 171

Hope! Change! 178

Charge! 185

The Amazons 194

Retreat! 201

New Beginning 210

Acknowledgements 213

About the Author 214

Prologue

The stone age kingdoms clashed in endless bloody raids upon one another, all the while a legend persisted, the legend of a strange man who would come falling from the sky, a strange man who would unite the tribes, bring peace and death to their real foes.

There were vast regions of unexplored territory to conquer with uncivilized kingdoms, though enormous in extent, occupied a comparatively small strip of land between a vast ocean and impenetrable wall of mountains. The Yak Clan was the northern most kingdom of this world, the Quack Clan the middle most, and the Waqophs Clan the southern most. These were apish peoples who were uncultured, prehuman in nature and practiced cannibalism and loathed those across the mountains where lived another race. Humanlike, mysterious, but not cannibals, they were a race the Yaks, Quacks and Waqophs confronted throughout time and usually with disastrous results. They were the cannibals sworn enemy, the ButtShoo.

Hither came the President, black haired, sullen eyed, a large headed driver in hand; a thief, a plunderer, a slayer of all that was not 'Fair and Nice' with titanic voice and not so small ears, to stomp the living daylights out of anyone who opposed him under the cleats of his black and white tasseled Oxford golf shoes.

Barbarian King \- this historic tale now begins!
Principles

O Bárbaro Uno translated means "The Barbaric One," and is the President's moniker in the 5th, or 4th dimension, a wimp in the 3rd dimension, but someone who morphs into a powerfully built blockhead with huge muscles, but remaining largely unchanged from the navel down in the new world. A giant among his newfound minions, but top heavy in appearance and always unsure of his footing, especially wearing his cleated Oxfords. The President's skin remains bronze, but with hair eventually growing all over the place, including his back and ears. The President's head remains normal sized, his wiry hair continues to be cropped close to his skull and he has those same quick, darting eyes and large ears. The President's followers are tribes of stooped over primordial cave people, who also happen to resemble many in the Democrat Party.

IllaryHay becomes known as Gork, meaning "Boobs" in the new dimension, because she too morphs into something more wonderful, something less feminine, less gentile, but resembling a block of alabaster: huge, yet voluptuous with gigantic Hobbit-like feet. Like it or not, IllaryHay becomes the President's principal love interest who finally succumbs to his attempts at courtship in the final scenes of this dramatic tale.

MeChow translates into "bam jam long time," a cavewoman who strongly resembles Nancy ElosiPay. MeChow is an Amazon and therefore falls somewhere between a man and woman, part man, part woman. MeChow prides herself on her sexual skills. She is also the President's part time squeeze.

LuLux means "hair growing everywhere" and is a Yak who resembles the Senate Minority Leader, Harry EidRay - smelly, hairy, short, dirty and always one of the first of the President's entourage to join in the grotesque orgies they come across during their travails.

KaBoom connotes "big crack" and is a skunk warrior: short, overweight, balding and looks a lot like a former Vice President, Al OreGay. Yes, the same fruitcake to dream up the carbon offset credits scam. Because of an injury KaBoom must turn his whole body to look in different directions, to see approaching danger, a real problem when it comes to fighting. KaBoom has to flap his arms like the wings of a pterosaur instead of nodding to show his agreement.

Before the President came on the scene Billy Bob was the big honcho in the Democrat Party and while he remains IllaryHay's sex addict husband he is soon forgotten when both IllaryHay and the President are whisked away to paradise.

Moon Beam looks a lot like the departed demigod and talking head, Walter OnkiteCray, whose sole claim to fame was helping lose the only war America has ever lost, Vietnam. Moon Beam is the Yak Chieftain and is married to the next wonderful character, ManJina, and got his name because he was forever getting high and yanking his pants down around his ankles during the monthly, full moon celebrations.

ManJina looks a lot like Barbara AltersWay, an actor, I mean actress whose career in the so called news media spanned one too many years. ManJina is a lesbian and is often mistaken for a man and is occasionally caned by the President because of her bitching and moaning. ManJina means "man vagina."

PooBoo means "the Fairy" and is the spirit of the Grand Imperial Poobah, Saul AlinskyWay. Best known for the Democrats' playbook: Rules for Radicals, PooBoo is the President's childhood hero, spiritual mentor and guide in the new dimension.

Gollam, or Ig'nollam, looks just like Gollum from Lord of the Rings, but is in fact someone resembling the talking head, political hack Jimmy ArvilleCay and who also suffers from nearly unintelligible speech that only some hicks from Arkansas might understand. Gollam is this knuckle dragger's real name, but the President decides to call him Ig'nollam instead, short for Ignorant Gollam.

DimSum translated means "she who look like he" and closely resembles actor Matt AmonDay, but is ManJina's mother, even though he, I mean she, looks like a he, instead of a she...go figure.

WuzSee means "sissy" and is the name of a blockhead who plays the part of baggage handler and is often mistaken as a John EwartStay lookalike, the so called comedian who sounds dumb as a rock when he loses his writers to a strike, or when his teleprompter goes down.

Another stooge is Snoz, meaning "big nose," and is someone who looks a lot like the comic Bill AherMay, someone whose nose also takes up half his face. Snoz plays the weighty role of a baggage porter, becomes part of the human shield in the final battle where he dies because his words have little power when up against flint pointed spears and bone axes.

MeCaw means "bird brain" and is someone who resembles the megaphone toting, race baiter AL ArptonShay. He is an ogre of the Quack Clan and plays a short part in getting brained by the President. In addition, MeCaw gets killed in the final battle as part of the human shield dreamt up by O Bárbaro Uno.

Mingo translates into "small man post" and is someone who resembles the Hollywood movie director, Michael OoreMay. Mingo is old, hard of hearing, in the early stages of dementia, is also grossly overweight and uses Ig'nollum as his interpreter so he can appear comparatively smart to others. Mingo attempts to waddle his way to safety during the final battle, only he is easily caught and then butchered like a hog. Life for Mingo goes full circle, from eating everything to being eaten.
Final Struggle

"What do I know of cultured ways, the gilt, the craft and the lie? I who was born in a naked land, the subtle tongue, the sophist guile, when they fail me, as they often do, my driver sings to ring of clattering heads."

The aura was just whitening in the east when the President drew up his horde of cannibals in the mouth of the Valley of Kaka where the high pitched wailing of women ululating came to ear. This vale had been created eons ago during a former ice age. Over time the forces of nature had left a narrow grassland plain, a basin floor flanked by steep, rising mountains to one side, an impenetrable, hardwood forest on the other. On the eastern extremity of the valley the President's horde held its position awaiting the order to pounce. His grand mob was drawn up in two loose formations at the narrow head of the vale. They numbered just over a thousand and had come from every part of the land. Assembled were the 'Yak Clan' from the northern regions, the 'Quack Clan' from the middle regions, the 'Waqophs Clan' from the southern extremities of the tribal lands, ogre looking fellows and fellas who have three material things in common: their banners bore the symbol of all tribes, a Jackass, they were people eaters and their leader was called O Bárbaro Uno, The Barbaric One.

The President's first group was made up half naked, most with teeth missing, aboriginal sissies who could well have passed for modern day journalists. You know, those overeducated poltroons, nerds, and misfits, the oddballs most of us noticed growing up in school. Those who always said the most unusual things, had the weirdest views, dressed in the oddest of ways and were usually on the school newspaper. Those who were perpetually calling someone a bully, those who were forever getting caught doing unusual things to themselves in the bathroom stalls. Fruits that made up the news industry with degrees from so called institutions of higher learning, but were really nothing more than training camps for the like minded. They were tribal rejects and halfwits, those who longed for a place to hide, a group who resembled a sanctimonious minority who made little sense outside of trying to create mischief for the rest of their tribesmen. Those kinds of sissies made up the first group of the President's mob and unbeknownst them they were simply there to act as cannon fodder in the upcoming battle.

This cowardly group had come to believe their fearless leader when he had told them they would be the ones to change the outcome of this day in the same way they sought to impose their odd beliefs and opinions on everyone else. The President had said their lifetime of experience in using the power of words to manipulate the inane would work on the enemy, so long as they believed in the power of those words over the stones and pointy sticks their enemy, the ButtShoo were certain to use. They were given the picture that they would and could succeed in teaching the enemy a lesson this day, that they were not just namby pambies who were forever ending up on the wrong side of everything, not just wimps who always made virtuous some inconsequential, perceived injustice. The words that ultimately made the difference, however, for most of them was the President's promise that the enemy would never lay a glove on them, that the second phalanx of muscled, hairy, sinewy fighters would intervene in the battle before they ever felt the sting of battle. All their leader had said he wanted was for his first group to get the enemy worked up in a lather, by using their skills of name calling, empty threats and personal insults. That's all the President had said he needed and most believed him!

From behind this first rank of weaklings and infirm were the hardcore fighters who were armed to the teeth with bone axes, pointy sticks and clad from head to toe in animal hides to ward off dangerous blows. Some in this group looked like movie stars albeit with a single eyebrow running from ear to ear across their foreheads and with massive, flat, block heads. Others looked like news publishers and studio moguls with pointy hats and still others could have mistaken as men, but were instead women, the Amazons. These misbegotten creatures were ready for this fight, their heaving grunting, snorting and farting was all the President needed to see, smell and hear to know these guys and gals of his were ready and chomping at the bit to go take a chunk out of someone. Now, behind this motley collection of meat eaters came swaggering along their fearless, cool, calm and debonaire leader O Bárbaro Uno.

He was on the cusp of becoming the ruler of this world if his plans went as planned this day. There was a great deal at stake. This horde of the President's had all the appearances of being unstoppable by numbers alone, but just the same he did have some slight trepidations. His anxiety was the first group forming the human shield would be too easily broken, not serving its intended purpose to tire and wear down the enemy, an adversary who did not look like the President and his cretans, but instead had larger, rounder, blonde haired heads and comparatively furless bodies. Because they were not bent over, with knuckles coming close to dragging the ground, the evil ones were called the ButtShoo, meaning 'Hairless Troglodytes.'

The main camp lay directly behind the President's mob in a narrow cut in the mountainside merely a continuation of the vale and disappearing upon a rocky beach. There the banner of the President, a male donkey, the jackass could be seen by all waving gayly in the breeze. The President did not fear a surprise attack from his rear for a sea lay behind them, but the position he selected was a two edge sword. If things did not go as planned and if his mob should be turned, or worse yet, overrun it would be near impossible for anyone to escape. His military prowess had put his misfits in a trap of his own ineptitude. Far brighter minds had called upon him to choose a different spot for the battle, they were now standing trembling with the rest of the cannon fodder in the front line. The President knew what he was doing and he cared less if anyone, save for himself, survived this day if they did not kick butt and carry the day.

This self professed genius now mounted something resembling a lifeguard chair behind his horde. Normally trumpets would announce a King's arrival, but with those missing in this world a long, wavering, high pitched, vocal trilling of women's shrieks rose to a pitch, so loud it rung the ear drums. These were the President's Amazons.

Opposite him on the valley floor was the enemy encampment, ruins of a timber reinforced stone wall. In the distance and standing opposite him across the field of battle the President could just make out the enemy banner with his keen sparrow-like vision. He looked on at his adversary with contempt. That army facing his massed body of killers looked small by comparison and their grim silence he deduced as a testament to the terror his magnificent presence extolled upon the ButtShoo. His strategy, like everything else he came up with, was theoretical mumbo jumbo and to a large extent a product of a lifetime of nonsensical, liberal arts indoctrination. The President's action plan called for the uncomplicated bludgeoning of the opponent into submission with wave upon wave of his muscled, furry misfits. Today's outcome would decide who ruled this world, his knuckle dragging carnivores, or those across the field with their tall appearance, round heads and no sunvisors.

"Yes," the President mumbled to himself, "my plan will work, it must work! By numbers alone my army of Jackasses must certainly overwhelm my foe." He grinned smugly, his now uneven, yellowed teeth bared like some savage who could only be a real, honest to god Barbaric One! "Now, let us get this show on the road."

Across the Valley of Kaka the enemy warlord looked upon the horde of prehistoric people arrayed before him, he knew them as a smelly, hair growing everywhere, lowbrow people who also happened to be cannibals. Most were naked, all were bent over, but some, especially the homeliest of the women, were clad in smelly furs and were now bidding their time ululating all over the place. They were markedly further down the evolutionary scale and a stark contrast to his race of men and women, a people who stood erect, had largely hairless bodies and ordinary looking skulls. All but one on his side of the battlefield looked normal, the standout was frumpy looking and huge like a block of alabaster. She had been recently captured.

The worn out battle ax was of the opposing army, she was not bound, but instead sat panting for air after having labored up a wobbly ladder to a makeshift platform overlooking the valley. In another time, in another place, and for far too long this woman had been forced onto the political stage for what seemed like an eternity and marked history of countless failures, untold lies, and overall incompetence, save for bellyaching, but that was then and this was now. Across that plain among the furry men and women, IllaryHay was viewed, not as an unattractive, lowbrow throwback, but as a real beautiful Amazon. She knew her lover was over there too, "The Barbaric One" and there to save her!
The Beginning

The Boston Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- Leaders of the Democrat Party are flying south this holiday to the remote nature preserve of Cumberland Island combining a little outdoor fun with strategy sessions surrounding the upcoming election for the White House. The powers that be are concerned over the loss of the House and Senate in recent elections. Voter turnout was far more dismal than expected. Fortunately the Democrat Party has one of its tried, tested, most extraordinary, brilliant and attractive politicians, who also happens to be 'a woman,' running for the highest office in the land.

Political analyst James ArvilleCay had this to say, "Yup'er, things look real good. IllaryHay will win the election y'all. Duh people are wanting a woman as President no matter whut. Yup'er, dis time gender be all that matters."

The liberal matron on the donkey reined in her weary steed. The thing stood with its legs widespread and its head drooping as if it found even the weight of the golden hair temptress too much to carry one more foot. The babe in the saddle drew a sandaled foot out of the stirrup and attempted to dismount by swinging down gracefully, but slipped resulting in a heavy fall. Several seconds passed as IllaryHay remained unmoving, but after a time she began to budge attempting to make every effort to get to her feet. Finally giving up she spied something that might help her prop herself up. Moving along the sand like a baker's rolling pin IllaryHay gradually worked her way over to a sapling she planned to use for support.

Her mount now decided to leave and set about moseying on down the trail.

"Wait! Wait a second you bastard!"

IllaryHay had to act quick!

The seconds ticked by and all the while she laboriously attempted to drag herself to her feet.

"Stop! Stop you fucking donkey! No, don't leave me!"

Too late, the burro had high tailed it, and yes, this bitch had a really foul mouth when not on stage.

Finally, IllaryHay managed to pull herself to her feet.

"God all mighty! Where did that goddamn donkey go?" she asked, as IllaryHay dusted herself off.

Her steed was nowhere to be seen. IllaryHay was out in the wilderness all by herself.

Swaying to and fro, while holding onto that sapling for support, she gradually regained her breath. Huffing and puffing less and less IllaryHay finally felt confident enough to stroll after her charge.

The stillness of the forest track was so antediluvian that the tread of her weight bearing feet had to be a startling disturbance to any wildlife nearby. At least it seemed so to the ears of this wayfarer. IllaryHay was moving along the trail without the caution that should be practiced by any Royal who ventures this far from civilization. Here there was no room service, no limo drivers, no hand maidens and none of the servile media people to faun over her every spoken word.

Slogging down that footpath moving one foot then another, something was working its way through the deep bushes that fringed the trail. She approached the sound of what could only have been her donkey some twenty, or thirty yards off the path by her estimates.

IllaryHay whistled as if calling a dog to heal. . . nothing happened.

"Goddamnit!"

IllaryHay whistled again without getting the things attention. She was going to have to go in after the beast. Fortunate for her the canopy of trees overhead kept the undergrowth down to a tolerable level allowing her to walk normally toward where she heard the donkey moving about.

"That fucking mule!"

She came upon a small clearing and sure enough her donkey was there, the animal had found a freshwater spring. Something else now came to her ear, the noise of the seashore.

Grabbing the reins of her charge she secured it fast to some branches of a nearby bush, before turning about hands on hips to look at her surroundings.

Things were not inviting, oak trees and clumps of fan palms limited her visage on all sides save for a path that appeared to lead to the beach. Under the glaring sunlight of the lofty heavens in an otherwise partially cloudy sky, she all at once shook with a spasm then belched - Blaughhhh!

"Fuck that was gross! What the shit did I eat?"

She was of normal height, small bosomed with broad, well padded shoulders and pointy, narrow head. Her whole countenance reflected unusual dimensions, but without detracting from some slight femininity of appearance. She was all woman in spite of her big boned physical appearance and loose fitting encumbrances. The latter were not in harmony with her current island surroundings. Instead of a bathing suit, or shorts she wore a Mao pantsuit that fell short by a hands breadth from the ground and was waving in the breeze. Flaming red toenails of her small petite feet were held by soft leather sandals and the low diving neckline of her white blouse descended to a point where the unbountifulness of her cleavage completed her costume. On one hip she wore a clip on canister of mace pepper spray and on the other nothing at all. Her unruly golden hair was cut fashionably and held in place by a Navaho headband complete with a resplendent eagle feather.

She was thirsty, she had tossed away her canteen earlier that morning when she had drunk it dry. She looked at the spring, had seen that the donkey drinking from it earlier, so believed the waters to be safe. Dropping to all fours she mimicked her mount save for using cupped hands to ladle the refreshment to her full, lipstick pigmented lips - Slop, slop, slop.

Against this backdrop the woman constituted a bizarre, out of place looking female. She looked more like she would be suited against the backdrop of a refrigerator, a bag of Doritos in one hand, maybe a quart size Mountain Dew in the other, not as the future president of the country. There was, however, the look of someone who thought herself superior to most, smarter than most, more important than most in her eyes and that was as it should have been because this was IllaryHay!

She stood with some difficulty then strove to pierce her sullen surroundings for evidence of humankind, but gave up with a muttered oath, "Shit!" after spying nothing interesting.

Leaving her donkey tied she now strode down to the beach glancing back toward the creature from time to time to make sure it wasn't leaving her again.

She was unaccustomed to the sounds of nature, the awkward noise of buzzing here and there in the air, the sound of crickets cricketing, the occasional croak of a frog. She walked out onto the beach where the din of wildlife was broken by the sound of breaking surf. This island, this place in Georgia was like no other on the Eastern Seaboard. No motor vehicles of any sort were permitted, nothing save for donkeys were available for transport and as far as cellphone coverage went, it was nonexistent. Yes, this island was a true gem, a national treasure and a place completely foreign to this Marthas Vineyard cosmopolitan.
Hunger Pangs

The Bahama Post, Times, Chronicle, Journal \- Archaeologists in the Bahamas have discovered pictographs inside a cave that date back to before Amerigo Vespucci and his maps of the Americas. Found during a local snorkeling dive the glyphs are a startling find because, as Scientist OprahWay InfreyWay put it, "Most of us university types believed everything mysteriously faded away over time in the Bermuda Triangle. This finding is particularly unusual because it predates Christopher Columbus' arrival in the new world. It's seriously old and we're calling this ancient culture the 'BermudaTrianglodylians.'"

She felt the early gnawings of hunger, she had wolfed down a dozen, or more pancakes that morning and it was now coming up on noon. Illaryhay needed more calories.

This damsel was in her current predicament because her steed had been spooked when she startled the beast with one of her ear piercing shrieks at her husband. Her burro had galloped away leaving her group in the dust. It had been hours since she had seen anyone and because that burro had a mind of its own when it came to walking she was now completely lost. She was beginning to think she might have been purposely left behind by her entourage or, hopefully, they were now looking for her.

Ahead of her now she saw an uncovered sandbar, sand-like it ran outward into what looked like a bay of rising and falling blue green waves. Perhaps that vantage point offered a better view of her surroundings. Perhaps she could get her bearings, or better yet, spy someone who could help her out of this unfortunate predicament.

A narrow spit of land formed a natural bridge that led out to the serene sandbar. After a moment of hesitation she waded out in ankle deep surf.

Not long after she was able to take a better look at her locality. The tide was rising and the sandbar was ever so slowly beginning to disappear under the waves and unnoticed by the nature novice. As she pranced along something caught her attention, her foot had struck it in the sand. Half concealed by the flotsam of the sea she kicked the covering layer of shells and sand aside and looked down.

She gasped, "Holy shit snacks, is that a skeleton?"

She ran an inexperienced eye over the exposed portion of what looked like a four legged animals remains, its bones had been picked clean by the crabs, or something else. The reason a large, bore sized creature could have ended up here of all places she could not imagine. She was not into pets, so she soon lost interest and continued strolling out to the end of the sandbar, those unusual bones of a very odd looking creature quickly dropping from her thoughts. Strolling along she soon neared the end of the spit of land, before turning to look back to the beach.

The sand, the waves, the ocean, all were really salty and completely void of anyone, or anything that might help her out of this predicament.

IllaryHay glanced north in the direction where the lodge must be only to see the rolling green canopy of windswept greenery as far as the eye could see, the sand covered beach becoming a vague white line as it stretched off along the coastline.

"Shit!"

She turned to the south only to see the same lifeless beaches of sand. No one anywhere. She turned with disgust back toward the blue green ocean, Maybe there is a fishing trawler?

IllaryHay instantly stiffened and caught her breath, "Wait, what the hell is that?"

She turned quickly to look west, in the distance giving way to the treetops there was the fuzzy hint of smoke rising.

"Is that barbecue?"

This passed belief, she could even smell the faint aroma of the cookout as it was being carried to her on the wings of a gentle, midmorning breeze.

"Finally, some luck."

Her hands began to wring with excitement and her stomach began to growl with anticipation as she started walking briskly in the direction of the source. Moments earlier she had been frowning with indecision, but no longer was that the case. Her thoughts were consumed with just one thought, Barbecue!

She knew full well she was a celebrity among most backward folk, Hell those knuckle draggers were what made up the majority of her party. Most assuredly she would be greeted and treated with the respect of the royalty that she was and would be invited to partake in that feast with open arms, some hugs and maybe one, or two of the obligatory kisses on the cheek.

This had started out inauspiciously enough, a day that was only supposed to have been a short donkey ride excursion of this unremarkable nature preserve. The guide had assured everyone that the tour would last just an hour, or two. Her trip in the mule train had begun inauspiciously enough and without real purpose, save for the part about berating her hubby for his romp to benefactor Ronald McDonalds island and orgy fun house. Now, however, she was nonwavering in purpose and was resolute on riding over to that cookout and getting some.

She was watching where she was stepping and pondering only her pangs of hunger when her thoughts were abruptly scattered by the shouting of someone from the beach. She looked up, instinctively snatching her pepper spray and froze motionless staring wide eyed at the man now standing a short distance away.

The figure of the man was not imposing, he a was string bean in stature and wore a white Polo shirt that rippled in the breeze along with a pair of tartan plaid shorts to give the hoped for effect of being a serious golfer. The figure even held a large headed driver and for some reason was wearing one of the sissy belly bags. Light brown complexion, skinny legs and wearing some Oxford golf shoes, his garb was totally dissimilar to hers except for the Navaho headband with one feather he and every other Democrat on the island were wearing in solidarity to one of their typically dumb, liberal causes. Oh, and his driver she knew was a ladies driver to accommodate his unusually weak swing.

"The President," she murmured with a grimace, "what's that dumbass doing here?"
Secret Love

The Bahama Post, Times, Chronicle, Journal \- Local authorities have confirmed carbon dating of recently discovered artifacts are from an ancient culture, people who lived and mysteriously melted away over half a millennia ago. Experts have, so far, deciphered some of the meaning held within some of the glyphs.

One scientist believes one pictogram is of a doorway to another dimension, a state of mind the primitives. Another Bahamian scientist is convinced another glyph shows that the portal opens to another dimension during periods of Cosmic Singularities.

"What are you doing here?" she yelled out, a little astonishment and anger easily understood by the President in her slitted eyes.

The President grinned hardily as he approached her all the while his fierce dark eyes burned with a luminescence any woman could understand as they ran over her magnificent figure, lingering on the slight swell of her smallish breasts beneath a white blouse and the slight white cleavage displayed between broad, squarish shoulders.

"Don't you know?" he laughed. "Haven't I already made my attractions obvious to you?"

"Even a man whore could have not made that any plainer," she answered disdainfully. "What are you doing here? Did you really mean to be here, or did you get your dumbass lost, too?"

He laughed at her observations ignoring her sailor-like witticisms and flexed his mighty voice.

"You do realize I never need help getting lost," he grinned, his pearly whites on full display. "Of course I am lost. Lucky thing, too, for both of us. At least I have one of my security detail still with me."

She replied sullenly, "I lost mine."

"Are you sure, or were you just dumped."

"Dumped, I better not have been dumped!"

"Was your husband with you?"

"Yes, why?"

"There you go, I'm sure he is the reason you're here all by yourself."

"No way, that limp dick prick knows better than to screw around with me."

"Look IllaryHay, when you have a hubby like that sex pervert of yours you should expect such things, right?"

IllaryHay knew deep down the President was right, she could not trust her husband any further than she could throw him, something she had done a few times in the past. She stamped her sandaled foot and swore, "That dildo, all he wants is to get back into the White House, but he's wrong if he thinks he's going to walk all over me again. This time I'll string him up by the balls if he misbehaves."

"Ah, that might just work," replied the President with a smirk, as he began nonchalantly strolling closer.

"Why won't that dickhead husband of mine just keep his pants and his pie hole zippered up once in a while?"

"Everyone's got their issues, but your husband's just happen to be more perverse than most."

"Goddamnit, why won't everyone just leave me alone and let me become President. It, it is my turn after all, I deserve it!"

"I don't care about all that," again, the President's eager eyes devoured her, "but, you were wise to go missing when you did. The folks at FOX managed to sneak a journalistic team over onto the island. They would have had you besmirched what with that most recent escapade of your husband's hitting the front page of the tabloids. Those reporters were not far behind you when you went missing. Your husband's coverup about his so called business trip, by the way, was better than anything you, or I could have come up with. I've got to say Billy Bob really is one of the most spectacular snake oil salesmen I have ever come across, he's virtually as good a liar as I am."

"I've got a question for you."

"What?"

"Why do you always use that stupid term, 'folks?' It sounds like your some kind of rube when you use it. I know you're a dickhead, but I don't think you're necessarily a rube."

"The hell if I know. All I know is folks must be an weighty term for our constituents, because the speechwriters keep putting it on my teleprompter."

"Well," she demanded.

"Well, what?"

"What of those reporters?"

"Why, what do you suppose?" he returned impatiently. "I had them escorted off the island and of course their boat accidentally sunk without life preservers on the way to the mainland."

She laughed, "And now you think I am going to run back with you like some kind of college brat lass?"

"Don't talk like a fool," he grunted, "of course, what choice do you have?"

IllaryHay paused for a moment, He does have a point. Her feminist instincts rebelled at the thought.

"Come woman, don't be such a spitfire and why do you always have to talk like a sailor?"

"How dare you call me a woman!"

"What should I call you, a girl?"

"You better be careful you little asshole."

"Oh come on, I am not like that whore monger husband of yours. I respect women."

"Maybe, but you seem to be attracted to married blondes."

The President laughed at her, "Yes, you might be right, but I hear you have a thing for black men and guess what..."

She quickly interrupted him, "That's not true you man pig."

The President was only partly right, brown women would have been the more accurate assessment.

He scowled, his sensations a tangle of conflicting emotions. The President was angry, yet he was amused and filled with admiration for her spirit. He burned with eagerness to seize that splendid figure of hers and be crushed in her beefy arms, yet he greatly desired not to get spritzed with her can of mace. He was torn between a desire to tackle her soundly to the sand and see if he could get to first base, maybe even second! The President had stepped out onto the sandbar during their conversation, he now made a move toward her.

She sprang back whipping out her pepper spray. "Stand back you jerk off!" her voice shrilled with anger. "Touch me not you man whore, or I will spritz the living crap out of you with my pepper spray!"

He halted reluctantly his grating laugh sounding like nails on a chalkboard. Then he demanded: "Do you want me to take that toy away from you?"

"Words, nothing but words!" she mocked, a light like the gleam of the moon on muddy water dancing in her shifty eyes.

The President knew it was the truth, no weakling like himself could disarm IllaryHay with his bare hands. He knew if he came any nearer he could be risking life and limb. He had seen her one too many times throwing anything at hand at her security team and had no illusions about her threat. He could strike her with his large headed driver and disarm her, swat the aerosol can out of her hand with his club, but the thought of drawing a man's toy on a woman even without intent of injury was extremely repugnant to him.

"Blast your soul you minx!" he exclaimed in exasperation. "I'm going to..."

The President started toward her, his angry passion making him reckless and she poised herself ready to respond, backing up the sandbar. Then came a startling interruption to a scene at once ludicrous and perilous. He stopped short half crouching, ready, transformed into a figure of suspicion and fear, poised to spring and run.

IllaryHay had heard it too, a wild scream that broke at its highest note. It was the cry of a man in dire straights.
The Hairy Fiend

The Bahama Post, Times, Chronicle, Journal \- Bahamian scientists have now confirmed that the recently discovered culture inside the Bermuda Triangle knew of a doorway to another world. Glyphs depict the opening of a doorway to another universe during Cosmic Singularities, a combination of non-terrestrial events including something called a Solar Maximus, a Lunar Ellipsoid and a Great Galactic Arrangement!

Today marks the beginning of the Cosmic Singularity, a phenomena that only occurs once every five hundred years.

"What the fuck was that?"

It was IllaryHay who started violently.

She forgot her exasperation as her ears were outraged by the most frightful cry she had ever heard. It was not human, instead it was a demoniacal caterwauling of hideous triumph that seemed to exult over fallen humanity and find echo in black gulfs beyond human kind, an appalling medley of horrors unseen—a inhuman baying of terror like a man crying out in pain, a snapping of branches, or bones all in quick succession. Mingled with those sounds came the noise of a horrendous animal uproar.

A man's cries trailed off into the distance as if running for life and limb.

"What could it be?" she whispered softly, barely audible to the President.

They both listened in horror.

"What could make that kind of noise?" the President responded, fear etched upon his features.

The President rushed toward the beach as IllaryHay struggled to keep up with his long, lanky strides, their personal feud forgotten in the politicians' instinct to run and hide when in common peril.

"Come on, we have got to get out of here," demanded the President in a hushed whisper.

They waded quietly through the now shin high surf and emerged onto the island. They paused staring into the dark reaches of the overgrowth. Above them the clouds spread out amongst the blue sky canopy. About them the sunlight filtered between them enough to present an ever changing shadow of their surroundings. The fronds of the fan palms a short distance away looked dim and ghostly when the slight darkness descended upon them.

"Our donkeys are just beyond that forest edge," whispered the President, so quiet his deep voice sounded like a breeze to her ears.

"Wait, listen!" she exclaimed, fright etched in her shrill words.

The President had already heard and a chill crept through his veins, he unconsciously laid his hand on his companion's flabby, white arm.

From beyond the thicket came the noisy slashing of plants and the growl of something beastly together with the heavy breathing and slobbering sounds of a horrible creature.

"What would make that kind of noise?" whispered IllaryHay, fear intense in the tone of her voice.

The noise stopped before the President could react. "Uh oh!"

A sudden shift in the breeze had arisen and was now blowing from them directly toward the spot where the unseen creature was yet unseen.

"Wait, something's coming," mumbled the President.

The thicket was violently agitated, she now clutched the President's arm hard. Ignorant of most things in the world she knew that no animal she had ever seen could have shaken the brush like that, well maybe her husband, Billy Bob.

"It must be as enormous," the President mumbled, echoing her thoughts. "What the Devil..." his voice trailed off in stunned silence.

Through the thicket was thrust a head of the nightmare and lunacy. A gaping maw bared two rows of glistening white teeth setting off a pair of bucktooth incisors above a frothing mouth and wrinkled, flat snout. Tiny, beady eyes like those of a vile brute, only a thousand times magnified, stared unblinkingly at the petrified humans. Blood dripped from those two insanely large choppers.

The pug nose head of the creature was block-like and as mighty as a man's and sat on a squat, barrel bellied torso on absurdly skinny legs. Its black snout sniffed the air, while its small, stubby tail twitched back and forth nervously. Someone had put a pair of pink, costume, bunny ears on the creature's head and had to piss it off even more.

"Back up the sandbar, quick!" snapped the President, shoving IllaryHay aside to put her between him and the four legged menace.

With snapping jaws the mistreated canine came hurtling onto the beach as they fled to the safety of the disappearing sandbar running like leaves blown before a storm.

IllaryHay glanced backward as she trundled after the President, the titan was rearing up its head fearsomely with stubby tail waving here and there. The sight sent panic racing through her. The critter seemed more gigantic than ever.

"Get your pepper spray ready!"

The dog stopped at the ocean edge and began running back and forth, avoiding the surf. The huge headed dog barked furiously out at them as the two politicos looked on for a horrifying instant at the nightmare visage framed by pristine, white sandy beach. Its eyes flaming, the giant abruptly ceased its barking, dropping to a seated position and set about scratching like the mangy, flee bitten cur that it was.

The seconds passed like hours, all the while the fiend was now prancing back and forth, snorting the air and staring unblinkingly at them, barking all the while.

"At least we're safe for now."

She shuddered, "How long do you suppose that thing will stand there?"

"How should I know?" answered the President who now noticed the half buried skeleton. "That's a little odd."

"What?"

"This skeleton, especially the head doesn't look like anything I've ever seen before."

"What do you mean?"

He used his driver to move the skull to get a better look. "This fellow has fangs, almost like a lions only longer."

"How would you know?"

"I use to vacation in Kenya. There are no bones broken, maybe the sharks ripped whatever it is to shreds."

"Fuck that thing," she reacted, walking over and kicking the skull clattering across the sand, "what about that goddamn dog over there and how are we going to get past it and back to the lodge?"

"That bulldog has got to be owned by the local folks," responded the President, "and if so, chances are good that they are some of our toothless voters. I'd say all we have to do is sit and wait. They're bound to hear all that barking."

IllaryHay looked at him blankly, her resentment somewhat forgotten. She was fighting down the surging pangs of hunger. She had proved her reckless courage a thousand times before in wild melees against the hundreds of floozies who had come after her man. She had trampled those saucy bitches like no one else could, but now the prospect confronting her congealed her blood. A few threats, some slashed car, or bicycle tires, a few broken windows, all in the heat of a court battle was nothing, but to sit idle and helpless on the bare spit of vanishing sand besieged by a monstrous canine, the thought sent ripples of panic throbbing through her.

"That bastard eventually must leave, right?" she asked helplessly, "I mean, I don't know about you, but I'm starting to get more than a little hungry."

"That's an odd thing to say. Where were you planning on going, the local diner?"

"I spied someone having a cookout to the west, the rising smoke of a campfire."

"So."

"Did I fail to mention the heavenly hint of barbecue, too?"

"Well, that helps. How far away do you think it is?"

"No clue."

"A hundred yards, a half mile, a mile away?"

"Damnit, I said I don't know."

"I suppose it can't be that far off, not if you could smell the cookout."

IllaryHay changed the subject, "How long do you think that mutt will hang out there?"

"I can't say, keep in mind a dog like that has been trained to hunt," the President paused, adding, "but I suppose we should be grateful for one thing."

"What?"

"It at least appears to be afraid of the surf."

The President spoke imperturbably, but with the trembling, growing need of a smoker. Save for these nicotine cravings, he could endure a situation like this with a coolness impossible to a person like IllaryHay. If only his Secret Service Agent had not run off with his one and only pack of Kools.

"Can't we just wade along the shoreline and get away that way?" she asked desperately.

He shook his head, "I thought of that only the surf is really too big."

The President now took a seat, prepared to wait things out and began doodling with the sand.

"Then, what the fuck are we going to do? Are we going to sit here pulling out puds, until we starve like that?" she pointed to the half buried skeleton. "I won't do it! I'll walk down to the beach and spray the living hell out of that bulldog, first!"

He looked up with a glint of admiration at her blazing eyes and tense shaking of that canister of pepper spray, but realizing that she was in just the mood for such madness, he let none of his admiration show in his voice.

"Come on," he grunted, "you would only get hurt doing that, have you seen the teeth on that thing? Those powerful paws? Those bunny ears it's being forced to wear have to be upsetting it even more than normal. We will get out of this jam, we just have to wait, wait for someone back at the lodge to notice we're missing."

She made no reply. She was terrified, a sensation that was new to her.

Time passed, the sandbar slowly disappeared around the two, that damn fiend from Hades sat on the beach waiting to have a go at them once the encroaching tide forced them back to the white strip of sand.

So, IllaryHay stood next to the President who was now intent on building a sandcastle. Neither the strange skeleton, now getting covered by the waves, nor the mongrel on the beach seemed to disturbed the President and his thoughts.

She lapsed into dismayed silence. There seemed no way out of their mess and the President seemed to be concerned only with his sandcastle, which was now beginning to take on the shape of a relief of himself.
Fore!

The Bahama Post, Times, Chronicle, Journal \- Bahamian scientists have discovered important clues surrounding the Trianglodylians, that this culture believed in another dimension and the ability to be transported to that alternative reality, either through drugs, or some cataclysmic force of nature. Scientists continue their research into these odd beliefs and of the alternative universe.

The President abruptly stopped short, frowning now at the telltale signs of sharks and their dark shadows making their presence seen near the shore break.

Sharks! he thought to himself. What a blasted fool I am not to have thought of those killers before! Where the hell is the security team?

The President looked back at the great brute squatting on the beach intently watching them with frightful patience. So too, might an ancient dog have glared at his ancestors cornered on a fast disappearing spit of land in the dim dawn ages of time. The President responded with, "Okidoky" and a cough, then stood to a take better look around. Time was running out, that canine and now sharks. The President had an idea he had been mulling over.

"IllaryHay, it looks like we're going to have to do something."

"Well hell, it's about time."

"Let's get a little closer to that dog."

"What's your plan?"

"You'll see."

As the two strolled as close as they dared, it made the canine restless. Rising from its haunches it lashed out hideous barks all the while snapping the air, those bunny ears flopping with the motion of its gigantic head. The President watched the creature warily, with a penetrating eye reached into his belly bag. Taking out a Titleist the President carefully placed it on a slight rise in the sand. He next set about going through the motions of addressing the golf ball.

"You're going to try and hit that thing?"

"Got a better idea?"

"No."

When a good player sets up to hit the driver he, or she invariably does so with a good, wide stance and with the ball positioned opposite their left heel. The wider stance helps position the person's head from the other side of the golf ball—exactly where it should be. In his case, his legs too long, his shoulders too narrow, the President had a wider than normal stance, so the ball instead of being positioned opposite his left heel was centered between his two widespread legs.

Weight distribution favors the back leg and the back should be bent a little to the rear. In his case weight was evenly spread and the President was hunched over and looked more like he was using a putter on a green versus teeing off with a driver, picture a giraffe bending over to drink from a water hole, front legs stiff and straight.

Hunched over from the hips, his weight centered, his skinny arms resting heavily against his narrow chest, he gripped the club as one would a baseball bat. An athletic posture to be sure, but something more resembling a hockey player.

His ball teed up the President hovered the club head above the ball just like he had seen the pros do and just as it seemed that cur would never stop its yapping the President drew back his driver and with all his might, as far back as his skinny arms allowed and let fly - Twang!

The ball missed its mark slicing hard right in a long, lazy arc before it hit the woods. The shot did, however, have the effect of causing the canine to turn and scamper off to investigate the noise.

"What the hell, you missed by a mile!"

The President lied, "No, I just wanted to make sure that the swine could be distracted," indicating with his finger how the dog had vanished. "It won't be gone long, but there is a point in what I do. It is a trick I picked up on the Big Island."

"In Hawaii?"

"Yep, you just wait and see."

Grabbing another ball from his bag he handed it to IllaryHay who took it with bafflement written all over her face.

"What good will this do? I've never thrown anything in my life."

"Come on, you have never thrown a baseball?"

Woof! Woof! The bunny eared bastard was back, but did not distract the two intellectuals from their heady conversation.

"My parents never let me throw anything, instead they had me climbing everything, like the monkey bars at the kids park, the tree in the backyard, a ladder, anyone's ladder, and the fire escape at dad's office."

"Why on earth did they do that?"

"They told me it was because they both longed for me to be like Sir IllaryHay, you know the first person to reach the top of Everest, my namesake."

The President had heard the same story perpetrated by this chick during the campaign in '08, only the whole story turned out to be a complete fabrication, made up out of thin air. Turns out IllaryHay had been born before the Brit had made his fabled climb, it was a lame attempt at embellishing this otherwise painfully incompetent politician.

"Can you at least attempt throwing it? It only needs to distract that cur into looking away, take a practice throw."

The President stepped a distance to the side he thought clear of her toss.

"Okay, but you better not laugh," she spouted, before preparing to throw the ball.

Rearing back with her arm she looked as if she was nothing less than a professional baseball pitcher, nothing sissy, or innocent about her throw only her accuracy was off a bit.

Beaming the President in the back of the head while he was watching to see how far she cast the object. He fell like a ton of bricks, his legs completely collapsing from underneath him and fell to all fours. His head reeled, his buckled legs would not respond to his mind's command to rise. The President was like a sodden heap on the sand unable to move.

The President believed he had just tasted the ultimate in humiliation at her hand, shame at being knocked to the ground, by a girl, by a small, little, white ball.

That wench had always been inclined to despise men. That marriage of hers was nothing more than a sham, a not so well laid out plan to ride the coattails of her celebrity spouse to the White House. He knew it was quite likely she meant to hit him in the head and for good reason. It had to be difficult for her to come across the one man who had taken her turn as President. For him it had been easy, virtually like taking candy away from a baby.

"Mister President," she bleated out with a taint of sarcasm, "are you okay?"

He unsteadily pushed himself to his knees.

"I warned you, I told you I never learned how to throw."

"Damn bitch, that really hurt!"

"I said I was sorry you son of a bitch!"

"Say, you didn't mean to throw that at me did you?"

"Of course not, if I had I would have tried to hit you somewhere where it really counted."

"You realize that getting rid of me would not have helped your efforts in reaching the White House, in fact it might have hurt your chances. It very well may have given that halfwit Vice President of mine, Joe Bob, a shot in the next presidential election. Just remember that the next time you get any more of those smart ass ideas."

"Oh, go fuck yourself!"

He stood up wobbly and swayingly picked up the cast golf ball. "Well, at least this did not go to waste. Say, do you suppose you can hit the woods this time?"

"I don't know."

"Can you try? I do have a plan."

"Sure, why not, just make sure you're standing beside me next time."

The President nodded that he clearly understood, while rubbing his bruised noggin.

"Did you happen to notice that dog was a male?"

"No, why?"

"It means that dogs has got balls and guess what?"

"What?"

"I'm going to drive one of these," the President showed her the Titleist, "right up that things ass. Yep, there is more than one way of skinning a cat and I'm sure this plan of mine will work, but that brute has got to be distracted into looking away first."

"Come on, you're kidding right?"

"No, I'm not, that's an awfully big target, besides, I've been taking golf lessons from some of the best and most expensive instructors my team could find."

Handing the recovered ball to IllaryHay the President reached for and grabbed another.

"Come on, let's get a little closer."

Still wobbling slightly, the President clutched the driver close to his chest and began to address the cur above the sound of the breaking waves.

"What are you waiting for you misbegotten offspring of questionable parents?" was one of his more engaging questions. "Stick your balls in my face one more time you donkey eared mutt, or do you want me to come over and kick those silly bunny ears off your head?"

There was more of it, some of it crouched in articulateness that made IllaryHay begin to believe the President was a real, honest to goodness sissy. The President's scathing declarations had, however, its effect upon the canine. Just as the incessant crying of a baby in coach class during an overseas flight disturbs and makes crazy constitutionally silent fellow passengers, so the clamorous chattering of this skinny, brown man roused psychotic rage in the dogs bosom. With appalling suddenness the mastodonic brute made a dash toward the two in a furious effort to reach this vociferous man whose yelling was disturbing the pastoral silence of its beachside realm, only to stop short again of the surf.

"You big chicken!" yelled the President.

Drawing aside to avoid being smacked anew the President dropped the ball on the sand, the first step in striking what he hoped would be a mortal blow. The President now aligned his body, feet, hips and shoulders parallel to the target line of where he estimated that critter's family jewels would end up.

"Are you ready?" the President asked, sweat now beading on his brow with tension, his hands trembling for the need of a smoke.

"Yes."

"When I say run, run!"

"Run, run where?"

"To that cookout, of course."

She was confused, "But, how do we..."

"Now, throw it!"

She hesitated for just a second then threw the ball. This time it sailed over the curs head and moments later hit the woods!

The mongrel heard the racket and cut short its barking turning to see what was what. The President had judged his line up perfectly, the creature's derrière was lined up to perfection with where his ball had to fly. Just two dozen yards separated the bullseye from the President. All the President had to do was hit the thing straight - Twang!

IllaryHay watched as the ball hooked hard left missing the menace by a wide margin only to go dancing off the beach one, two, three times.

The canine saw the ball this time running the thing down like a golden retriever.

The President flinched, his obvious failings as a golfer having stung his self esteem, his lack of skill at just about anything outside basketball was now further exposed. The President clutched the driver close to his chest, then turning grinned his apologies back at the stunned looking woman.

"I thought you told me you could golf?"

He shuddered, "I really need a smoke."

"That certainly goes without saying!"

Woof! Over on the beach the bunny eared canine was now wallowing like a puppy playing with that newfound plaything. The dog shook his head from side to side ball in its mouth, pawed at it and repeatedly chewed it. Presently it got his huge front paws on the thing and managed to tear the covering off. Then it threw his head back, jaws wide tossing it into the air.

This exhibition of furiousness chilled the blood in the woman's veins, but the President was really a person at heart too close to the uncivilized himself to feel anything but a comprehending interest. To this man of the Islands no such gulf existed between himself and nature, not as existed in concept for the cosmopolitan matron. The rabbit eared cur before the President was merely a form of life differing from himself mainly in physical shape. The President attributed its characteristics like his own and saw in its playfulness the counterpart of his shenanigans back in the capitol, in its roars and bellowings merely animal-like equivalents of the name calling he often bestowed upon those who did not believe the same kindred, oddball things. Feeling a familial tie with all untamable things, even that creature, it was impossible for him to experience the sick horror that assailed IllaryHay at the sight of the brute's ferocity with that golf ball.

The President sat watching it tranquilly and pointed out the various changes that were taking place in its barks and actions. No longer was the cur glaring at the two interlopers with such concentration and fury, that dog was playing.

"Well, at least that thing is playing with a bombshell and doesn't yet know it."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"That golf ball has a liquid center," the President communicated with conviction, "and under some extreme pressure. With any luck it will blow up in that mutts face and scare it off."

"I don't fucking believe it!" To IllaryHay it seemed preposterous to suppose that anything that small could have any effect on that bundle of muscle and rage. "That's your terrific plan!"

"Oh look there," the President said, pointing, "there is now joy in the dogs barking. First, that dog was very aggressive, but now see how happy it looks, almost like a puppy. Look, it's wagging its stubby tail! We might even be able to go pet that mutt in a half hour."

IllaryHay trembled with recklessness as she drew her pepper spray. She had enough of this nonsense, she was hungry enough to eat a horse and she would do anything, even rip that creature's head off to get to some ribs.

"What, what are you doing?"

"I am going to go kill that goddamn mutt, that's what!"
Run!

The Bahama Post, Times, Chronicle, Journal \- Excavations have uncovered a further vital clue surrounding the Trianglodylian Culture, one that could rewrite history. The map-like pictograph depicts a fourth point outside the original three points of the Bermuda Triangle. Located on part of the southeastern coast of the United States, a place called Cumberland Island. If true the new revelation would force cartologists to redraw the Bermuda Triangle into a Bermuda Quadrangle.

All of a sudden something sounded off in the distance. The cur stopped playing, stood stationary and alert, intently listening. The noise of a distant whistle now made its presence discerned over the crashing surf. With harsh, grating barks the canine went plowing off through the bushes, soon disappearing from view.

"He's running away!" she exclaimed, jumping with joy.

"He is making for that whistle!" shouted the President as he jumped to his feet, galvanized into swift action. "The call of his owner leads him away, come on!"

"Where?" she asked, aghast and unsure.

"We will make for that cookout! Those folk may be knuckle draggers with bad breath, but they might be our only chance to get back to the lodge. Come on, before that bastard starts coming back!"

She hesitated for some odd reason.

"Come on IllaryHay, it's sure craziness to stay here!"

She still did not stir.

"There is no time for this bullshit!"

She persisted in her hesitation.

"What about those barbecue ribs?"

That broke the spell.

The President took long lanky strides through the surf not quite reaching the beach and looking like a stork, he paused only to aid his less agile companion who, until she saw his odd clambering had fancied herself the equal of any man in the tanglement of Washington.

They labored through the shallow surf leaving neigh a hair of a trail for the bulldog to follow, just far enough to throw the dog off their trail and then raced into the gloom of the forest.

A noisy howling and yapping to the north in the dense thicket indicated that the damnable canine was on its way back.

With a scorching oath, "Motherfucker!" she stumbled bewilderedly after the President, but blundered into the dolt when he unexpectedly stopped in his tracks. The President reeled from the impact as from a freight train getting knocked a clear yard away to the mossy turf. Gasping from the blow he let out a whimper, "Owww, that smarted." Picking himself up the President quickly regained his voice adding, "We will wait here till it leaves."

"He leaves!" she mumbled, unbelievingly. She felt as if the pounding of her heart must surely be heard from far away. "That could take hours you numbskull!"

"I don't think he's picked up our trail, but we can't take any chances of it hearing you plodding around like a..."

"Watch it buster, unless you want a knuckle sandwich."

The President thought better of calling her a cow. "I meant to say if the wind doesn't change direction."

"That's better you dork."

IllaryHay's face was a pallid sphere in the wooded gloom. She tightened her grip on the pepper spray with a free hand, but the feel of the unsheathed dispenser inspired little confidence.

They were still some distance from the edge of the beach when they heard a snapping and crashing behind them.

She bit her lip to check a cry, "Shit, it's on our trail!"

The President shook his head, "No, it hasn't picked us up on the beach, it is just blundering about through the woods trying to pick up our scent. Come on! It is now, or nothing! If only the wind stays down."

The President gripped her wrist and guided her away from the hide. He made less noise with the rising breeze blowing among the tree trunks, however, for her part IllaryHay's sandaled feet seemed to be breaking branches with every step. They stole on until the trees began to thin out ahead! From the other side of them the forest was a black impenetrable ocean of darkness. The ominous crashing still sounded behind them as the creature blundered in his erratic course to find the two.

"There," the President pointed, "there is the path up ahead."

"Thank God, a little more of these bullshit shrubs and I'm not sure I would have..."

"Hell!" swore the President, turning pale.

"Goddamnit!" she cursed, grimacing with fear.

The wind was changing direction, it now was blowing directly over them and into the dark undergrowth. Instantly, a horrible screeching shook the woods. The aimless snapping and cracking of the brush changed to a sustained crashing as the critter came like a hurricane straight toward the spot from which the scent of its prey wafted.

"High tail it!" snarled the President, his eyes blazing like those of a trapped wolf. "It's all we can do!"

Golf shoes are not made for sprinting and the life of a golfer does not train one to be a runner. Within a hundred yards the President was panting and reeling in his gait and behind them the crashing gave way to a rolling trot as the monster broke out of the thickets and onto the trail behind them.

He pushed her on, shouting, "Keep going!"

"What?"

"I've got an idea!"

"What the fuck!"

Her feet scarcely left anything untouched as she bounded on, she was borne along at a speed she never thought possible.

The President stopped, slipping into cover and quickly pulled another golf ball from his belly bag as he watched the rabbit, which was IllaryHay, trundling away before dropping it for a halfway decent lie.

A quick glance over her shoulder showed her that the monster was closing in on her, coming like a tidal wave after an earthquake.

Hollering in terror, she ran as fast as her sandaled feet would carry her.

"That's it IllaryHay," the President whispered, with a grimacing smile, "keep holding that dogs attention."

The mongrel ran past him as planned focused only on the lumbering fair haired maiden in the oversized pantsuit.

"If I can get just one lucky shot off," he mumbled, concentration etched upon his features.

Putting his head down, lining up the shot, looking up momentarily to take aim at the bastards tail end, the President pulled back with that oversized driver of his and was about to strike.

IllaryHay unwittingly did her part. Convinced that injury was upon her she acted according to her most basic animal instincts and turned on the fiend, pepper spray in hand. Her wide eyed gaze was fixed in agonized intensity, which caused pause for the mongrel just long enough for her to spray the thing in the face.

Yipe! The canine yelped in pain from the spritzing.

The President now swung his driver, only the duffer got the club stuck on the backswing in some branches. Struggling momentarily to dislodge his weapon the President pulled it free from the catch only to watch as the driver, not the golf ball, went sailing at the dogs rear end.

Yipe! The double whammy of both pepper spray and now getting slammed in the balls by a flying driver...it was too much.

YIPE! The cur cut out with pain searing cries.

He had done it! She had done it!

Just how they had pulled it off not even they could venture to guess, but both would exaggerate the telling of this tale, a heroic legend that was all but guaranteed to show up in high school history books.

Anyhow, now the only thought that filled his mind was that of the babe standing agape and motionless on the path. She stood where she had stopped, then dropped unceremoniously to her knees. Neither those bucktooth incisors, nor trampling paws had touched her and that canine, it had rushed on forgetting them completely taking a headlong course into the darkness wailing all the way. The crashing noise of the creature's spirited flight grew fainter and fainter. The two thought they had made it, that they were in the clear of danger, but unbeknownst to them something far more sinister and dangerous was headed their way.

The President came upon her after picking up his driver, "You must get to your feet, we need to get going. Come on," the President muttered, taking his companion's hand, "it's touch and go now. If more mongrels come after us."

He did not have to finish the sentence. From a kneeling posture she slowly pushed herself to her feet. "God, I really am hungry," she responded, drool uncontrollably dribbled from the corner of her mouth at the thought of plugging something into her pie hole. "Say, where was that damn cookout?"

IllaryHay stumbled off head raised trying to regain the aroma of that heavenly feast, while the President paused for an instant to glance back at the dark fastness of the pathway. Leaves were now being blown from the trees as the breeze turned quickly into a strong, gusty wind. Not a bird could now be seen, it was becoming a stormy, eery setting. He now turned and pressed on after the woman running to catch up with his long legged gait, golf club in hand.

Time seemed to pass quickly as the two strolled along together. It gave the President some time to consider his true feelings for his female companion. When he was running the country during his epoch as President, when the mob was under his spell and the drums of the press beat out eulogies and praises of him often laced with gold dust everywhere. Now, however, the truth of the man was out and all those in the media who once idolized him were no longer kissing his ass. No longer were those liberals working on his behalf, on the mindless, on the inane. The press were no longer lavishing praise and idolatry on him, it was all going to that woman walking by his side.

His most outspoken detractors had always hated those in power for too long. To them perfection was always just behind the last corner, or beyond the next. They escaped the present in dreams of the past, or the future. The flaming torch of liberalism was rising and he could not help but suppose it was now being passed on to the woman at his side. Should he attempt to ruin her? Would that end his deep set feelings of loss, end his misery? Some months ago he might have considered the act when he had not lost all ambition, but still enjoyed being the celebrity of the folk. Could he rise again to those heights, or would the rest of his life be a place where those old dreams no longer stirred? He would be forced to retire from the Presidency, she would then mount the throne. Then she, too, would be replaced. One by one, all who followed him would lose their place as temporary rulers, those who could not rid the country of the 22nd Amendment were all ultimately doomed to the same fate.

"King," he whispered to himself, as an epiphany overtook him. He shrugged his narrow shoulders, "that had once had an agreeable ring to it."

There were numerous claps of thunder in the near distance and coming on fast. Their surroundings were fast becoming dark as night. Something really, really wicked was his way coming!
Another Dimension?

National Weather Service Alert \- A line of severe weather is racing across the eastern half of the United States in advance of a major cold outbreak. A tornado watch will be in effect from 1:00PM to 6:00PM EST for the following counties: Camden, McIntosh, Telfair.

Somewhere beyond the forest, beyond the path, the sun had long ago sunk into a mass of threatening darkness the likes of which the President had never seen. The island had become a gloomy place of dark shadows and dim vistas, the winds seeming to make the world around him shift.

The sky had a queer, greenish aura and the howl of the winds through the trees was near deafening. It was as if a hurricane were approaching, only worse. The trees were bowing under the tempest in waves, one came crashing down just feet away. Soon, the two wayfarers were running for their lives down that path, thoughts of food now replaced by thoughts of self preservation. It was impossible to resist the fear now growing inside each of them. It did not matter where that trail was taking them farther and further into the hinterland, further and farther away from the safety of the hunting lodge, farther and further into a sinister, unwelcoming world.

IllaryHay suddenly caught sight of something even more horrific, "Oh shit, a tornado!"

The President looked off in the same direction. It was true! Obscured by rain and flying debris he could make out the V-shaped trunk of the colossal monster.

"Where in the hell can we go?" she screeched, just discerned above the roar of the tempest.

Shielding his eyes with his forearms, the President looked around for some place of safety and discovered it! "Look," he exclaimed, pointing off down the trail, "a cabin!"

The shack looked to be just within reach, the two just might make it!

"Run!"

Behind them trees were uprooted and carried away like feathers, as weird fingers of sparks and lightening danced around the rotating vortices.

Screaming in panic, they stumbled their way up onto the porch, the President turning an ashen grey as he attacked the door with his fists when he found, "Damn the doors locked! Open up you idiots, it is I your President!"

"Hey!"

"Open the goddamn, Huh!"

"Hey, the window's open!" hollered IllaryHay, barely audible to his ears.

She was the first into the breach, but only to get stuck midway through.

Terror had seized the President who looked like a madman with his shrieking, pushing and shoving, he succeeded in clearing the human plug and just made it through in time to slam the window shut, then all hell broke loose.

The redneck's shack seemed to take on a motion of its own, as if it were being torn from the foundation and lifted into the air. The room was lit as if by a disco ball, with wild flickering lights of bright yellows, oranges, greens and purples engulfing them and about them flew the life's accumulations of a Southern cracker family. As the out of this world turbulence shrieked outside around them, IllaryHay's hair stood straight up on end from static making her look like a life sized Chia Pet.

The cyclone wrenched the chantey up without warning spinning them madly in the core of effulgence and blinding stabs of light. The cabin echoed with the pairs' screams under the agony of their combined fears. The horrible sensation of flying, the strobe light effect, the terrifying roar of the winds quickly proved more than IllaryHay could bare and she blacked out. The President did not faint, but gallantly clung to his driver like it were his teddy bear in one arm, clutched IllaryHay's by the hair with the other and scissoring the antique bed frame with his legs to keep stationary. Holding on tight, he expected any second would be their last.

The President's fear was evidenced by his long, drawn out shrieks of fright that went ringing from his pie hole only to disappear in the buffeting clangor of the howling maelstrom. The President began to weep, dry eyed, with harsh not heard sobs that shook his frame. His sobbing grew shriller, changed to frightful, delusional laughter and that in turn became histrionic screaming, when the Cracker's wardrobe began flying around the room. He could not take his eyes from the mayhem just outside the window, the flying bedroom furnishings. He could not long maintain his grip, nor sanity, especially when he began being pummeled by the contents of a dresser, including a pair of yellowed dentures. The President thought he would go stark, raving mad if the bedlam continued much longer.

Almost as if his wish had been answered the spinning motion of the cabin began to slow. The odd paraphernalia of a Southern Cracker's belongings began floating about as if suspended in zero gravity. The President's eyes darted to a doorway that must have led to the kitchen where a baker's rolling pin came spinning effortlessly in like a scout. He looked on with horror as more and more of the redneck's kitchenware came floating in. Holy shit, not the forks, not the knives!

The President yanked her close to him, first thinking of using her as protection, only to quickly realize there was another option. Sticking his driver between his teeth like a pirate the President used his free hand to navigate to the opposite side of the bed, the plan was to use the mattress for protection, as the room and furnishings danced about in the light of natures disco. Suddenly, there was a loud bang. Boom!

One of the windows instantly gave way disappearing immediately into the surrounding maelstrom. The vacuum quickly started sucking out trash and furnishings, as he grabbed and held onto the bed frame with all his might. Luckily, the President had started lifting with twenty pound dumbbells, instead of the normal ten pounders, the month before and was just up to the task of holding fast onto to everything: the bed frame, his driver and IllaryHay's hair.

Soon the President had had enough of weathering the storm on his own and began shouting for IllaryHay to wake up. No good, she remained unconscious. Terrified and thinking they would soon be sucked out into oblivion, he reacted with callousness banging her head against the wood plank floor. It worked!

Suddenly, Boom! another window blew out.

As if things were not bad enough, the light show outdoors now sprang to life inside their small room running over their bodies with stinging fingers of static electricity; painful, slender fingers of an unearthly energy stabbed here and there about the two through the windowless openings.

The wind howled around them. Both had trouble riding out the maelstrom. First IllaryHay, then the President lost their grip of the one thing to remain mostly stationary, the bed frame, each spinning around weightless inside the bedroom. Thankfully, most of the trash and redneck paraphernalia had flown the coupe, so the two only had to contend with running into one another, or being sucked out one of the windows.

Once, the President drifted too close to one of the open windows and had the hair of his right leg sandblasted off. Screaming out for help, he was caught by one of his ears by his fellow traveler, the problem was his momentum of her yanking action had put him on a course through the other missing window, head first. Crying like a baby, he was now missing his eagles feather and sported a monk's tonsure, from where his head had partially met with the furious winds outside.

For her part, IllaryHay had remained pretty much unscathed, save for looking like a Chia Pet. As time passed, however, the President had entertained for the briefest of moments the thought of pushing her noodle through one of the windows as revenge for his missing hair. The thought, however, quickly passed when he correctly surmised he was not likely to win any physical contest involving that specimen of female manliness.

Time seemed to carry little meaning in this, the inner core of the tornado. The air about them crackled with sparks, the metal bed frame each were holding onto seemed to miraculously absorb most of the electrical discharges. Both failed in communicating with one another, the winds shrieked about too loudly. Without knowing, both's greatest fears remained the thought of being dashed to smithereens when the whirlwind had run its course. Suddenly a tingling sensation overcame each of them, followed by some slight nausea, then they blacked out.
Two Butterflies Emerge

The Washington Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- The Secret Service has discovered that IllaryHay is missing. Her steed, a symbol of her political party, a donkey, was discovered near dead romping around the nature preserve minus the Democrat candidate. Her spouse and former President cannot be found, either. Political consultant and close friend James ArvilleCay explains the reason Billy Bob is incognito is because, "He be search'n fo' he miss'n bride. Be no mistag'n it, he luv her 'n feared of her mis, mis, mis'potusne (misfortune)."

A sudden clap of thunder and the twirling mayhem came to an abrupt, crashing halt - Bang!

In a blur the President was awakened and felt a sudden, stabbing headache, as if he had been clobbered over the head with a broom by his wife. It took the briefest of moments for him to catch his wits, however, a bizarre thing considering the catastrophe that surrounded him. He sat up slowly and was soon squinting around blurry eyed and trying to make out his whereabouts. The last thing he remembered was seeing the front door of the cabin crashing open, a tree trunk and then the lights went out. The President felt a little weird, but for some strange reason, weird in a newfangled marvelous sort of way.

The President could make out that he was no longer spinning around, nor that his setting was any longer dark as night for the sunshine was bright and streaming in from overhead, flooding his surroundings with light and blinding him from making out anything clearly. It took him sometime to clear his head and with that accomplished he spent the next half hour trying to get to his feet only to finally give up.

The President gave a slight cry of amazement as his vision began to clear, his eyes growing bigger and more massively as he took in the surroundings of all the wonderful, ineffable sights. The shanty had been set down jarringly in the midst of a strange land of unfamiliar noises, bizarre smells and odd sights. First, the overpowering redolence of his pollen ladened surroundings assailed his olfactories causing him to sneeze thunderously, thunderously like never before. Next, a chaotic cacophony of utter racket assaulted his ears, the noisy buzzing of flying insects resonated throughout his forest surroundings. Then there came the head banging chirping sound from winged creatures the likes he had never seen before. The head pounding sound of nut cracking hairy squirrels the size of beavers in the trees was the last straw. He roared thunderously, thunderously like never before, "Shut up!"

Most of the sounds went away, but not all. The squirrel things continued with their nut cracking.

"Shut the hell up I say!" Everything went abruptly quiet! "That better, now me have time to think."

The beach sand, the fan palms and prickly undergrowth under stubby, stunted trees, all that was gone replaced by a world looking more like the Pacific Northwest! The faint, raging torrent of a mountain stream now came beckoning to his ears calling him to come and slake his thirst.

The President found he could not get to this feet in the normal way, so he crawled to all fours. After a time he managed to get to one knee, only to gain his feet when he had grabbed onto a tree for support. He took several shaky steps before falling, then tumbling he rolled down hill toward the sound of the rushing water. Some minutes later, he came rolling upon the sparkling, mountain stream. He was again dazed and unclearly thinking, as he rolled his way over to a calm portion of the stream. Slowly, ever so slowly he got to all fours and then wasted little time in plunging his head into the icy cold waters, gulping mouthfuls and looking like a sort of goldfish underwater.

Pulling his head from beneath the surface for just an instant he plunged it in again, and again, and again. The President never remembered being so thirsty. He paused for a few moments to catch his wind. The surface of the pool was given time to become mirror-like. The President gasped for another breath and was just about to go under again when he caught sight of something in the reflection. He jumped back, then shrieked, "Ayieeeee!"

He looked quickly around ready to cry out again, but stopped short of attempting to get up and run away.

"What that?"

Breathing heavily with fright he crouched forward cautiously to take another look - Gasp!

There it was again, the shadowy reflection he had glimpsed moments before returning his ogling. The huge outline of an apish creature returned the President's gaze, the thing had both an overall brutal and uncivilized quality of appearance.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, then with further shock did he realize the reflection had uttered his own curse! "Is me?"

The vague features the President was witnessing were nearly unrecognizable, he would certainly notice after a lifetime of admiring oneself in any passing mirror, and why was he talking like most of his voters?

A kind of dark terror grew within him at the ghastly sight in the reflecting pool, a fear heightened by the incredible darkness of his now Mephistophelean features, but with the same huge ears of his, same short cropped hairdo and something resembling a bald spot on top of his now lowbrow head. Eyes, large, deep set and unblinking stared back at him with just the kind of stupefied look one would expect to come across with the base rungs of the evolutionary ladder.

The President was a giant with an enormous sweep of breast and the shoulders of a bull. He glanced down at himself, his sleeves were tight fitting and revealed forearms with gargantuan, corded muscles. Unlike before, he now looked more like Lou Ferrigno dressed up as 'the Hulk,' not as a weekend golfer with twenty stroke handicap. On the contrary, his countenance now carried the marked appearance of a barbarian, not in name alone, but the real deal. Just as his reptilian eyes and his thick, broad nose added to the appearance of this wild beast. Above all else, any outside observer would have been struck by his peepers, orbs that both radiated the lack of and beckoned for something resembling intelligence, a coherent thought, anything save for the void that existed from the other side of those blank, beady eyes of his.

As the President stared at his reflection for what seemed an eternity, strangely, imperturbably he was slowly beginning to have a soft spot for what he was making out in that natural mirror. He was no longer looking like the ordinary pantywaist he had once been. A wimp like those pictured in Russia when some secreted photos of him straining with a pair of ten pound dumbbells was downloaded out onto the internet. Now, he was roughly a giant in stature from what he could see with bulging muscles that stood out in thick corded ridges.

He looked admiringly at his brawny meathooks, which were now brutish, bushy, sinewy, beefy and unmanicured. His arms, too, were now muscled, burly, furry and the size of a woman's thigh. He looked next down at his white Polo shirt, it was no longer loose fitting, but stretched to the breaking point and barely able to contain his newfound muscularity rippling with his each movement.

He lifted his shirt, shouted, "Yes!" at the sight of a six pack of corded muscles where none had existed before, But what's this?

"What duh hell?" he exclaimed with reverberating voice.

Something was wrong, not everything had become different for the better. "Why legs not better?"

For some unfathomable reason the Gods had shorted him on his miraculous transformation into a savage, primordial beefcake, but leaving him largely unchanged from his navel down!

"Me cheated!" he shouted, his disconcertment echoing around the forest causing things that flew to flight, critters that walked to flee, things that burrowed to burrow.

The eyes of the 'man creature' were hard, almost afire with the scintillating shallowness of a newfangled barbarian and they now reflected just one single thought, a dull glimmer like that of a five watt bulb. There had been some slight happiness in those beady eyes of his before, but now there was anything but jocularity resonating, instead only the questioning look of - Why?

His eyes, deep set and staring from under a now prominent, now pronounced brow were both cold and deep. Gazing down onto those still skinny legs of his, one of which was hairy as could be, the other with just a little stubble. One would have been left with the impression that the Gods had some humor in their actions - Why?

Overall the President now resembled something akin to a cartoon character, one of those top heavy, 'Johnny Bravo' types, one of those brain dulled hunks you always saw working out at Golds Gym, or occasionally at a bar who used pickup lines like, "You pretty, I pretty, why don't we go home, have a drink and play postoffice?"

The President now spent countless vacuous moments pondering the lower half of his, otherwise perfect beefcake bod. He now spent a countless amount of time contemplating various ideas, one thought slowly replacing another, attempting to come up with a way he could bring those toothpicks into line with the rest of his savage form.

"Me know, me do squats! Yea, dat work!" A few moments passed, then a grimacing grin came to his hardened features unseen by anything in his empty, forest surroundings.

"Me know, me run everywhere!"

Yet, a few more moments passed.

"Yep, dat work, too!"

Suddenly, the President was arrested from the emptiness of those thoughts by an uproar that came echoing from nearby in the woods. There was something familiar about baying creature, its roars almost sounded human.

"Dat sound," he murmured to himself, "is dat a human?"

The President started to stand as he normally would, but again, the combination of newfound upper body mass carried on the same skinny, underdeveloped, long, lanky legs in cleated golf shoes translated into a sort of clumsiness he never before had to consider. Just standing was now a major undertaking. He teetered to his feet, lost his balance and did a half cartwheel onto the rock strewn ground with a heavy thump.

Amazingly the President's newfangled, beastial, Herculean exterior absorbed the punishment of the fall like it never happened!

"I not feel pain," he grinned broadly, because he was now a real, honest to goodness beefcake; a real, slow thinking, hair growing everywhere Troglodyte, "me now a real goddamn hunk!"

The President, however, had to pick himself up very gingerly, very carefully, because the simple act of standing now took grace and balance, especially on slippery rocks and particularly wearing cleated Oxfords. Swaying back and forth for a moment, his humongous arms outstretched to steady himself, the President now set about placing carefully one foot in front of the other and looking as if he was some sort of tightrope artist. Slowly, one foot, then another, left then right, again left then right, cautiously tiptoeing his way toward the unearthly row, making a beeline toward the racket and pausing only to rip apart obstructing vegetation happening to block his way. He looked like a Caterpillar tractor tearing up the Amazon rainforest with his fantastic musculature.

"What this?" He had come upon a track through the forest, his cleated shoes made a horrific scouring noise as he strode onto the leafy pathway. He looked more closely at his footing. "What this, yellow stone?" He brushed some of the litter away with his shoe, lost his balance and fell again hard upon solid rock - "Yipe!"

At ground level the President, turned barbarian, got a firsthand view of a rocky path that led off into the forest. He pushed himself to his knees, again noticing he felt no pain, and brushed aside some of the leafy clutter with his gigantic, muscled hands. The sandy path of Cumberland Island had been replaced by a yellow, lava rock road and, it too, headed off to the south before disappearing in the woods - Aroo roo oof!

The inhuman howling, again, came to his mighty ears beckoning to come hither and discover its source. Again, the President regained his feet with some great difficulty.

Whatever was making that roaring commotion was only a short distance off.

Moments later, the President crushed aside one last tree that stood blocking his path. It was at that moment his eyes set straightaway upon the disturbing sight. The huge, furry figure was lying sprawled out upon the woodland floor apparently asleep - Aroo roo oof!

The creature was face up, its gaping maw echoing like a bear hybernating through a widespread orifice. He drew closer to the thing with caution, only to let out a note of horror, "Oh my God, she too morph!"
A New Us

The New York Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- Search by the Secret Service, the FBI, the CIA and a dozen other government departments and agencies continues for the missing Presidential Candidate. Last seen galloping off on her donkey, rumor has it her husband has become the primary suspect in his wife's disappearance and is under questioning: for her whereabouts, about the underage teen he was caught fondling in a backyard shed.

The press continues to marvel at how the former President continues to tie investigators up in knots with his extraordinary, baffling utterances like, "When you say she 'is' missing, it depends on what you mean 'is,' 'is?'"

The only way the President could truly tell the laid out figure on the ground was IllaryHay was by the canister of mace still clipped onto one of the things hips. Like him she had also morphed into something else, something more beastly, more uncivilized looking and oh so wonderful for him to gaze upon. Now she had a huge, heaving chest and large, muscular shoulders, but no longer sported her pointy, narrow head. Her forehead was low and receding like his and her face had a hint of a four o'clock shadow. Her yellowish hair was tangled and looked like a mop. It was instantly obvious to him that she was a bottle blonde and one too many days away from the hair coloring specialist, her dark roots at this moment looking like those sported by some cheap woman of the night.

Her whole countenance had reflected unusual dimensions before, but now, now those proportions had been carried to something like the third power. She did, however, still possess some slight femininity of appearance. Yes, she was still all woman, but a prehistoric woman who remained physically huge boned. The low diving neckline of her white stained blouse still descended to a point where a now bountiful set of breasts could be seen bulging towards the sky like small mountains.

IllaryHay's pantsuit, which had fallen short by a hands length from the ground and only shown her ankles looked like a high water design exposing enormous, hairy calves. She had to be as tall as he was by the looks of things. Her slacks were no longer loose fitting, but filled out by what must have been gargantuan hairy thighs and ass. Her most grievous departure from the normal, however, were her once petite feet, those tootsies of hers had become Hobbit-like clodhoppers, now so colossal they had torn asunder her sandals with only one of the cowhide straps still hanging together by a shred. Instead of flaming red and neatly trimmed toenails they were yellowed and unmanicured. Funny thing is, this repulsive visage of the fleecy thing lying in front of him now seemed more seductive to him in a sort of primitive, barbaric way.

Fierce fingers of wonder tugged at his heart. Yes, she was still colossally boned, yet she could also be mistaken for a goddess, at once bountiful and more voluptuous. The President's eyes burned with a reinvigorated potency no one could mistake for anything but antediluvian desire. He felt a weird tingling sensation come over him, a shiver that ran down his right leg. Now that tremoring was climbing his left leg, then slowly the feeling ascended up his spine and about ten seconds later scrambled up into his cerebral cortex, then back down to his third leg. He slowly started to get some wood and he laughed merrily in an almost inhuman utterance of enchantment.

"Sheet, nice!"

The sleeping beauty replied, "Snort!"

"Me wake her up," he mumbled in his newfangled, bestial vocalism.

"Wake up," he spoke hoarsely, yet softly.

She responded to his urgings with more burdensome breathing.

"Wake me say," he demanded less genteelly, more assertively.

The damsel answered him with more snuffling.

"Not working, no wake up," he mumbled to himself in a callous, upset groan.

More heavy breathing was her only reply.

The President thought first of pulling a flower from the many that covered the surroundings, then to tickle one of her fuzzy ears with it, but dropped the idea when he remembered it would force him to stoop and then likely stumble to the turf.

A thought came to him as evidenced by a roughly intelligent look that appeared on his face. "Me know what do." He carefully walked over to a nearby spruce and ripped off a limb like some insignificant rotten twig with his gigantic, hardened hands. Next, he sauntered to her side and set about tickling one of her fleecy ears.

She unconsciously shooed his annoying efforts away with her hand like she would a fly, but otherwise did not budge from her deep slumber.

Angered now by her spurning at his attempts he spoke loudly, "Okay, me had enough. Now, me yell like barbarian." He inhaled deeply filling his mighty and powerful lungs like a smiths bellows and was just about to shriek out as only a cave dweller could, or would, but just as critical mass was reached a shockwave exploded all over the place, not from his mouth, it tore loose from his other end - Vroom!

It was the granddaddy of all farts, so stupendous, so resonating, so dreadful that even he, now a barbarian, turned red with embarrassment, but it worked!

IllaryHay awoke with a start! Sitting jacked up, her face lost something of its human aspect, a nimbus of disgust played upon her features. Gagging with insufferable repugnance she came very close to hurling on herself. To make matters worse there was no breeze to speak of to disperse the President's debarment.

She gasped and panted for a quick moment, then spilled forth some explicatives in a voice that was both husky and unwomanly. She caught sight of a blurry outline of a huge, ogre looking figure standing perched over her. The thing was broadly built, with long apish arms and a mighty chest, but with lean loins and thin bandy legs. His face was broad, his forehead low and retreating, his hair close cropped to his smallish skull. Terrified at his frightful sight she threw back her head and screamed at the top of her lungs. An inhuman, horrible, siren trilling that would have shattered glass - Ayieeeee!

It was nearly too much for the President who quickly covered his sizable ears, then high-wire stumbled a distance away to keep from going nuts, too.

She pressed on with her caterwauling only pausing long enough to catch her breath.

"Wait!" he shouted pleading, his hands still covering his ears.

Her screeching came again full blast upon the scene, another uncivilized, primordial, ear shattering, unhinged shrieking.

"No, wait," the President yelled, "it me, the President!"

"What that putrid smell?"

She shrieked again with fright, fury, chagrin and lashed out in frustration with a kick at the President, but only succeeded in striking empty air.

"Me serious, me the President."

"Me not care! Me...Gag! Me can't breathe!"

"It go away soon," he explained, waving his hands about in an attempt to disperse his foulness.

Her breathing came pantingly and she continued to hold her nose closed. "You not look like him."

Seconds passed as he awaited for a response from his smaller, simpler brain. He eventually replied cheerfully, "Me change!"

IllaryHay's eyes began to grow as she started to make out more clearly her situation. Her narrowed eyes beheld her surroundings and in those half open orbs she showed neither signs of happiness, nor thankfulness to be alive. She peered only as a foreigner might with the bewilderment of someone whose eyes are filled with the sight of paradise for their first time. She caught sight of the President, now realizing that the skinny weakling had indeed become different looking.

"Holy crap!" Her eyes flashed as she surveyed the new him. She was both repulsed and a bit terrified by the spectacle of the gargantuan thing standing before her. She noticed the President had become a real honest to goodness brute, but had also retained some of the qualities of the original wimp. She noticed his big ears were still there. He was still carrying that ladies driver and wearing that silly belly bag from his hip. The figure calling himself the President was even still wearing those metal cleated Oxfords and those Scottish, Anglo plaid shorts. Other than his long, skinny legs, everything else about the President had completely morphed. His top heavy bodybuilder physique, his features, they reminded her of her television heartthrob as a youth, The Hulk. On the downside, she noticed the President now sported a single brow running from one temple of his blockish head to the other and acting as a sort of sunshade for his deeply set baby browns. She laughed, grinning wide and now with a tooth missing, "What the fuck, you look like a goddamn barbarian!"

A couple of seconds passed, before the President reacted. Barbarian, he thought, there is something magical and romantic about that title.

"Yes, it me," the President grinned, then adding, "Do favor, no more screaming. Hurt ears. Drive mad."

Not clear on what he had said, she disregarded his mangled speech and only set about trying to rise to her feet.

"You hot now," he beamed, smiling ear to ear.

Hot? Nobody, I mean like nobody had ever referred to her as being hot looking, not even her lesbian lovers. "Hot, what mean? What me look like," she asked, a little concerned that, she too, might have become different like her companion.

A couple moments passed, before he reacted with some chuckling, "Well, you cuddly and fuzzy now."

"Shit," she exclaimed, as she quickly began touching her face, "impossible, me just waxed!"

More seconds passed. "Got dark roots, too!"

"Shut hole, that enough!"

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

"Okay, okay, just no scream."

"Why time delay? Why you talk like dummy now?"

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Some seconds later the President responded, "You speak stupid, too!"

"No, me not," she responded, heatedly.

The two sounded like a couple of morons talking in some sort of uneducated, 'left wing' dialect.

Seconds later, the President was also beginning to get a little pissed off, "Yes, do!"

"No not, wait! What I just say?" IllaryHay suddenly had an epiphany, Wait a second, is the dickhead right?

Moments later, the hairy hunk pressed on with the argument of some time past, "You say, 'No, not!'"

"Wait," she gasped, "you right, we both talk like stupids, but why for?"

Tick, tock. "I change," he answered, with a dumb looking smile, "you change, we change."

"Me know that brainless numbskull, but why?"

Tick, tock.

"Me not brainless, you dumbass!" he snapped in return, almost immediately.

"No me not! You stupid!" she heatedly reacted.

Both morphed liberals were understanding one another perfectly, even though they were talking like Neanderthals, even though their diction and grammar were somewhere below a kindergarten level. With time their exchanges were becoming more intelligible between one another.

"Okay, what do you mean?" the President asked with a questioning gaze.

"I asked you why you think we've changed?"
Ball Busting

The Jacksonville Post, Journal, Times \- Intense thunderstorms and tornadoes swept through the southeast this afternoon causing damage over a widespread area. At least six Brunswick locals were injured when their trailer park took a direct hit leveling a half dozen trailers. Local authorities are still flummoxed and trying to piece together where several trailers went. The owners said they just disappeared into the sky.

IllaryHay attempted to rise unsuccessfully to her feet.

"Here, let me help you up," the President offered, his mighty, powerful hands grabbing her by the arms, but the top heavy, brawny giant then tipped over. Losing his footing whilst attempting to wrench the wench to her feet, he fell full upon her into open waiting arms. They embraced one another as lovers might.

"Get off me you pig!" she screeched.

"I'm trying," he bellowed back.

"Shut up, just get off! God almighty, have you got a boner?"

"Okay, okay already, I'm getting up. Gee whiz."

Pushing himself to all fours he straddled her a bit too long for her liking, but was indeed in the process of attempting to dismount her bountiful girth when her knee came slamming hard and with some insistence into his groin. He let slip with a harsh groan of pain, "Owww!" and fell again, roughly full upon her sprawled out, glorified body.

The two looked like they were in the act of some serious, sort of bestial lovemaking soiree with the now prehistoric looking, liberal broad squirming beneath the gargantuan bulk of his gigantic hulk. His squat, muscular head, his hairy, sculpted arms and his ripped torso lay lifeless and outstretched upon the shrieking damsel, while his scrawny legs flailed about aimlessly, as if nervously awaiting the next blow. She struggled about in the two sided wrestling match. This was not any sort of sex escapade, but a life and death effort to rid oneself of the other with the President now looking like he was humping her.

IllaryHay shrieked and threw all her hardy middle age strength into trying to buck the beast off to gain her freedom, but her companion now caught her arms and held them like a child's crushing her frantic resistance with ease. The silence with which her frenzied pleas and protests were received added to her terror as she felt herself being manhandled by someone who was way more powerful, way more muscular, way stronger than she could have ever imagined and he ultimately triumphed in taming this shrew pinning IllaryHay to the ground before sliding gingerly off.

Panting and spitting full of fury, he at last pushed himself from all fours to his feet, arms outstretched to steady himself.

"You won't try that again," she puffed once freed of his mighty bulk. "I don't know what came over you, was that your pecker?"

Rubbing his gonads gingerly, his once prone projection was no longer evident, but had gone into hiding.

"If that was a boner," she laughed in a baritone, manlike tone when she sat up, again. "I'd hate to be in your shoes if I was any kind of man."

He reacted harshly and with vehemence, "You didn't have to rack me in the balls you goddamn bitch, I was trying to jump off you."

Typical of her natural disdain for men, she ignored his protests.

She rubbed her eyes again, then looked around at her immediate surroundings blurting out, "This can't be right? This isn't beachfront property. This looks more like the Swiss Alps, are my eyes playing tricks on me?"

"No, I don't think so, because I'm noting the same things."

"This has got to be a dream," she whimpered. "Wait, where is that shanty?"

"Over there," he said pointing off in the direction of what looked like a largely intact, shingled roof resting on a pile of lumber and the remains of a broken, brick chimney.

"What, what the hell kind of dream is this?" She looked on stunned, continuing, "The thing is I feel normal, but just look at you, you've really become different. Say, why do you still have the same puny little legs and what are you doing with your arms?"

"Well, as you might have noticed, I am a slight bit top heavy now."

She ignored his remarks, instead giving a slight cry of amazement when she looked about, her eyes growing bigger and brighter at the strange sights of this new place.

"Wow, this place looks crazy," she announced, with swelling confusion. "Where do you suppose we are, do you think we're both dreaming?"

"You know, you could be right," the President responded, doubtful that anything could make better sense, "but, this could also be another dimension."

So considerable was the possibility that the President could be right and that this was all real, not some sort of dream they would eventually awaken from to see disappear.

Under her tangled mane falling over her low, broad brow her blue eyes blazed with an unquenched desire to see what she had become. She looked inquisitively at herself, then noticed her morphed tootsies and shrieked out, another ear splitting squeal that caused the President to stumble when rushing to cover his ears, again - Ayieeeee!

"I can't get elected with feet like...Ayieeeee! What happened to my fucking legs? They were big before, but now they're gigantic!"

"What's with all the hair," asked the President.

"How the Hell should I know you idiot, I just had them waxed yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"This can't be fucking happening."

Shadows abruptly darkened their surroundings with the sounds of wings buzzing rapidly from overhead.

They both instinctively froze listening to the strange buzzing noise intermixed with strange barking sounds. It was a pack of flying, misbegotten creatures they only glimpsed for the briefest of moments through the treetops. Just as instantly as they arrived, they were gone!

She spoke in a whispered voice, "Have you ever heard anything so strange?"

"No, I can't say that I have," adding with a nod, "I think it's best if we keep our voices down, no telling what kind of predators we might run into here in this strange land."

The two remained quiet, motionless, until they were sure the apparent menace was gone, then the President carefully tiptoed over to a nearby tree and casually ripped off a limb. IllaryHay still needed a walking stick. Stripping off the foliage he was tiptoeing back over to the sitting damsel when a prehistoric, furry, four legged, squirrel started raising a ruckus over having its home torn asunder - Cheep, cheep.

The President turned with care to see the small, cute, little critter hugging its tree home a short distance away staring at him wide eyed and with the look of innocence in its face. The President whispered to the creature in a calm, friendly tone, even while he invited the little creature to come a little closer to play - Cheep, cheep.

"Come here you little shit," he whispered in one of the most harmless of voices he could muster, so as not to scare the little fellow. "I just want to pet you you adorable little furry whatever you are."

Slowly he wielded the tree limb like a baseball bat and quietly inched his way toward the cute little tree critter.

"That's it, stay just like that you little bastard, just a little closer." Wham! The President's tree limb shattered under the colossal impact against the trunk, just milliseconds too late! With a cry of fright the 'squirrel thing' turned and ran fleetly up to safety, as leaves shaken loose by his mighty blow came raining down around his shoulders to the forest floor.

The cute little creature did not squeak in protest, nor mock the two legged giant, instead it went scurrying off leaping from limb to limb, from one woody perennial to another to disappear a short time later.

"Goddamn it!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs shaking loose more leaves from his surroundings with his mighty voice.

"Shut up you goddamn fool!" whispered IllaryHay, insistently. "Do you want to wake up every creature in this forest?"

Slowly, very slowly the President's thirst for blood began to cool, hunger replacing his newfangled barbarian instincts. "I really wanted to eat that fuzzy thing for din din." Turning back to the prehistoric woman he shrugged his shoulders saying, "Okay, maybe I'll get that thing next time."

Looking at the remaining shattered piece of wood he held in his hands he laughed merrily at the sight. "Damn, I did that? Wow, I'm a lot stronger than I thought!"

"I'm still waiting for a little help."

"Oh yea, right, easy enough," he said, tiptoeing to another low hanging limb and ripped it from the tree with ease. Soon stripped of ancillary branches, he handed her the walking stick. "Here, use this to help yourself up," adding, "I can give you a hand, but only so long as I don't have to stoop over."

She accepted his assistance and after a little wobbling, huffing, puffing and with the help of the walking stick succeeded in gaining her feet.

She stood like a tower, at first unsteadily, but not for the same reasons as the President. The woman was virtually a giant in stature and her muscles stood out in thick corded ridges on legs that bulged and rippled with each of her movements under her dirty outfit.

"Wow, look how tall I am!" she exclaimed, discerning she was now within half a skull of being as tall as the President.

Looking down at her footwear, she mourned, "Goddamnit, I just bought these on Fifth Avenue. The damn things are too tight now."

She kicked off her right sandal - Vroom!

It went sailing and melted away into the canopy of trees.

"Did you just see that?" she asked in amazement. "Geez, no wonder, just look at the size of my legs!"

"Wow, I'd say those have got to be the biggest, strongest looking legs I have ever seen!" sighed the President, relieved she had not used all that power when kneeing him in the nuts.

"Let me try the other - Zoom! Holy shit, that one took off too!"

In the real world she would have been a giant among women on whose braced, hairy legs were corded with beefiness and hard as iron. With that show of force IllaryHay began to breathe more easily, her unwarranted self confidence commenced to thaw out again. She looked down at herself with growing approval, everything seemed to be more, or less normal appearing, save for her feet. Her hands were still soft, supple, manicured, but more fleecy. Her arms seemed a bit longer than they used to be, but were toned as never before to the point here sleeves had burst asunder. Her blouse was a bit tighter fitting and covered with a modicum of dirt and grass stains from her slumbering upon the ground. The normally loose fitting pantsuit seemed a lot tighter around the waistline and thighs, but was livable if just a wee bit filthy, too. The tattered sleeves were unbecoming, so she tore them off.

"There, that's better," she murmured, just before something odd caught her eye. She stumbled about for a bit trying to get a better look, as the President was beginning to get aroused at the sight, again.

"You dirtbag, are you getting another boner?"

"No," he lied, bashfully.

"Just remember, I can still kick you in the balls if you try anything cute."

"Okay, okay, I get it."

A deep, low rumble came to both their ears.

"What was that sound?"

"I don't know?" he responded, doubt evident in his voice. "Oh wait, that's me. Say, the sight of that furry little meal has made me a little hungry."

The stomach rumblings triggered a scintilla of hunger pangs for IllaryHay, too.

Rumble.

"Have you seen anything to eat around here," she asked, looking not at the President, but in a variety of directions hoping to spy something tasty.

"I've seen a few mushrooms, some lizards, some of those squirrelly things, but that's about it."

"Lizards sound marvelous," she replied, a slight bit of drool appearing from the corner of her maw. "Wait! Did I really just say that? What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Hey, look there!" blurted the President, pointing off at a group of unusual bushes a distance away. "I think those are apples!"

"Where, I don't see anything."

"Down there," he pointed, meaningly to the south. "Fruit looks to be growing on some bushes not too far off."

"Oh, I see them. Excellent, let's just go and have a look, come on!"

"Right behind you."

"Oh no you don't mister, I don't trust you. You lead the way."
Wasted

The Jacksonville Post, Journal, Times, Chronicle \- An Eastern Airlines 757 was forced to return to Jacksonville International Airport today when it unexpectedly bumped into severe turbulence on the way to Atlanta. Some on the flight say it was no ordinary encounter, but that an unidentified flying object had come close to striking the jetliner.

John Schmidt was one such witness and had this to say, "The flight attendants were handing out the usual crappy Saltine crackers and cheap bottled water when the aircraft suddenly shuddered violently. I looked out my window and saw something! A UFO I think, but I would swear it looked more like the front end of a pickup truck, a Ford I think. Certainly not a flying saucer." Several other passengers had similar stories, but saying that the unidentified flying object they had seen resembled pieces of a trailer home rather than a pickup.

It was a Sierra Club wet dream, a dense wilderness forest surrounded by towering rocky heights. The steep sided basin appeared desolate and vacant of higher intelligent life to their unschooled eyes, but intelligence of sorts teemed there not alone of frightful and hairy creatures, but also of uncivilized, ecologically sound tribes.

The President's gait in the underbrush was odd looking at best, tiptoeing daintily with his colossal appendages outstretched, having to pause at the slightest irregularity in footing, so as not to stumble. This is not to say that IllaryHay did not look, or sound similarly odd, in fact she did look a bit freakish with those trotters of hers looking like oversized clown shoes and the klomp, klomp, klomp of her now weighty boobs, they both looked like they belonged together in an odd sort of way.

The President unexpectedly got one of his cleated shoes caught on some vines and took a catastrophic spill into a huge, nearby tree head first - Clunk!

For the damsel it was like seeing Curly in the Three Stooges catch a hammer to the head. Bong!

She began to laugh uncontrollably - Bwah ha ha ha!

Rubbing his flat noggin.

Bwah ha ha ha!

He gradually rose to his feet.

The President was not in a humorous mood, nobody ever laughed at him! Problem was here in this place there was no Internal Revenue Service, no Department of Justice, no Environmental Protection Agency, no unions, no unemployed rioters to sic on that laughing hyena. Here none of his usual threats, name calling, temper tantrums, yelling at the top of his lungs would have the same, if any affect at all. She could, after all, answer his howling by calling upon her new ear piercing squealing that could and would give rise to him going mad. No, he needed to react by thinking of a solution. The President recognized that this tripping thing was going to be a common theme if he kept trampling around the undergrowth in his, up until now, not very useful spiked golf shoes.

That's right! He had seen a path, a yellow, lava path to be exact, but where? He glanced about his surroundings. "Oh yeah, it is just over there."

"What?" responded his sidekick.

"There's a path just over there," he replied, pointing off to the right.

"A path? In this place? That seems impossible."

"No, I'm sure I remember walking upon a path. Come on, let us take it instead of tromping around in this inhospitable undergrowth. It heads in the same general direction."

"Okay, let's go."

Within a short time the two were strolling gayly together toward the apple orchard, the President's cleated shoes creating sparks on the hard roadbed, IllaryHay's huge feet causing her to stumble as she made every effort to contend with the difficulties of their monstrous size. The sun shone bright and the flying feather things sang sweetly. The two travelers did not feel nearly as bad as you might suppose a couple of cosmopolitans would who had been abruptly whisked away from civilization and set down in the midst of a weird, new world.

Reaching the spot the President strode gingerly over to one of the nearby fruit ladened shrubs, arms extended out to his sides and followed closely by the shuffling IllaryHay. The President next grabbed one of the poor little bushes baring a few apples and unrooted the poor, tiny plant in one slight tug.

"You imbecile!" she exclaimed. "Why did you kill that bush? We could have easily plucked off the fruit by hand."

"Lighten up IllaryHay, I can't help if I don't yet know my own strength."

"God, you really are a barbarian aren't you?"

"I never said I wasn't," came his reply. He removed the stem and peeled off the tough leaves of one of the fruity things before handing it to the IllaryHay. "Sink your teeth in this juicy looking thing."

He now plucked one of his own apple thingamajigs off the bush, examined it briefly for bugs, then took a quick look over at the IllaryHay to see if she had been gullible enough to bite into the thing first.

Oh Hell, he thought, perceiving she wasn't going for the bait, I suppose starving would be worse.

"Okay, let's hope for the best, so here goes."

Stuffing the apple into his mouth without a second thought, he sounded like a munching horse with his heavy jaws and molars - Chomp, chomp.

Noting no adverse reaction IllaryHay then stuffed the fruit into her face.

"Om, nom, nom, good," she mumbled, mouth crammed full.

"Gosh almighty, these things are delightful," he beamed, after biting into another and partially chewing it, then swallowing seeds and all. Juice trickled from the President's mouth as he munched away, licking his lips involuntarily, spitting out the occasional pit.

The bottle blonde smiled, her mouth packed tightly with the tasty delights, managed to spittle, "I know, right."

The President ripped from the ground another bush, as he continued munching, "These things taste really, really flavorful."

IllaryHay unexpectedly belched with a grimace - Burp!

The President now suddenly burped, too - Burp!

"Say, are you starting to feel a little tipsy?" she asked, wobbling.

"I must admit I am starting to feel a little numb," responded the President, finding it difficult to maintain his steadiness, even with arms outstretched.

"You don't think these things are poisoning us, do you?" she asked, also with a growing, shit eating smirk.

She took a closer look at the apples, then noticed something peculiar. "Say, these aren't apples, after all."

"What? Sure they are," he replied, smiling stupidly.

"Look, they all have something resembling a raie des fesses running down one side."

"Raie des what?"

"Tee, hee, hee," she giggled. "Raie des fesses is French for butt crack."

The President slobbered a reply, "Say, now that you mention it does look like an ass. You know you might be right. I think I'll have one more," he paused, a befuddled look appearing as he struggled with the sleepiness of expression, "or, maybe not."

"I know, we'll call them raie des fesses," laughed the big footed debutante. "What do you think?"

"Ha! Sounds perfect," the President replied, his mouth now becoming parched, thirst now set about to assail him savagely. He needed a drink. "Say, I'm getting real thirsty?" he announced, with a shit eating grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"God, I would prostitute my mother for something to drink," she garbled, seesawing as she stepped evermore uncontrollably, eyes glazed. Comprehension was now dropping fast for both.

"There's a river this way," he slurred, with a wave of his hand. Stumbling zig zagging, "Come on, I'll lead the way."

IllaryHay's mouth sputtered, "God almighty, I feel superb," as she strolled wobbly at his side, before stumbling and collapsing to terra firma unceremoniously - Ba dOnk!

She attempted to stand for an instant, reeled on buckling knees and then fell in a sodden heap to the ground. "I wouldn't have believed this possible, but I feel so sleepy."

The President, for his part, stumbled and took a headlong fall into a boulder, his head rebounding off the boulder and knocking him out cold.

"You are so strong," she whispered, while fading, her voice waning. "Love me, love me you green brute." The sleepy murmur faded away, her dusky eyes closed, her long lashes drooping over her fuzzy cheeks. Her huge physique relaxed.

The din of burdensome breathing descended upon the serene scene, that and heavy, bestial snorting - Zzz zzz snort!
The Prophesy

The Chicago Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- It has recently been discovered that the President has also gone missing. The Secret Service, the FBI, the CIA and a dozen other government departments and agencies have expanded their search to include him in their investigations surrounding the disappearance of Presidential Candidate. The former President remains the primary suspect in the disappearance of, now both the President and his wife.

As the President lay unconscious he dreamed. He dreamed a swirling grey mist had descended upon him and a curious roughly human voice, faint and faraway, incomprehensible and yet seemingly not within his power to ignore it. Large headed driver in hand the President was like a sleepwalker in the haze and the sound grew more distinct as he pressed on until he understood the word being recited, it was his own name that was being called across the gulfs of nothingness.

Hypnotically he gazed into the depths of murkiness and at a growing darkness where he thought he could make out a large, dim shadow beginning to take shape. The President glared at the thing unspeaking, feeling a chill overcome him. Voodoo and witchdoctors abounded in his past and any fool could tell that this place had the appearances of being a spooky scene. He sensed an inexplicable sensation about him that set him apart, a foreign suspicion that both Time and Space had been altered, a sense of tremendous and sinister antiquity. It was almost too much for even his ferocious spirit and he became afraid.

The voice continued calling as the mist now began to clear, the light growing brighter in his mind's eye. He found himself standing in the presence of a great entryway cut into a solid enclosure of stone. It was dark and unlighted, but by some magic he could see as if it were day.

The President entered the chamber to find the floor, ceiling and walls were of marble like in the White House and covered with portraits of himself. It looked as if every kind of artist had taken a crack at putting his mug on canvas. He saw several oil paintings, some charcoal drawings and a dozen, or so murals. There were even full size figurines of him carved in marble, all in striking poses: Auguste Rodin's The Thinker, something resembling Michelangelo's The Last Judgement, alongside busts of Hollywood stars and forgotten news personalities.

He came upon a wide stair carved in the solid rock and the sides of the shaft were adorned with the signs of the Zodiac, so large and clear cut that he got goose bumps. The steps were carved each with historic figures of past communists, so that at each step he planted his heel on the head of a different demigod as it was intended from the time this edifice was first erected. He was quite at ease with these common university-like surroundings.

The voice persisted in summoning him onward and at last, in a twilight that would have been impenetrable to his terrestrial eyes, he came upon a strange crypt and saw a vague white hair, bespeckled man with pointy, dunce cap sitting on a tomb. His hair rose up and his grip tightened about the shaft of his golf club, as the figure spoke in sepulchral tones.

"Do you recognize me, Mister President?"

"No, should I?"

"It is I," said the ancient, "Saul AlinskyWay."

With a stifled whimper the President shrank back, the pupils of his eyes growing wide, his nerves quivering at the name, "AlinskyWay?"

"Yes, you dolt, it is I your teacher and mentor, Saul AlinskyWay! Oh, and by the way, I'm now called PooBoo which means 'Hairy Fairy,' even though I would have preferred being called a commie like the rest of the demigods in this dimension."

Instantly tears welled into the President's eyes, stuttering in bewilderment, "Oh, teacher, is it really you! But, you have been dead for decades?"

"Harken!" spoke the other commandingly. "As a pebble tossed into a lake sends ripples to the further shores, happenings in the Unseen World have broken like waves on my slumber. For you the stamp of mighty happenings and great deeds is still to come. But, your bumblings have let loose a tide of cynics upon the real world, against which our allies in the media are starting to have little effect."

"You speak in riddles," said the President, uneasily.

"Listen to me Mister President, you ultimately need to cut loose with your newfound, barbaric fury and bring about more wonderful 'hope and change' upon the mindless subjects in this world. Also, you need to kill our sworn enemy the ButtShoo who look a lot like many of the hated Republicans back in the other world and they don't have sunvisors I might add."

"No sunvisors?"

"Yes, no unibrow like you, or I possess."

"I have one eyebrow?"

"Yes, you idiot! It is a sign of our intelligence."

"Holy shit, what have I become?"

"Shut up you fool! Oh, and don't take any prisoners, all must be eliminated."

"Well, that's at least one positive thing to come out of this conversation."

PooBoo spoke in a hushed whisper, "Listen closely to me Mister President, there are dark rumblings barely guessed of by you abuzz in untapped powwowing. Those fiends of ours are drawing up plans that might take away and rend apart all the utopian dreams we hope to impart upon the masses. There is a tall fox in the henhouse Mister President, a tall fox in the kingdom come up from who recalls where. Just as a sleeping rooster dreams of the tall fox that crawls near it I too have felt the foul presence of these souls in this world. It is the reason I have called you to me to give you 'The Mark' for you royal scepter, to help you with subjugating those with weaker minds."

"But, why?" the President bewilderedly asked, "Some say my half thought out theories no longer hold water. Even the news establishment making up lies every other story no longer snows our dumbed downed constituents. I have done all that I can to fundamentally change the country, but my voice seems now to be carried on unseen wings going in one ear and out the other of most Democrats, besides I am soon to be an outsider replaced by someone else far less good looking upon my retirement as President."

"Stop your mumblings you clod, we're talking here, not there!"

His ghostly tones reverberated through the great shadowy cavern. "Your destiny begins here again in this dimension of shadows, fellow ogres and untamable beasts. Defeat our sworn enemy here in this world and I will make sure history has you standing along with our other hallowed heroes, exalted leftists who are sharing similar fates as my own. Commies like Marx, Stalin and the other guy, who I cannot remember his name right now. I think he was Chinese. Anyhow, a gigantic syzygy is now forming in the skies above us and the womb of Fate is fast falling upon us. You must create and dump more of that liberal bullshit of yours upon an even more ignorant group of lowbrows. I therefore dub thee 'O Bárbaro Uno,' which sounds a lot like your first name, but means 'The Barbaric One' and will help you to reach new heights of extraordinary ecstasy, all by instilling fear and terror in your enemies."

What returned was dumbfounded silence.

"So, how does that sound Mister President?"

"Well, I suppose it sounds okay PooBoo, but how will I know what to do, or say? There aren't any teleprompters around from what I have seen."

"Hush you numbskull! Don't speak so loud, otherwise you will give away the secret sauce!"

PooBoo paused to contemplate his words and sadly the President was right. The mission was not going to be easy, certainly nothing like a press dinner, or fundraiser where the audience slathered the President with haughty praise for his corny one liners and pontification ad nauseam. No, this was not going to be as easy as those silly speaking engagements where he could stand around all night bloviating in an attempt to come across as smart, cultured, educated and of similar stock. No, this was not going to be one of those self indulgent, frivolous debaucheries, this was going to be something else, a crusade!

"Look here Mister President, ages ago our hegemony slowly corkscrewed its way into the world from which you and I have come. A world where people of our ilk dominated institutions like education, the arts, the media, and the welfare offices. A world where we were all working toward one colossal panacea using the ruse of making everything 'fair and nice' and we were so close to winning!

All my living life I fought to make our corkscrew bigger and I did it like so many of us on 'the left,' by calling conservatives everything in the book and threatening to bring the riots to their homes. We were winning by yelling all the time, by using every four letter word we could dream up, and by using flabbergasting innuendoes with logical sounding, illogical conclusions and the total upheaval of the country we sought nearly came to pass. But, now all of that wonderfulness has started falling apart to shit. First, you lose the House, then the Senate, soon we could even lose the White House. As we liberals fought to create millions upon millions of uneducated, nonthinking, dependent rubes, so too must you carry the battle on here in this dimension."

"With you at my side?"

PooBoo looked as if he did not understand.

"Hey, there are no teleprompters to tell me what to say, or think, so what am I do do? Are there going to be cue cards?"

PooBoo smiled, "No my young pupil for I am only a spirit after all and therefore unable to lend any sort of carnal intervention. I will, however, speak to you from time to time as if carried on the four winds."

"What does that mean?"

"You will be given signs to prod you along your way fool. My words to you will be clear as a bell, so not even you with your now simpler brain will be able to misinterpret the meaning."

"Oh, that's good," replied the President, nodding, "that's very good."

"Mister President, this world will either become a place dominated by likeminded, mindless things like ourselves, or it will be turned into nothingness, do you understand me?"

"If I do not succeed your going to turn this world into something resembling the third world?"

"Yes, Mister President, it will become a third world country."

"I certainly don't want that to happen. They don't wear deodorant, have no running water, and the women usually don't shave their armpits, blah!"

"Hmmm, say, they don't have some of those things here either."

"What?"

"Maybe we're talking about a fourth world country."

"Fourth world country, is there such a thing?'

"Yes there is, just think of the headhunters in the Amazon rainforest."

Gulp!

"Either way, you must go forth and unite the backward clans of this world and then begins your mission to rend and eat the enemy."

The President nodded and shot an emboldened glance at his mentor saying, "I can do, wait, eat?"

PooBoo nodded in agreement, "Do you agree to organize our savages, to kill all the ButtShoo, no matter how good looking they are?"

"Yup, but what about?"

"And become the ruler over all this world?"

"Yes."

"That's good, that is very good. Now, hold out your staff," the fairy bluntly demanded.

"My driver?"

"Yes, your ladies golf club."

The President did so and on the great head of the driver the ancient traced with a bony finger a symbol that began to glow like white fire in the shadows, too bright to make out what it was he was scribbling.

The old man then gave the President a friendly little nod adding confidently, "Mister President, O Bárbaro Uno, you are now ready to go forth, to create another fair and nice world." PooBoo then put the pinky of his right hand to his nose, then spoke one last time. "You should know that neither you, nor that heartthrob of yours will ever leave this world unless you accomplish this mission and defeated and then eaten all of the ButtShoo."

Then with a whirl around on his left heel one, two, three times he straightway disappeared.

In an instant the crypt, the tomb, the ancient, everything abruptly vanished - Poof!

The President instantly woke! Sitting up he looked about at his surroundings. Everything was dark.

Wait, where's my driver?

He felt about with his hand and soon found the hard, cold metal of his shaft next to him. Cradling it close to his chest he began to wonder if that vision had just been a dream.

His companion lay next to him snoring like Bigfoot - Zzz ack ack ack ackawoooo ack ack ack!

Even so, her howling would soon be drowned out by his growing exhaustion. He lay back down upon the cool grass looking up at the twinkling stars.

Had it been just a dream?

His eyelids became heavy and slowly began to close shut. A few moments later the snoring of his female companion was drowned out by his own bearish snoring - Zzz e eeb bee bee e bee bee.

The night pressed in very black and terrifying upon the two travelers, but they were not alone. Small glowing eyes beamed lurid as the fires of Hell from the depths of the black forest. A pair of hungry, cruel eyes that reflected the lust of blood and utterly without humanity as the pair of travelers understood it. The orbs belonged to something inhuman, as inhuman as a creature could be in this place. Abruptly, the creature sounded out fiendishly through the darkness - Yip, yip!

The hideous sound was answered by other similar sounds in the forest - Yip, yip!

More ghoulish eyes began to appear, with sharp, glistening teeth and drooling maws.
Go South!

The New York Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- Missing for nearly six hours now it has been speculated by some that both current President and Democrat Presidential Candidate may have been caught by the outbreak of tornadoes which touched down in the area late this afternoon. Already reports are coming in of flying pieces of pickup trucks, trailer park homes and a cow, or two, clues that may help uncover the whereabouts of the two missing dignitaries.

The bright sunlight dazzled the President as he slowly recovered from his deep sleep. He blinked then shook his head. The glare of the sun hurt his eyes. A confused medley of noise grew about him growing more distinct as his senses cleared. He lifted his head and stared stupidly about him. Memory and understanding of his dream was already lost to him. The President's next sensation upon regaining consciousness was that of the cold, hard ground that had been his bed the night before. The dawn of a new day in paradise.

The President heaved himself up into a sitting posture with a sulfurous curse and glared about him wildly, then he remembered one thing! The one thing that he was now certain of, this world, this dimension, this universe, this whatever it was, were there for the taking, to conquer and make his own no matter what it took: lies, cheating, threats, anything and everything! He now had a mission, to defeat those with bigger, rounder heads than his own, otherwise he could never return home. But, what had the pointed hat PooBoo meant when he said something about 'eating' them? He would revisit that issue for a later time, meanwhile as was proving typical of his female companion she lay not too far off raising a ruckus with her snoring - Zzz ack ack ack ackawoooo ack ack ack!

The President rolled over to his front side and pushed himself up on all fours. Fifteen minutes later he managed to get to his feet. Hungry he went, arms outstretched, in search for food, the protection of his driver club in hand.

Sometime later, when IllaryHay awoke from her slumber, she found the President sitting on a nearby boulder of purple and crimson granite holding part of a half eaten lizard's tail in his beefy hand. The prehistoric man beast was pondering some deep thought in the dark bottomless recesses of his primordial brain.

"Was it now time to consider which direction to go?" he mumbled to himself in thought. "To be sure the trail runs both north and south through this rugged terrain, but which way to go?"

"Got any more?" she asked, quickly assuming the air of a true prehistoric woman.

The President reached into his belly bag and pulled out what looked like a lifeless, multicolored skink and tossed it to her without a second thought.

Picking the lifeless creature up from the ground she added, "What does it taste like?"

"Tastes like chicken," he replied disinterestedly, as he tore off another chuck of tail with his teeth.

Not giving it a second thought she crammed the morsel into her mouth and began chewing. She noticed something odd. "Say, did you realize you're bleeding?"

"What, where?"

"On your neck," she responded getting to her feet. "Here, let me take a look."

Clumping to his side she examined the spot where the President's blood had congealed. "Those look like bite marks."

"Bite marks? You mean like a hickey?"

"Yes, sort of, but don't think for a second that I had anything to do with that!"

"Who else could it have been?" he asked, grinning sleazily.

"Look you arrogant dickhead, those marks are much smaller than what I would have put there."

"Oh yeah, prove it," he insisted beginning to get a little aroused at the thought that this blonde bombshell had put the moves on him, while he was fast asleep.

The primal matron started noticing a slow rising stiffening in the President's plaid shorts. "Say, you are not starting to get a boner again, are you?"

Embarrassed he quickly reacted, "No, no, absolutely not. Wait a second, say you've got some blood on you, too."

"Where?" she asked, looking up and down at herself.

"Your armpits."

"What the shit!" she exclaimed raising one of her arms to examine the area of concern. "Holy crap, where did all this hair come from?"

She raised her other arm to examine her pit for hair. "Holy shit, what the hell have I turned into?"

"Let me take a look," responded the President, glancing down to make sure he no longer had a stiffy before wobbling to his feet.

"Oh no you don't!" she quickly responded. "You stay right where you are you horny toad."

Arms raised she plied through her thick underarm bush looking for the reasons for the dried blood. "Damn those are the same kind of bite marks you've got. They look like little puncture wounds."

The President stumbled a little on his way over to her side. Bending over ever so slightly he spied the area where she was pulling aside her wooly, underarm mop.

"Say you're right, those do look like puncture marks."

Dropping her arm she looked at him with a stumped, frightened gaze, "What could have done this?"

"The hell if I know, but if I had to guess," he said whispering, while spying off into the woods with squinted eyes, "I'd say there are bloodsuckers out there, maybe even watching us right now."

"Bloodsuckers," she breathed pantingly, cold sweat had broken out out on her low brow, "you mean some sort of undersized horrors that only come out at night when their victims are asleep."

"Yes, it looks like it," the President mumbled in return, "to suckle off our blood."

Terror descended upon both wayfarers as each looked futilely to find evidence of the little menaces comings and goings. Occasionally they peered off into the dark shadows of the woods searching for some sign of the creatures that had ravaged them that night.

"Do you see any tracks?"

"No," she remarked, sick panic beginning to assail her, "I don't see any tracks."

"They must be flyers."

"What are we going to do?"

"Well," responded the President, "looks like they're gone for now and I'm hungrier than ever."

IllaryHay nodded her agreement, but said nothing.

The President, for his part, only reacted by tromping over to some nearby rocks, then turning each over in search of breakfast.

"Gotcha!" Success!

The two spent the greater part of the morning catching and eating lizards, accompanied by stuffing handfuls of colorful mushrooms into their massive orifices, after a time they had each had their fill. For the President it was now time for a little after meal aperitif.

"Say, isn't it time for a Mimosa?"

"Is that what you're calling them now?"

"What, do you really want to call them something stupid like butt fruits?"

She smiled at how easily she could get under the President's skin. "Absolutely, besides you drink Mimosas don't you?"

"I don't care, I'm calling those things Mimosas."

"Whatever, you bone head."

"I'm not a bone head, you're a bone head!"

"No I'm not, you are!"

And so, the two wayfarers bickered between themselves as they wandered about the forest looking for more of those tasty, magical apples. A greater part of the early afternoon was spent pulling, then stuffing those apples, that did indeed look as if a butt crack ran down one side, into their pie holes and completely forgetting the creatures in the woods with teeth.

Scientists had long ago postulated that cavemen and cavewomen, both Neanderthals and Troglodytes had suffered from some minor afflictions due to their smallish brains, as evidenced by their itty bitty brainpans, with short term memory being the thing Mother Nature sacrificed. Sadly, this now looked to be true for these two wayfarers.

First assuaging their hunger, then thirst, then getting more than a little tipsy, these things delayed both in their decisions of what to do next, but did not stop the President's guardian angel from coming back upon the scene to provide some guidance.

Off to the north the horizon was growing thick and dark, again. Lightening began to dance from a storm that seemed to pop up from out of nowhere.

The roar of thunder now came to ear.

"Hey, look!"

The President turned wobbling to see the coming menace, "Not again!"

"Is that storm coming our way?" she asked, concern now etched on her features.

A moment later another sudden thunder strike shuddered through the heavens above and it was utterly unlike ordinary lightning in ferocity. Instantly following the thunder clap a voice arrived as a whisper, "O Bárbaro Uno."

"What was that?" he mumbled to himself, unsure of what he had just heard. The rumblings reminded the President of something. "Have you ever seen the movie, the Wizard of Oz?" he asked.

"Yes, I thinks so," IllaryHay replied, stuttering with a drug induced smile.

The President reacted only with a dumbfounded gaze, clearly he was feeling totally buzzed, too.

"What are you trying to say you dickhead?" she was becoming angry at his open display of ignorance.

"Duh, oh yea, right. Anyway you do recall that wizard in the story."

"Oz?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Idiot!"

"Oh, right," he suddenly forgot the original point in his conversation.

"So what the Hell are you," she didn't finish, something had caught the damsel's eye. Next moment, leaping like a frog, she pounced on the harmless lizard. The little reptile had remained stationary a bit too long on a nearby boulder sunning itself. "Gotcha!" Dispatching the thing's head with her teeth she nonchalantly picked up where the two had left off. "So, what about the wizard?"

The President admired how she easily skinned the critter with her teeth before replying, "Well, it just so happens that I ran into a wizard last night."

"Give me a break?" she responded sarcastically before biting off more lizard and chewing it like a cowboy might chew beef jerky.

"I'm not sure it was a dream, but you won't believe who the Wizard of Oz was, it was Saul AlinskyWay."

"Saul AlinskyWay," she paused, "Mmmm, chewy. So, you're saying a guy that's been dead decades was part of some dream you had last night?"

"Yes, but he goes by the new name PooBoo now, for some reason." The President had forgotten about the symbol the fairy had finger drawn with with his sparkler finger into the metal of club. "He seemed so real."

"Go on, so what did he have to say?"

"PooBoo mentioned a mission, a mission to conquer and rend the nonbelievers called the ButtShoo. They are a people who do not look normal and have got big, round heads with no sunvisors."

She paused a moment glancing at the lizard then adding, "Damn, I'd kill someone for a little salt right now. Just the same, people without sunvisors doesn't make any sense. Are we talking baseball caps?"

For a moment the President was also perplexed by what the fairy meant, but then remembered looking at his mirrored image in the pool, then studied the contours of his partner's skull for a moment. "Wait a second."

"What?"

"I hadn't noticed it before."

"What?"

"We do have a single, protruding eyebrow running across our foreheads."

"So."

"Don't you see."

"No, what?"

"It's a sun visor of sorts."

"Oh my Gaia, you're right! I hadn't noticed it before, but we do have just one eyebrow and much smaller heads."

"See, I told you."

"It means we're smarter, right?" she asked, startled by the revelation.

"Of course, superior in every way."

"Thank goodness, what else did this PooBoo say?"

"PooBoo said we would need to defeat our large headed enemies of this world and something about eating them."

The President purposely left out the part about never returning home, only to see her ascend the throne of the presidency.

"Eat them?"

"Yes, that's what PooBoo said."

"This is all such bullshit, we're not cannibals."

From the north and not too far away there was a sudden, brilliant flash followed moments later by the sharp clap of thunder - Boom!

The President, ignoring the growing storm and only looking at her munching on the half eaten lizard, adding, "Are you sure?"

Another flash of lightning quickly followed by another sharp clap of thunder, only it seemed a lot closer -Crack!

This time the President discerned a formless murmuring of his new name upon the wind. "O Bárbaro Uno."

Another, closer clap of thunder was rapidly followed by another wind whispered mumbling: a dry, raspy, muttering murmuring that sent chills up the President's spine.

"O Bárbaro."

"Did you hear that?" the President asked, in a semi terrified voice. Boom!

IllaryHay jumped, "Holy crap that was close, we need to get the hell out of here!"

"O Bárbaro."

The President stood motionless, dumbfounded. "He's calling out to me, PooBoo is calling out to me from out of the depths of darkness!"

"No, it's just thunder."

"No, it's PooBoo, I swear he's calling me."

IllaryHay turned cold at the possibility, "Come on, we're going to get wet."

"O Bárbaro!"

"There it is again!" whispered the President to himself.

"Go south O Bárbaro!"

"I hear you master, but you're mumbling?"

"Are you talking to yourself?"

A period of breathless silence followed in which the pitter patter of the President's heart beat was all that he could hear.

"How many of those butt cracks have you had?" Boom!

"Go south stupid!"

What was the guy in the pointy hat saying? the President asked himself, his senses heightened to their utmost.

"Come on you dolt, let's get going," cried out IllaryHay, in the rising tempest. "This is just what happened with that tornado!"

"Shut up! I'm trying to hear what PooBoo is saying." The hullabaloo had left the President bit deaf. "All I'm hearing is the howl of the wind." Whoosh!

"PooBoo, what are you trying to say?"

"Go south!"

"Can you repeat the first part?" Boom!

This strike struck not fifty yards away sending a large electrical discharge through the huge, corded muscles of the President.

"He's telling us to go south you idiot," shrieked IllaryHay.

A howling tempest followed her words with a formless voice screaming, "Go south!" Boom! Crack!
His Life Story

The Los Angeles Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- Search by the Secret Service, the FBI, the CIA and a dozen other government departments and agencies have discovered what they believe might be a clue to the disappearance of IllaryHay. A secret love letter from an anonymous admirer was discovered in the luggage of the Presidential Candidate.

The two set about at a trot. Holding hands, ungainly as it was, they traipsed, stumbled and fell occasionally as they ran south along the lava trail. The lightning followed them as if intent on driving them to some unforeseen destination and eventually their mad stampede had carried them a safe distance away. The pathway was roughly surfaced and made plodding along difficult, especially for the President with his cleated shoes, skinny legs and top heaviness. He often tripped when his cleats got caught anchoring his feet momentarily, which in combination with his long legged, stork-like strides inevitably led to more than a few tumbles. Only the mass of his hard bodied physique saved him severe injury, that and the mind numbing butt crack apples that grew alongside the lava flow.

IllaryHay, who was as dimensionally bottom heavy as the President was top heavy, simply lumbered on trying not to trip as she got use to walking with her newfound, Hobbit-like tootsies.

Frequently, the two stumbled along together, but thanks to the hypnotic fruits, happily! They would fall to the ground laughing, then taking anywhere from several to thirty minutes to regain their feet. Thankfully the President was now having some success in tugging the Amazon to her feet, he found he had less difficulty getting to his feet once from all fours. Eventually, after dusting themselves off, the two would then set off again wobbly and holding hands just like a pair of children. It was, however, at the base of one of the towering trees that IllaryHay finally ran out of steam. She grabbed the first thing she could clutch, the President's shirt. Stretched to the max by his muscle bound physique, the Polo gave way to superior forces - Rip!

IllaryHay gasped upon spying his bare naked peck, a chiseled man boob that looked nothing like the saggy, sheet white chest of her husband's. She could make out a little of his six pack abdomen all covered in sweaty, matted hair and IllaryHay started to get a little tingle of excitement at the President's repugnant, unbathed appearance.

The President looked down upon himself with an approving eye, then back a her. A tingling sensation started to slowly migrate from the right hemisphere of his now primitive brain down and around his neural pathway and slowly he began to get some wood.

IllaryHay was zonked, certainly too exhausted to entertain the idea of having sex, but the thought did indeed cross her mind. It had been years since she had sex with a man, and sure, it was because she largely preferred women over men, but there was something sensual about this hairy, repugnant brut standing before her. Maybe it was his resemblance to 'the Hulk,' but just the same, she was bruised from her fumblings and quickly collapsed to a seated position along the trailside.

Seeing no prospects for having sex, the President quickly batted down his rising timber with his free hand, while covering the maneuver with the other.

IllaryHay spied his actions with weary eyes, but only to remark about the state of their diet, "I am starting to get a little fed up with eating lizards, especially without any salt. Bah, makes me want to gag." Doziness was beginning to descend upon her grand countenance.

It was turning dusk and nightfall would soon be upon the two weary souls.

"Here," said the President handing her what must have been her umpteenth raie des fesses of the day. "Have one more as a night cap."

"Oh hell, why not."

Moments later the unholy sound of animal munching broke the otherwise pristine surroundings. Munch, munch, munch.

The southern night swept down quickly, littering the dark blue sky with great white stars. IllaryHay yawned out loud like a bear - Snort! Snort!

"I could fall asleep right here, wait!" IllaryHay started, a recent memory breaking free of the cobwebs. In the darkness that the starlight only faintly touched, she imagined she could make out their outlines. She could sense their attitude of waiting—waiting for another night of feeding. "What about the nighttime vampires? Those misbegotten creatures will surely be coming back."

The President nodded in understanding, those fiends were sure to return. He tried to assuage her fears, fears that they might be in mortal danger. "Everything will be fine IllaryHay, I'll stand watch and keep an eye out for those intruders."

"The hell with that, you'll be going lights out just like me in no time!"

"Okay, you know something, you're right."

The President was not concerned for himself, he was beginning to believe himself invincible. He had fallen several dozen times during the day and without a scratch. IllaryHay on the other hand was a female and therefore susceptible to all kinds of bruises and cuts, only her hairiness had kept those injuries from becoming evident to all but the closest scrutiny.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do."

Walking off she listened to his metal grating along the lava trail. IllaryHay had always wondered why the President had insisted on wearing old time golf shoes with those obsolete metal cleats. Was it some sort of power trip, or did he wear them because they made noise like tap shoes? Was that idiot that concerned with being noticed?

She heard tree branches being torn savagely from the foundations accompanied by the complaining cheeps of those tree creatures at having their homes torn asunder by the President, again. A few minutes later, in the growing darkness and half dozing in the grass, IllaryHay saw the President had brought a great armful of tender branches, well leafed. These he heaped to make a couch for her. Next he piled up some limbs to make a roof, a lean to with each end open to nature.

"How's that?" he said upon completion and with pride in his deep, mellow voice. "Big enough for you?"

"Yes, that will work," she reacted with a yawn, crawling in feet first she snuggled into the tender foliage and a curious sensation as if she were lying in down feathered bed. She then stuck her head out one end to look up at the stars.

"Ah, this feels great, but where are you going to sleep?"

Whatever her forebodings, the President did not share them. The President sat down near her, his back against a tree, his golf club across his knees.

From her bed of leaves she watched the immobile figure, indistinct in the soft darkness. His kinship to the untamed was becoming more apparent by his every action, more and more by the burning in his smoldering eyes.

"Sweet dreams," said he.

"But, I'm not sleepy yet."

"Want another butt crack?"

"Fuck no, but maybe a bedtime story would work."

"You mean like Humpty Dumpty?"

"No, not that. Tell me how you became President, what was it like?"

The President looked at her reproachfully, "The Presidency is a marvelous, stupendous thing."

"Tell me."

"You want me to go through my whole life's story?"

"Hells bells, why not, go ahead."

And so, the President set about telling her all about his story.

Lying on his back and looking up at the star lit heavens, the President set about his tale telling, the telling of his wonderful life as he remembered it and all that was great and wonderful about himself.

"Once I was an average man in the nature of everyone else. I cannot explain how I know this just that I know that it was so. As a person remembers their past I vaguely remember those bygone times, too. Just as an adult recalls the events of their childhood, boyhood and youth, so I recall some of those incidents, but again, only vaguely. There was my job at the ice cream shop where I was eventually promoted from scooper to assistant manager. Then there was that one week I worked construction." He hesitated in thought.

"What else?"

"What do you mean?"

"What kind of work did you do?"

"I was a professional student, is that what you mean?"

"Sounds familiar," yawned IllaryHay.

"You worked in construction, too?"

"No dickhead, I was also a professional student. Please go ahead."

"You know what is odd, IllaryHay, many of our memories are supposed to be ingrained parts of our past, so I can't understand why I have forgotten most of them? I cannot say any more than I can keep track of the myriad of classes I have slept throughout during my career as a student. One thing is certain, however, my fortunes have always been directly tied to the providence of liberalism, that and with the help and influence of people like PooBoo. But, as I lie here hoping to fall asleep soon I still see unclearly the grand plans for my life trailing out behind me. I see the legend of a man largely created by the media. I vaguely see the outline of the person I once was, but now, I'm not sure who I really am."

IllaryHay's was becoming more relaxed and mellow, mind numbing words and she began to sink into the foamy clouds of slumber. Her last waking thought was a drowsy recollection of the President's boring story.

"My bewilderment does not end with my past even though I do recall with some fond memories the part about being 'Boy Wonder.' How could it not be so when the soul in me has always been more wild and untamed than most. For me there has become no clear divide between that part that remains Presidential and that part of me now that is all barbarian, not unlike a shaggy, shambling bulk that lumbers clumsily yet swiftly, sometimes upright, sometimes on all fours and who delves under rotting timbers for grubs and insects with small ears that twitch continually."

IllaryHay snorted, she had fallen fast asleep.

"Why are you ignoring this major stuff about me? I'll have whole chapters of textbooks written about me, you know."

The President ignored her closed eyes and continued, "In the very beginning I was born, I was born the son of a tribesman, a man who hailed from the balmy, tropical, bug infested jungles of Kenya. Dad was sent by the tribal elders to the U.S. in a quest to raise the 'Hope' of the people by learning to 'Change' the nature of their backwardness. He was abroad to learn how to move that great nation from one dependent upon only fishing and hunting to one with real jobs and electricity. On this mission he met my mother who was studying to be a Hippy and they fell in love. Dad was a practicing polygamist, so it isn't surprising that my mother ended up being discarded soon after I was born. We lost track of dad over the years only to find he had returned to his homeland. Seems he overstayed his VISA, besides having the courts after him for unpaid child support for a couple of dozen, or more cases."

"I later learned that dad had succeeded in helping to bring some change back home, but little in the way of hope for the tribespeople upon his return. Every tribal village now has electrical outlets, but no electricity. Sadly my dad passed away at forty six, but not before leaving behind ten, or eleven wives. Yep, that was my dad, a regular swinging dick who burned out too early."

The sound of IllaryHay's heavy snoring rang out through the forest - Zzz ack ack ack ackawoooo ack ack ack!

"As for me I grew up in Guam with my grandparents, a tropical paradise where ninety percent of the locals are on the government dole in some way, shape, manner, or form. Outside collecting food stamps and welfare payments, to really get ahead in that liberal paradise you either had to become a really good surfer, a drug dealer, a pimp, a con artist, or become an unwed mom with as many kids as you could tolerate. As you might have guessed I was more suited to the role of con artist and I must say I got really good at rolling mainland tourists unlucky enough to stumble into my neighborhood, that is until the day when I discovered I also had another gift, the gift of being able to drone on incessantly, while appearing to be knowledgeable, but with absolutely no idea what I was saying."

"I quickly put my sonorous voice to work for me, first as the teachers pet, and after ten years as a community organizer. Then I became a politician, because it turns out that talking nonsense in an intelligent fashion was a near perfect quality for the Democrat Party. Anyhow, I was so good at creating mischief when it came to rousing the rabble that the powers that be ended up pushing me into politics to keep me off the streets, to keep my megaphone blasting mobs out of their front yards."

Snort!

"I began the road to the White House soon after I entered the state legislature where I was forever voting 'present,' or yelling hysterically to drown out the two, or three Republicans we had in the state congress. My talent caused quite a stir and was quickly picked up by others in the Party and has since become an integral part of the way all our politicians go about debating the issues, not only in Hawaii, but also in Washington DC. Just take a look at Congressman Elijah UmmingsCay next time he appears upset on television for a near perfect example of my technique in action."

"The secret to my success, as it turned out, was the leadership in both the Party and the media had been looking for someone with my special qualities for a long, long time. The powers that be needed a politician, someone of color, someone who believed the same crazy ideas, who appeared educated and spoke fluently, not some bastardized variation of English. I was the perfect advocate, the one person they needed to push their agenda forward, someone who could snow most of the country with platitudes, with straight faced deception and set the country on a course that would make us not the greatest, but the most 'fair and nice' country in the world, kind of like Cuba. That was me, the President."

Zzz ack ack ack ackawoooo ack ack ack!

"My technique of howling out during a political debate in the capitol turned out to have been simply an unexpected bonus for most in our party. Anyway, some journalist once asked me where I had gotten the notion to yell at the top of my lungs whenever a political opponent tried to say something. You can find the reason for my actions in PooBoo's Rules for Radicals."

"Back to dad, before he kicked off he went on to sire another twenty, or thirty kids, most out of wedlock. I've since given up trying to recall any of their names even though they continue to pop up everywhere looking for handouts, as if I don't have enough freeloaders on welfare to deal with already."

Zzz Snort! Ack ack ack ackawoooo ack ack ack!

"My mother, unfortunately, lives with us in the White House, what's worse it appears I ended up marrying someone who impersonates her and is also like mother, a vegan. Both of them are forever trying to force the staff to go vegetarian, especially the chiefs. I have been trying to figure out how to kick them both out, but having them sent off to live in some exotic, third world country seemed a little drastic for now. So, I have them flown around the world in Air Force Two and Three instead sending them to places where they can extoll the virtues of a vegan diet on the unfortunate locals."

Zzz Snort!

"I must admit my life has been far grander, far more remarkable, far more historic than I would have ever guessed it would be. I have managed to push the country closer than anyone imagined to the very precipice of becoming a full fledged Progressive Empire. It's wonderful what I have done to the folk. More citizens than ever before are enjoying time at home, only having to make an occasional trip to the welfare, or food stamp office. There are fewer greenhouse gasses because those on the government dole can't afford to drive anymore. Same is true for eating hamburgers helping me to minimize cow flatulence. It is truly wonderful what politically correctness can do for someone like me in the White House."

Zzz ack ack ack ackawoooo ack ack ack!

"I know it's a rather glossy picture, but I must admit I have always been a bit of a sensation when it comes to acting smart, but without knowing what the hell I was saying. It is a fine character attribute to possess as a Democrat President and I must say you appear to have the same endearing qualities."

Zzz Snort! Snort!

"Are you asleep!"

Zzz ack ack ack ackawoooo ack ack ack!

"Darn, I hate when that happens."

IllaryHay's eyes fluttered for a moment. She was dreaming.

"Oh, so you are still awake."

And so, the President ignored every sign that his companion was fast asleep, believing upon hope of hopes that she was still listening to his important story about himself. And so, his telling the tales of himself, his exploits, his wonderfulness continued ad nauseam. The sun set hours earlier. With time he too succumbed to his self aggrandizing tale until he, like his companion, fell fast asleep - Zzz e eeb bee bee zzz e bee bee, zzz e eeb bee bee zzz e bee bee.
A New Day

The Chicago Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- Prayers continue to come in from around the country as the search widens for missing Presidential hopeful IllaryHay and the President. Fears that the two may have been whisked away by tornadic winds continues to build.

It was becoming dawn in this dreamlike world, the sun would be rising soon on this, another day in paradise.

IllaryHay awakened from a dream haunted slumber with a snort. She lay upon the supple limbs of a spruce tree, head sticking out of the lean to, staring up into the heavens for the briefest of moments and wondering why she was not seeing the overhead candelabra of her palace sized bedroom. A heaven full of twinkling stars had become her ceiling and lent a little illumination to her shadowy surroundings.

She let her mind wander and began pondering her strange dreams. Through her dreams crawled a suggestion of life as the President and also of bat filled caves with someone looking like Dracula slithering under the bed sheets with her.

Most of the dreams were fragmentary and colorful, exotic shards of a broken, unknown pattern. One scene had crystalized into the backdrop of Washington, where she saw the marble pillars of the great hall of the Capitol, whose lofty ceiling was upheld by towering, arching walls. About the rotunda throngs of politicians: greedy, self serving, forever lying. All were pressing about her: to caress her, to glimpse upon her, to whisper sweet nothings into her, all to curry her favor. IllaryHay dreamed she was also slender, tanned and youthful, with golden locks falling about her toned shoulders—like a goddess, chiseled out of living clay. Quite a departure from her ordinary, housewife looks.

Her vapid thoughts were arrested by the mellifluous sound of what could have only been bat wings flittering around in the stillness of the pitch black sky. As she lay there she became aware of a pair of radiant glowing bits of light circling above in the dim darkness. She watched clueless as more of the green luminescent orbs appeared, grew in intensity, deepened and became more clearly visible. They looked like sets of eyes! Hovering just overhead! She froze in terror.

Above the President there was a slight movement in the air above. Something was flying just overhead and it was big enough to stir up a breeze - Buzz.

The President's ears were supposed to keep watch while his eyes slept, but did not pick up the buzz of wings thanks to his own snorting and heavy breathing.

IllaryHay lay petrified as the President sat upside one of the forest trees sound asleep. He was about to discover this world was not altogether picture perfect.

The Amazon rainforest was the kind of place most long haired, maggot infested, Sierra Club hippies believed was akin to Adam and Eve's original garden, the sort of place everyone would want to live: to plant gardens, breed and look at the stars. The problem with their simpleton's point of view was the jungle was also the home for some unusual and deadly pests: the hairy Brazilian Wandering Spider, the poisonous but pretty Golden Poison Frog. Everything living and all out to basically kill you.

This utopia, too had similar menaces. Some were like mosquitoes and now flying overhead, but a bit different, a bit bigger, but also with people's bodily fluids on their menu. One of the things now alighted on the President's arm and was just in the process of taking a blood sample. He unconsciously shooed the thing away just as he might with any flying annoyance.

It worked for the briefest of moments.

The tranquility of his sleep was abruptly broken by the shuddering cry of his female companion - Ayieeeee!

The President hugged his golf club as he might a security blanket, as he looked about terrified. He could make out some of what the little creatures, something resembling a Mexican Chihuahua, but airborne. He saw and realized the little critters were intent on only one thing, blood. The evil vermin moved side to side rapidly here and there in the air, their wings as large as those of a crow, but as rapid in motion and noisy as a hummingbird and with pale, gleaming, ravenous eyes that desired just one thing. The pests had a high pitch, squeaking bark, a forked tongue that darted rapidly in and out and bright white, glittering, bared, pointy teeth.

The President yelled out at the hideous misbegotten freaks of nature hoping to scare them off - A'roof!

The tranquil forest setting was upset again and again by the duo's tremendous terrified squawks - Ayieeeee! A'roof! A'roof!

The air was filled with the rapid flapping of unfeathered, leathery appendages. They were like Chihuahuas sized mosquitos, with no sign of reasoning and no other instincts save for biting and siphoning off ones blood!

There were at least a dozen of the nasty things flying around in the early morning light. Their eyes glowed green and evil and with much hunger.

Ayieeeee! IllaryHay shrieked as one of the blood sucking creatures came flying into her teepee to get some - Buzz.

They were not as fast as hummingbirds - Yip! Yip!

Nor as graceful - Buzz.

Very likely the reason they died out as a species in the late Cretaceous Period.

They did sound a little like Mexican Chihuahuas - Yip! Yip!

Barking to one another as if working together as a coordinated pack.

Ayieeeee! IllaryHay screamed when the thing landed on her arm.

Bap! She backhanded the little beast slapping it clear across the campsite. Quickly jumping from the teepee and to her feet she scampered clumsily to where the creature lay stunned and stomped the living shit out of the helpless little thing with her tremendous, strapping, hairy clodhoppers.

The President, too, needed to act quickly. He tried to stand, but taking swift action on one's feet took a little finesse, an act not yet mastered!

The flying canines circled buzzing overhead baring their sinister teeth looking as if they were preparing to nosedive upon the weakest of their prey, him!

"Do something Mister President!" she shouted, still swatting about with her arms, vain attempts to shoo the Chihuahuas away.

He had to get to his feet no matter what it took!

Yip! Yip!

"Damn it! Here they come!" he shouted, as he made every effort to gain his feet. Buzz. Ow! "That hurts!" Buzz. Yip! Yip! "Shit!"

By the time he gained his feet he had one little bitch latched onto his club wielding arm, another with its claws holding onto his head, trying to drive its fangs into his thick, bone head, but getting nowhere. The President grabbed one, then the other with his free hand ripping them from their iron grips, crushing each in turn with mighty, corded hands.

"You vicious little bitches, I have a little surprise for you!" the President exclaimed upon steadying his stance, now pale as a ghost having lost a pint or more by the time he was standing to the foul bat eared vampire Chihuahuas with wings!

"Ow!" He had to act swiftly to save himself, before those flying banshees drained him of every drop of blood.

He swung his club to protect himself - Swoosh!

In a wild arc about his head around and around flailing aimlessly and looking like a cowboy might with a lasso. He turned to run, but before he had taken half a dozen steps, one of the little bitches, with an agility appalling fast, buzzed around to a position that placed it between him and the forest. He had to act quick, to knock the living daylights out of that little shit before he was completely bloodless - Buzz.

The coiled muscles of his legs were flexed just ready to spring when IllaryHay, perceiving the President was about to flee, yelled out, "You coward, don't leave me here!"

The President harkened to her call, reminding himself of who and what he was now, a batshit crazy barbarian, and yes, he now dared to stay and fight, never again to be called a pussy.

Back and forth those flying canines weaved, when one moved the other moved as if invisible threads bound them together. But all the time the President was now getting the measure of their synchronized aerobatics, the closer and closer to knocking the shits he came.

Yip! Swoosh! A miss.

Suddenly, he got lucky - Buzz. Yip! Bang! Yipe!

"Yes, that's one of you little bitches!" he shouted in a triumphant, blood curdling shout.

Again and again, his driver flashed through the air, one by one the flying Chihuahuas fell lifeless to the ground, occasionally stepping on them with his cleats to complete the carnage - Bang! Yipe!

But, he could not stand stationary too long.

"That's another of you little, Ayieeeee!" Buzz. Yip!

"Come on you little bitches!" the President shrieked out mightily. "Come on and get some!" Buzz. Yip! "Fuck me!" Buzz.

IllaryHay, too, took them on as they came, with her hooters flopping about her wildly gyrating block of a body, and the gusty echoes of her screams sweeping the empty depths of the forest above the cavalcade of curses. And flying bitches fell like falling leaves about her. One flying thingamajig in desperation grabbed onto one of her massively muscled legs, opening wide with its dagger teeth, only to be smacked into a tree by a backhand stroke before the creature could strike.

For greater part of half an hour the President and his female companion battled the flying blood suckers, the former knocking many of the creatures to the forest floor only to be stomped to death by IllaryHay's massive, Herculean legs - Buzz. Yip!

With a grunt she jumped once more upon one of the poor creatures, not heeding her many wounds in the heat of the fighting lust. Then began more of the grim game as both she and the President, back-to-back, sought to fight off one final attack. The President flailed about with his driver, snagged a cleat on a tree root and tripped falling to the ground. The flying menaces pounced upon him like a mad pack of rabid Chihuahuas - Buzzzz. Yip, yip! "Holy crap!" Buzzzz. "Ow!" Yip! "Shit!" Yip! "Fuck!" Yip!
Tres Stooges

The New York Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- The last person to see the President alive, Special Agent Brown spoke of how the President bravely fought off an attack by an untamed, rabies riddled bulldog before he disappeared.

"Yea mudder fucker, duh Prez saves me. That mudder fucking bastard had teared off one of my hoofs (shoes). I tried kick'n that tings toofs (teeth) in. Then dat thing bites me in the rump that's when me tink (think) me whacked. That when me see the Prez swing he club knock'n duh daylights out'a dat bitch side of duh hey'd." Sobbing, the agent had continued, "I can't gets it into my hey'd, (whimpering) that my Prez did dat for me, he such a goot (good) homey (guy)."

Special Agent Bobo Dog Brown is one of the half dozen brothers to have arrived in the capitol along with the President, a member of the same neighborhood pack now calling themselves "Hoodees" in deference to their lost, illustrious leader.

Through the silence which shrouded the forest surroundings stole three furtive figures. Their stealthy feet, bare or cased in hides made no sound either on the grass, or bare rock. The midmorning sun was casting shadows on the one wooden spear the bearded woman carried, the bone knife the tall, wooly man carried and the single keen edged, turtle skull headed ax the fat, whiskered man with missing teeth carried.

"Quiet!" hissed the wench. "Stop huffing! Something come!"

The inbreeds began moving slowly, secretively away from the trail.

"Quiet! Back! Hide!"

The three stooges crowded back to the other side of a cluster of bushes and almost immediately gave away their position when one, the female primitive, mindless of anything save for the approaching man carelessly stuck her spearhead up the derrière of the aborigine wielding the turtle skull ax.

"Hey, watch out!"

The man approaching them was odd looking and had taken no notice. He was not wearing animal hides, but some kind of clothes made of plants. His feet made a strange scouring noise on the hard trail surface as he approached with weird looking strides that reminded all three cave people of a stork. He was also carrying a long stick with knocker on the end that reflected the sunlight.

The man's face had no hair like a baby, he was bald with big ears and a superb tan. Also, the threatening figure, with huge muscular chest and arms, but with legs of a bird, had an overly confident air about him as he strolled without caution uprooting their sacred Muumuu bushes.

Weapons whetted in the hands of these brazen olive skinned ogress with tangled hair and eyes of blue, brown and green, eyes that now glared with hunger through the bushes at the weird looking man. These lowbrows resembled people who could have been the earliest ancestors of modern day liberals, primitives whose future progeny would, or could have become prominent in a political party made up of intellectual lightweights. These early spermatozoon's were constantly having sex all the time, constantly trying to procreate in the oddest of positions, always in a constant '60s style' Summer of Love Orgy, all to satiate their hedonistic appetites, all to propagate like any wild animal of the woods these three, even now, had a growing desire to go bam bam one another in the traditional fashion, doggy style.

Foreigners like this bulky looking fellow had occasionally dropped in unexpectedly into their hunting grounds before. The last time strangers had arrived they were barefoot and wearing little to nothing but something resembling fig leaves. They too had once walked carelessly around these hunting grounds, just like this dude with rock scraping sandals. Those outsiders who had not escaped had been captured by similar shadowy figures eventually ending up on the menu.

Now this man creature had shown up.

He too would soon be on a spit.

The dark figures closed in on him with a rush of feet over the hard surface. With a yell the three sprung at the President, the bearded woman first. She came like a charging chicken head down, pointy stick aimed at the President's testicles.

"Me want his baby makers!"

The President turned to face the assailant not as some weakling about to be mugged by a group of half naked, fur clad ogre, but as a wide awake warrior with his girl's driver in hand - Bang!

The President had struck first with his large headed driver to her noggin. The first went down beneath the swing of his mighty club.

A muttered voice spurred on the attack! "Me get him!" roared the short, wild man on fire with the spirit of the deed, flint knife in hand running untamed at the stranger.

The President sprang backward to avoid him and with luck swung the club in one hand. In a whistling arc the head of the driver flashed through the air and crashed into the cave dweller's thick skull with a mighty bang.

He too had suffered the same fate and crumpled to the ground.

The third man rat had seen both his fellow savages roll unconsciously under the swing of that mighty stick with club wielding man's hand.

The President grinned bleakly, wolfishly panting in the gloom as the last vagrant reined back a safe distance from the grim club wielding figure looming over his tribe's people. Before the President, his brown eyes blazing murderously from beneath his low unibrow, the boldest would have slinked away. The President's dark, hairless face was inkier, yet with fieriness. His white Polo rippled in the breeze now splashed with blood, his bang stick a little crimson. In this difficulty all the veneer of the civilized man had faded, he was a hardened barbarian who now faced the one remaining potbellied hairball.

The President was a civilized offspring at birth, one of those babies who incessantly cried when their diapers needed changing, but no longer.

So, the vagrant kept his distance scared to his wits.

The President chuckled at the site of the hairy man trembling in terror. He took a step forward saying, "Put that ax down you fat pig."

The third stooge, stumpy, overweight ogre strangely understood and dropped his weapon, however, stopped short of crying out for mercy when the eyes of his untamed, wooly face froze in terror before dropping to his knees. In that instant something had caught the eye of this backwoods man.

"No, no hit I," pleaded the groveling man beast.

The President wondered if it was the sight of him standing, metal club in hand that had terrified the third brigand, or something else. Having people kneeling at one's feet was, however, something that he liked. It reminded him of the fawning media back home. This cave dweller supplicating himself before him was a very agreeable sign.

The beggar raised his fat head pointing at the driver, shouted, "O Bárbaro Uno!" Bowing his head the overweight man repeated his words, "O Bárbaro Uno!"

Now, the bearded wench began to stir, mumbling she asked, as her brain waves began to sluggishly respond, "What happen me?"

She craned her neck from the ground to glance at the assailant with big, shiny club.

"MeChow, got mark," spouted the survivor pointing to the head of the golf club. "O Bárbaro Uno!"

Crawling to her knees she strained to see in the growing light where her fellow tribesman was pointing.

"Oh, he do, he do got!"

They both began chanting softly at the awesome sight, "O Bárbaro, O Bárbaro."

Both supplicating themselves at his feet, the President wondered just how much better things could get.

"O Bárbaro, how did you know my name?"

"O Bárbaro. O Bárbaro."

It does not matter, he thought to himself, it was all part of some master plan.

"Shut your holes!" he demanded, then looked at where the two idiots were pointing, at the head of his driver. His hair prickled at the nape of his neck, the carved symbol with the outline of a donkey, his party's emblem.

"The jackass," he whispered to himself, "the jackass that old fart had finger drawn onto the golf club. The jackass must be like some kind of symbol to these apish primitives, the same symbol my party uses. Could there be a correlation? Could my being the leader of the Democrat Party make me O Bárbaro Uno here?"

He looked more closely at the face of the fuzzy faced cavewoman. "Shit!" he declared between clenched teeth.

The thing called "MeChow" strongly resembled the House Speaker for his party!

"Holy crap!"

The President now took a closer look at the other cave dweller groveling a few feet away. "Holy shit, that dork looks a lot like Al OreGay!"

"What name?" insisted the President, looking directly at the first stooge.

"Who me?" answered the OreGay lookalike.

"Yes, you dope," snarled the club wielding conqueror.

"Me KaBoom." KaBoom the stupidest looking of the three and did look like Buddha in build. This ogre was known for always wearing an unsettled countenance, just like he had not had sex in quite some time. KaBoom's loincloth was forever pulled up too high like a nerd's and he had a long, jutting angular nose and big green eyes which always remained on the same plain as his head, always looking straight ahead, because he could not move his neck due to a previous injury.

"She name MeChow?" asked the President, pointing to the Amazon with his index finger.

"Yes, she name MeChow."

The President looked down at the man knocked out cold and laying face down at his feet, Who could he be?

"What, his name?" asked the President, pointing now at the sprawled out cave dweller.

"His name LuLux, O Bárbaro Uno."

The President nudged the knocked out urchin over with his staff. LuLux resembled the Senate Majority Leader for his party! "What the fuck?"

These backward threesome looked like the dickheads of his party in some way, shape, manner, or form only these three looked a little more intelligent. Why were they here? Was there some connection between their lives in the 3rd Dimension and here? Nancy ElosiPay, after all, had lost the House by getting caught saying too many dumb, vacuous things in public. Harry EidRay had lost the Senate because he lacked any sort of personality and sounded like a mouse on the stage. As for Al OreGay, he had an inept way of perpetually selecting dates and locations for Global Warming conferences, whenever record cold temperatures struck, usually exasperated by blizzards.

Was that why these dickheads had ended up here? Was this purgatory for liberals, or was it something else?
Liberal Ancestors

The Hollywood Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- Investigators have called in the Atlantic Fleet, the Coast Guard, the Seventh Fleet and all military aircraft along the eastern seaboard to search the Atlantic Ocean for the whereabouts of Candidate IllaryHay and the President. "Steps have been taken to widen the search for our missing President and the Presidential candidate to include the entire Bermuda Triangle," said White House spokesman Jay ArneyCay today in the White House Press Room.

"It has been days now since the two went missing. So far every rock, every trailer park, every swamp has been searched from top to bottom to uncover their whereabouts on land without success. Investigators are now turning their attention to the only remaining place they could be, floating around somewhere in the million square miles of the Bermuda Triangle."

IllaryHay caught her breath starting up to a sitting position. The cracking of branches had caught her ear.

"Who's there!" she shouted. In a sudden panic she opened her lips to cry out, but then checked herself. The shadow of a man, a bestial man began to emerge from the forest surroundings. She looked more closely: skinny legs, bald, big ears, was it the President? The face of the figure grew distinct as she stared on and it was the sight of his face that froze the screech of terror in her throat. It was the President!

Now she made out several stooping figures with high piled masses of stringy, unkempt hair trailing closely behind the central figure that was the President. She began to make out their features, surprised to see some similarities with those she knew back at the capitol in spite of their dirt covered, ignorant, blank looking faces.

"Earth Mother," gasped IllaryHay, "am I seeing things?"

Appallingly this was not a dream as the President now spoke, his voice like honeyed liqueur to her ears.

"Seeing things? No Princess, look who I have found!"

She stared in stupefied amazement at the three primal looking people unable to grasp the significance of their presence, dimly remembering all the inexplicable that had occurred, so far.

"Is that, " stammered a bewildered IllaryHay, "Al OreGay?"

"No, but he does look a lot like the Vice President."

"God he has gotten potbellied?"

"Look here, this dame looks a lot like ElosiPay."

"Where did her big boobs go?"

"Last, but not least, I give you Senator EidRay. I think this creature actually looks brighter. What do you think?"

"I could care less, actually. What the hell do you think is going on?" she asked, convinced she was in the grip of madness.

"As far as I can tell these miscreants live here and have done so for as long as they can remember."

"This place is really real?"

"I'm guessing so, these primitives are proof."

"If you're right, it could only me and you are really, really hosed." IllaryHay sat silent, her facial expression showed she was struggling to wrap her arms around their situation. "Shit, if true, it would mean I'll miss my coronation!"

"Oh enough of this mummery!"

The President looked at the two male primitives, KaBoom looked like he could barely bend over for his waistline, LuLux was short, but muscular. "LuLux go help my companion get to her feet."

The prehistoric man nodded he understood and began hobbling over to IllaryHay's, adding, "O Bárbaro Uno, but no bang I."

She gasped as the manlike aberration came closer, "Earth Mother, it is EidRay! He won't bite will he?"

"No, I think he is safe. These lowlifes think I am their master, something called the 'O Bárbaro Uno.'"

"O Bárbaro Uno, O Bárbaro Uno!" chanted MeChow with a murmuring, subservient tone.

"O Bárbaro Uno, O Bárbaro Uno!" stammered KaBoom, likewise with an obedient quality.

Stopping in stride LuLux, also in a subservient tone, chimed in with the mindless chanting, "O Bárbaro Uno, O Bárbaro Uno."

"Yes, yes, I know, I'm O Bárbaro Uno," exclaimed the President, frustration etched upon his hardened features.

"Why are they calling you O Bárbaro Uno?" asked IllaryHay, puzzlement written on her face.

"O Bárbaro is a term that has a special meaning for these primitives."

"What does it mean?"

"It means 'The Barbaric One.'"

"The barbaric what?"

"The One, King, Lord, Gitchi Manitou, who cares as long as I'm worshiped."

"Are you fucking pulling my leg, but why you?"

"Because of this," he said walking to her side, "take a look."

"Is that a image of a donkey?"

"Maybe, but it could be a jackass, too."

"They think you're are their King because you scratched a jackass on your club?"

"Not I, it was PooBoo who put it there."

"So, it wasn't a dream, it was real."

"Yes, but enough of this. The point is, these simpletons think I'm their master and they're going to take us to their village. LuLux, go help up IllaryHay."

"Who 'Ill,' 'Ill,' what you just said?"

"She," pointing at IllaryHay, "is Illaryhay, now go help her to her feet."

"Yes, O Bárbaro Uno."

As LuLux stepped forward, and like the President earlier in this tale, his fierce dark eyes burned with a light any woman could understand as they ran over IllaryHay's glorious figure lingering on the major swells of her new, splendid bosoms beneath her now stained white blouse. Grinning with teeth missing, eyes transfixed on those fun bags of hers, the primitive thinking IllaryHay was just like any other woman, quickly forgot his place.

"Can me play with later?"

IllaryHay crouched on the ground, her huge brawny legs flexed, both seen and unseen beneath the dirty pantsuit, staring wide eyed at the animalism posed disgustingly before her. It was as if she gazed upon another creature, identical to the Nevada Senator in every contour of feature and limb save for his height and all the hair, covered in skins and using near incomprehensible diction. The face of this street urchin reflected the opposite of every characteristic the countenance of the Senate Minority Leader possessed. Lust and some slight sign of intelligence sparkled in his glossy eyes, desire lurked just below the surface as evidenced by his rising prominence. Each movement of her supple body was subtly suggestive to this uncivilized LuLux, her slight mustache like MeChow's seemed to turn him on even more.

"You good baby maker," remarked LuLux, just before struggling to help this eye candy to her feet.

Puffing for breath he added once she had been pulled to her feet, "You Gork, too."

"Gork, what the fuck does that mean?"

LuLux spread his arms out wide as if demonstrating how to hug a tree, then pointed to IllaryHay's boobs, adding, "Gork."

"Are you fucking with me?" IllaryHay shrieked with anger, in her icy, chilling, shrill voice normally reserved for her husband - Screech!

MeChow promptly joined in, slapping her chest, she let out a horrific shriek - Ayieeeee!

KaBoom followed suit, but pounding his noodle instead. A'roof!

LuLux came out with his own version of histrionic hooting, but alternatively resorted to whacking off instead - Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo!

IllaryHay had unwittingly set off some sort of Pavlovian response in these primitives.

MeChow pressed on with her howling - Ayieeeee!

LuLux preserved with his primeval hooting - Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo!

KaBoom soldiered on with his baying cries - A'roof! A'roof!

Their shrieking, howling and baying like animals was unexpectedly answered by the howling, baying and screeching of animals from afar. The President had to cover his ears with hands trying to muffle the tumult of primordial wailing. Bawling like a pack of wild coyotes, MeChow, KaBoom and LuLux's calls were being answered by other demented souls in the distance.

IllaryHay, for her part, felt as if a stifling net of bewilderment had been drawn about her. "Who are you morons?" she yelled aloud, her scintillant eyes burning like the dark fires of Hell. "What madness is this?"

The President now added his own callous yelling, "That is enough you dolts!"

The President could not be heard over their abounding animal bellowing.

"Shut up I said!"

The bearded female stopped her baying falling to her knees in supplication and set about chanting, again.

KaBoom, too, dropped to his knees barking out the same chant.

"O Bárbaro Uno, O Bárbaro Uno," chanted LuLux, after also falling to his knees in supplication.

"Shut up you dickwads!" screamed the President.
Numbing Change

The Boston Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- A mad rush has descended upon the capitol as news that search parties have come up with little in the way of evidence on the whereabouts of both Presidential contender and the President. Already there is speculation that the worst may have happened, that the Vice President, by default, would become the forty-fifth something leader of the country.

It was another, another day in paradise and all this time the President, IllaryHay and their newfound companions had been walking along the pathway through thickly growing forest. The trail was still made up of that yellow colored rock, but this was much covered by downed tree limbs, moss and piles of dead leaves and the walking was not all that good. Also, something did not feel quite right to the two travelers, not with their surroundings, but with their heads and bodies.

Something weird was taking place, but the President could not quite put his finger on just what. It seemed as if the world around him were changing, becoming more uncivilized, more prehistoric. The forest had gradually given way to trees the likes of which they had never seen before. It was as if that path were somehow taking them back in time the further along they walked.

To the south changing conditions created strange forms of plant and animal life. Thick jungles covered the surroundings, rivers cut their courses to some unyet seen sea, towering mountains climbed up into the sky, and lakes were covered with plumes of algae. In this world swarmed myriads of beasts and savages, both ape men and apes, were forced to battle continually for their existence, they yet managed to retain vestiges of their former states of a highly advanced barbarism. Robbed of metals and ores, these apish peoples had become workers in stone and muscle where they attained a real level of success, but when their culture came into contact with the ButtShoo they soon found that rocks, spears and overall brute force would not always triumph. Why? Because, the enemy also used flint, but had advanced more rapidly in the matter of war science. The ButtShoo had none of the formers emotional baggage, they were an erect race, more practical and better looking in appearance.

Once the two stone age races discovered one another, they clashed in a series of bloody raids where the outnumbered, but better looking people, had succeeded in hurling back the hairy interlopers. A state of savagery and the evolution of hatred had lasted over five hundred years after the first encounter. It was now the nation of savages who waited for one to lead them to victory.

"What is happening to us?" she asked, feeling very odd and head beginning to spin.

"Shit, I am feeling the same way!"

The landscape was clearly getting more wonderful to their eyes the farther they trekked. There were many of those sacred Muumuu trees and many pretty flowers. The farther they went the more wonderful the rainforest and countryside became.

There were fewer flying things in this part of the woods for soaring sauropods love the open country where there is plenty of sunshine and open space. Now and then there came a deep growl of wild animals hidden within the forest. These noises made virtually everyone's heart beat faster for they did not know what to make of them.

IllaryHay walked closer to the President's side, "How long will it be before we are out of this awful forest?"

The President shrugged his broad shoulders and shook his flat, low brow head. "I cannot tell for I too have never been in this place."

IllaryHay suddenly noticed the President had hair growing out of his ears.

The President noticed that IllaryHay was starting grow sideburns.

The redneck shanty lay somewhere to the north now covered by a blanket of growing Kudzu and surely hidden from view. This motley group had been walking for what seemed forever, but could have easily been just a few hours in the 3rd Dimension. Time seemed to have little meaning here. The air about them, also, now seemed still and quiet.

"Me like O Bárbaro," said MeChow, limerence evident upon her glowing, missing teeth smile and now walking on the other side of the President.

MeChow's voice quivered with excitement as her dirty fingernails stroked the President's mightily, muscled arm. MeChow had a fairly descent body for a cavewoman, trim, smallish breasts, tanned with a black mane. Her facial features were not all that bad, save for a four o'clock shadow, with deep set, eyes the color of the sky shaded by a single, black eye brow that ran from one ear to the other.

The President stopped for a moment, the annoying MeChow also halting at his side. He looked back down the path to where it vanished among the dense overgrowth. The wooded surroundings occasionally rustled with a slight breeze. Beyond that forest lay the fragments of their original transport to this place, the redneck's cabin. Far from this place in a totally different world the political animals of his party would be deep in conversation, some laughing, others watching CNN, others like IllaryHay's hubby would probably be out in one of the local sheds banging away on some underage groupie.

Here is where the President and IllaryHay now found themselves, a place where only starlight would greet them this night, only whispering breezes through the woods would be heard, only the sun, or a burning fire would provide light and heat. Other than that the hard lava surface of the path would continue to cause sparks to fly occasionally from his golf shoes, he would continue to catch his cleats on sundry things: rocks, vines, roots, an occasional bare foot.

MeChow's grating voice awoke the President from his shallow thoughts.

"O Bárbaro like MeChow?"

The problem for the the President, besides viewing himself as Gitchi Manitou in this 4th, or 5th Dimension was MeChow was missing more teeth than he was used to. She was also as flat as a board, unlike Nancy ElosiPay in the other dimension, someone who had not been able to see her feet standing from age thirteen on. Then there was that shadow of a beard of hers, that was going to be a little tough getting past if any sort of sexual intercourse were to arise between them.

Did I really imagine that? he asked himself. On second thought I am starting to feel a little loosened up and a bit more liberated.

"Not now MeChow."

MeChow pressed on with her efforts at courtship, "Me like O Bárbaro. Me good bam jam, ask LuLux."

LuLux, eavesdropping, looked back grinning and quickly supported MeChow's claim, "She good at bam jam, she bam jam like cave rabbits. She do bam jam with anything: man, woman, bananas, not matter."

"Okay I get it. She's a real animal in the sack," responded the President studying the creature for a moment. The EidRay of this dimension was powerfully built, especially compared to the wimp of the capitol. He was naked but for a girdled loincloth of animal ski. He too had a black mane and matted with mud and sweat and from under the tangle hair, dull, beady green eyes stared out from under a mass of brow hair. This LuLux, concluded the President, looked more manlike than the weasel back in Washington, a stark contrast to that wimpy sounding, bespeckled politician.

"Not now, maybe later, but only if I get sufficiently buzzed," the President observed inwardly.

"Oh goody, we knock, knock uglies later!"

Overall the primitive female was not as arousing a figure as IllaryHay, but she would do in a pinch. She, after all, had a few of the same endearing, fawning qualities of some of the groupies back home, those who were also missing a tooth, or two and were largely unbathed and unshaven just like the French he so admired. Try as he might, however, the President's eyes kept being uncontrollably drawn back to IllaryHay and her newfound, mountainous bouncing boobs of hers. Ba dOnk a dOnk!

Squint eyed and tight lipped, IllaryHay looked as if she was having enough of LuLux's hands all over her and at each one of his insolent attempts to gleefully point out how she was giving him a woody using grunts, sign language and mating calls, "Caw, caw."

The morning had come and gone, the midday sun had burned the last of a hanging forest mist from the landscape. By late afternoon there was a growing chill in the air, the tops of the tree tops stirred in a stiffening wind and the tops of the mountain peaks melted away as billowy clouds began to grow in the skies.

The President noticed that up ahead something unusual was beginning to come into view.

His little entourage soon arrived at the ruins of a once magnificent stone wall now a shambles of masonry that had long ago collapsed after being battered by untold storms. Like Hadrian's Wall, and unbeknownst to the President or IllaryHay, this palisade represented a mystical boundary between a territory thought to be haunted and the lands these lowbrows called "Home." Beyond this wall is where all the uncivilized tribes flourished in shadowy seclusion, in cobbled together stone and bark thatched huts where hung the grinning skulls of every conceivable beast and fowl, within walled enclosures where fires flickered and drums beat.

With some difficulty the little party picked its way through the rubble strewn ruins and out onto the other side. Something else would happen beyond the wall: the two foreigners would soon discover that their speech, again, had returned to the more primitive. The wall was an unseen demarkation line between the primordial and the really backward.

The President's perfect smile was gradually, very gradually, beginning to morph into a snaggletooth patchwork of choppers. IllaryHay's facial hair was gradually, very gradually, starting to grow out of her nose.

Unbeknownst to each their brain waves were also beginning to become more sluggish, too, becoming less and less pronounced and further spaced apart and was a condition that was likely to increase the longer they traipsed into this unchartered dimension. Like salmon when they swim upstream to spawn, the two appeared to be turning into the same sort of beings as the three stooges: MeChow, KaBoom and LuLux. Thing is they were were helpless to turn back, it was as if they were being magically drawn further into the primitive unknown. They could not stop themselves from traveling down that invisible evolutionary ladder. A new and growing anticipation that some new adventure lay ahead was drawing both further and farther into this prehistoric realm.

On the southern side of the wall the path led off to the foot of rocky cliff. There a cave mouth could be just seen under the greenery and was not visible to the casual eye. They each ducked under the heavy thickets and entered it. The cave sloped upwards and the sound of swiftly running waters could be discerned echoing off in the distance. The cave was dark as night, so each had to lay hands on the shoulders of the person, or ogre in front of them with MeChow leading the way. It was uncanny how the prehistoric woman could navigate past the many boulders, over the occasional drop in footing, it was as if she could see in the dark.

"So, what is your home like, KaBoom?" asked the President, walking along behind the ogre, his hands on primitive's hairy shoulders. There was no answer.

"KaBoom?"

"KaBoom not say much," came the voice of the other male Troglodyte, LuLux. "Home, home is a place surrounded by a log enclosure with houses made of timber, stones and bark."

"Hmmm, sounds marvelous," remarked IllaryHay's, laced with heavy sarcasm.

"So, who is your master?" asked the President.

"Master?"

"Yes, your head honcho."

"You mean chief?"

"Okay, chief."

"His name Moon Beam."

"Moon Beam? That's a strange name."

"Not really, not when he forever pulling his pants down when there is a full moon out, hence name."

They continued on for what seemed an eternity in the total darkness, until at last he saw a glimmer of light.

Emerging into the sunlight the little group climbed down a series worn ledges and paused once they reached level ground to catch their wind. Silence reigned over the woodland forest and above the rim of the cliffs the skies were clear and a perfect shade of blue. From here the ancient lava paved pathway wandered away to the south, lost amid clustering masses of prehistoric looking fronds and thick leaved trees, but just beyond the beginning of the path, it abruptly forked off in two divergent directions. The split began at the foot of a chain of jagged, snow capped mountains stretching off into the distance, the rugged barrier creating a sort of demarcation line between the two paths.

The furry little group could either go right, marked by a sort of human skull on a stick, or they could go left, also marked by something resembling a human skull on a stick, but with missing teeth, low forehead and one eyebrow. The President noticed one other odd thing about those signposts, the head with no choppers had a much more apish appearance to it, while the other looked roughly normal to him.

The primitives did not hesitate starting down the path, with the apish skull, with no teeth and protruding forehead and naturally the President wanted to know why.

"Wait!"

"What wrong?" asked IllaryHay.

"Surely we want right fork, right?" he pointed at the same time to insure his question was understood.

The ogres sprang back as if struck by a bolt of lightning when they saw he was suggesting they all take the right fork. They faced their fearless leader stung by the suggestion, bewildered and obviously full of fright.

"No, no O Bárbaro, no go that way," mumbled KaBoom, flapping his arms to his sides like a bird in a uncivilized gesture of panic.

"People go missing that way, O Bárbaro," pleaded LuLux, banging his head with his fists in fear.

The President eyed both hairballs piercingly. Both squirmed and shuffled on their feet under his magnificent gaze. His speculation recurrently revolved around PooBoo and his cryptic words. Somewhere in that dreamy conversation must be the clue to the mystery of what lay down the other path.

"No go that way. Please, no go that way," MeChow begged, shaking with roughly piteous fright, also flapping her arms about like wings.

"Why?"

"The ButtShoo," responded MeChow, continuing her fluttering motion.

"Is that where the ButtShoo live?"

"Yes!"

"So, you think they're killers?"

"Yes, no like us. Rounder heads, no sunvisors. Make fun of us. They always win when feuding break out."

"Would you mind getting to the point, Mister President!" demanded IllaryHay.

"Just a moment, please be patient. MeChow, why do you want to take path with apish skull marking it?"

She shook her head with a questioning look, "Apish skull, what a apish skull?"

"Apish skull that," the President answered, pointing to the head with missing teeth.

"That no apish skull, that one of us," MeChow responded, then pointed to the image on the head of his club. "That our idol," she added, with the two other ogres nodding in agreement. "Not know apish skull, know O Bárbaro Uno and O Bárbaro Uno good."

"MeChow, that is a jackass, not me."

"Not O Bárbaro, is jackass?"

"Yes, a jackass."

"Okay, not O Bárbaro, but jackass. What a jackass?"

"Oh, just forget it!" Turning, the President looked at IllaryHay, shocked a little to see her upper incisors had grown and were now protruding just below her mustached upper lip. "What the hell is going on with your teeth?"

"What, what do you mean?" She ran her tongue over the tops, then screamed - Ayieeeee!

Oh shit, thought the President, here we go again.

The three amigos now joined in, again, with their own version of histrionic whaling! IllaryHay, for her part, immediately stopped her shrieking, but with tears in her eyes.

"Shut up, shut up, I say!"

After a short time the tirade ceased, the President took his hands away from his ears and spoke authoritatively, "The next time one of you bozos," pointing at the three primitives, "starts screaming, I swear, I'm going to brain you with this knocker," he swung his driver with a Swoosh! Once around his head for effect. "Understand me you knuckleheads?"

Two of the three nodded in agreement, KaBoom could not move his head, so he flapped his arms at his sides like wings, their universal sign for supplication.

"Okay, enough on this topic." Turning back toward IllaryHay, the President offered his condolences, "I am really sorry about your dental work."

"What?"

"Looking the way your teeth do now."

"Boo hoo."

"Maybe you could file them down more evenly."

"Boo hoo, with what?"

"How about this rock?" the President proffered, picking up a stone rounded by all round by time.

"No fucking way," she responded, sniffling then adding, "did you know you've got hair growing out of your ears?"

"What the fuck!"

"This place is changing us," she added, pointing at the three hairy primitives, "you and I are turning into those creeps."

God, IllaryHay could be right, thought the President. Wait, what was it that PooBoo said, something about being able to return home. Yes, yes, I'm sure he said we could go home, but only if we accomplished something. What was it? What was it we needed to accomplish? Shit! I can't remember. Wait, it had something to do with the ButtShoo. Didn't he say something about eating them? If we return to Cumberland Island will we become normal looking again? I don't know!

The President needed to find out what was down that other path, to discover what the ButtShoo looked like, to if see if they might have a weaknesses. He decided it would be best if he went solo, there would be a better chance of connecting with PooBoo if he were alone.

"IllaryHay, I can't tell you how I know what I know, I only know that something, or someone is telling me I know."

Sniffles "Are you sure? There could be a world of hurt down that trail."

"Maybe it is because of something PooBoo said."

"What, in that supposed vision?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"That's just it, I can't remember."

More sniffles, "Then you must be going nuts."

"Could be, all I know is I must go." Turning to MeChow, "How many days away is your village?"

"Not know what 'days' means, but do know we two sunlights away from village."

"Two sunlights? MeChow, don't you mean two days?"

"Sunlights mean dark, then light. Two sunlights mean dark, then light, then dark, then..."

"Shut the fuck up you cunt! God almighty, everyone is getting stupider by the second!" IllaryHay, an upset look now settled upon her mug, added, "Of course the bitch means days! Days, sunlights, sunlights, days, who give a shit, they're all the same goddamn thing! Look you uncivilized, know nothing hag, I want to know just one thing, is there food in the village?" IllaryHay asked, pointing to the pathway marked by the toothless monkey head. "Down that path?"

Two of the stooges nodded in agreement, the third flapped his arms.

"Okay, that settles it for me, we are going that way. If you want go to take the other path," she glanced hard at the President, then nodded in the direction of the trail to evil, "you go right ahead."

"Okay, I will."

"Are you wonk wonk?" exclaimed MeChow, slapping her hands against her chest in protest.

"No MeChow, I'm not whatever you just said, but I must know the enemy to defeat the enemy." Turning to IllaryHay, he added, "Trust me, IllaryHay, I would not go unless I felt I had to. You need to go with our new friends. I will catchup tonight. Just make sure you have a grilled tree critter there waiting for me, okay?"

"Sure, sure we will O Bárbaro. O Bárbaro, I like your new name."

The three stooges chimed in quietly chanting the President's contemporary moniker, "O Bárbaro Uno, O Bárbaro Uno, O Bárbaro Uno."

"Enough, go."

"Okay, we go," announced LuLux.

"Remember, be careful," pleaded IllaryHay.

"I'll be fine, just take care of yourself."

The President watched the little party disappear down along the one trail. As he watched, far back in the dark recesses of his now smaller brain, a scintillant light had begun to glimmer like a torch glinting through the reeds of cold water ponds. His heartbeat quickened. DANGER! The newfound seduction of uncertainty and excitement! Not that the President recognized these new sensations as such, but he also remembered more of PooBoo's prophesy, that one day he could be ruler over all this untamed world.

The President scratched a patch of hair that had recently started growing on his shoulders.

Along the dangerous path he would creep, making every effort to keep his metal cleats from creating a racket on the rock causeway. The President would edge his way along the side of the walkway, where the thick shrubbery offered shadows for him to hide within, and presented the best means of remaining secretive. The enemy, his enemy lived somewhere down this trail and if PooBoo was right, they would be tall and look a lot like his enemies in the Republican Party.

The President's brow beaded with sweat, his torn Polo shirt clung to him for the perspiration. Quietly, barely breathing, he glided among the leafy foliage to an uncertain future. His fears rose, yet he continued on.
Bain of Cannibalism

The Boston Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- Politicians up on 'the Hill' and state legislatures are scrambling to come up with an Amendment to the Constitution, an Amendment that would prevent people with substandard IQs, less than seventy five, from assuming the post for the highest office in the land.

Suddenly, the President saw something unusual ahead of him. He became even more stealthy, his cleat footed shadow melting into the rustling thickets.

The President approached the thing that caught his attention by a circuitous route, scarcely leaving a leaf untouched. At the edge of the trees he halted abruptly, crouching like a real barbarian among the deep shrubs. Ahead of him, among the dense leaves, showed a pallid, blockish oval, dim in the woodland light. It might have been one of the pale white blossoms which shone thickly among the branches. But, the President knew that it was a man's face and it was turned toward him. He shrank quickly deeper into the shadows. Had the man seen him? The man was looking directly toward him. The seconds passed and that dim face had not moved. The President could make out a dark, single brow running from ear to ear of a blockish head and he abruptly became aware of something else, this was not an unusual sort of man, he looked like one of the three stooges! He knew the enemy were tall, but this Troglodyte, too, looked tall. Was the primitive standing up on something?

The President bent down and peered toward the ground below the spot where the head showed, but his vision was blocked by undergrowth and the thick trunks of trees. He moved a bit and now saw something else and he stiffened. Through a space in the underbrush he glimpsed the straight, slender shaft like a spear under which, apparently, the man was standing. The face was directly in line atop that shaft. He should have seen below that head, not the shaft, but the body—there was no body!

Now trembling like a baby, the President stumbled back into the thicket and a moment later pushed his way toward the path home. In his haste he pulled aside a large, tree branch and let go - Whack!

It sprung back like a spring slapping him in the back of the head. Top heavy, he was rocked forward only to stumble out onto the yellowish, rock trail, his metal cleats scrapping noisily as he struggled to maintain his balance.

The President managed to stop short of falling. He held his breath, had he been heard. He listened for any telltale sound. Nothing. He quickly yanked off his golf shoes and noiselessly sprinted off. He stumbled upon the group wet from sweat and breathing heavily several hours later.

His little entourage had made camp under a large tree just off the path, the 'good' path, the path marked by the apish skull. The President quickly noticed the site had good tree cover, hopefully enough to protect them from unseen eyes, but their splendid open air fire was sure to be seen by anyone, or anything nearby.

"Hungry?" asked IllaryHay, but before she could ask if he wanted lizards, or tree beavers, the President rushed over and attempted to stomp out the fire with his bare feet - Owww!

"What The fuck is wrong with you?" IllaryHay shouted, in amazement.

"I saw something!" snapped the President, hobbling from foot to foot to cool off his tootsies.

"What?" she asked, stunned.

"I only saw one of them," motioning in the direction of one of three primitives, "it looked like them, only with it's head cut off."

The stooges instantly leapt into nearby bushes.

"Come on, are you fucking kidding?"

"No, I swear, and it was stuck on a pike."

IllaryHay whispered in fear, "Did anyone follow you, am I in danger?"

"I never saw anyone, alive at least."

LuLux's trembling voice crackled from a nearby bush, "That was surely the work of the ButtShoo."

"I just told you, I did not see, or hear them," snarled the President.

"So, you think the guy just cut off his own head and put it on a stake, you dolt!" reacted IllaryHay, incredulously.

"Now, did I say that?"

"No, but you might as well have."

"You did not see them?" asked a quivering female voice from another bush.

"No, I saw no one else."

"What about you goons, have any of you ever seen them?"

"KaBoom has," came MeChow's voice from her hide behind a nearby tree, "the ButtShoo broke his neck."

"Where is KaBoom?"

"He was just here a minute ago, staring up at the stars and scratching like a flea bitten cur," replied IllaryHay, adding, "he just kept laughing at nothing. I happen to think his behavior is just another demonstration of his brutal stupidity."

"He ran into the forest to hide," came LuLux's voice, still hiding.

"KaBoom, you can come out now. Everything is safe," announced the President.

There was no reply, nothing but the stillness of the woodland surroundings.

"KaBoom, come hither."

Still no answer.

"Where are you you idiot?"

Far out in the woods there pealed a whisper of frightful laughter like a demented soul. Somewhere out there sounded a strange and eerie echo. A moment later, again, same thing only this time louder. The President jumped into a hunting posture. Were his senses deceiving him?

"KaBoom," yelled the President, "is that you?"

The strange jibberish again, sounded closer. No normal human being ever laughed like that, there was no rhyme or reason in it, just the lunacy of someone who must be mad, or indescribably stupid and vacuous with below normal intelligence. The President held his breath for a second. He was not afraid, but for the moment a little curious. He prepped his driver, ready to swing.

The two other stooges came out of hiding, it was now safer to be around the light of the campfire.

"What is that?" asked IllaryHay, concerned that another blood letting attack from flying Chihuahuas might be in the offing.

The President took a quick look at the others. Fear was etched on each one of their faces.

All of a sudden, stabbing through that awesome laughter came the din of something that was undoubtedly mortal. The President turned his head to one side to improve his hearing, his ears acting like radar dishes. Had the ButtShoo followed him after all?

The President cursed the campfire and the flickering shadows it cast and veiled the source of the noise in the forest and made seeing the thing creating the disturbance impossible.

The hysteria grew louder, but then turned to shrieks, not of joy, but of pain. Then sounded faintly the drum of more crazy giggling. The President was dumbfounded, somewhere out there a human was probably being tortured, possibly to death and by what manner of horror God only knew. The din of the hysterical laughter halted abruptly and the screaming rose unbearably mingled with other sounds unnameable and hideous. Evidently the man had been overtaken and the President, his flesh crawling, visualized some ghastly fiend of the darkness cowering on the back of its victim crouching and tearing.

Then the noise of more terrible screaming and short bursts of inhuman shouting came clearly through the abysmal silence of the night and the crazy chuckling began again, but bumbling and irregular. The laughter persisted, but with a gasping, grunting sound.

The sweat stood cold on the President's one eyebrow and hair matted body. This was some loathsome horror, a horror of intolerable proportions.

"God, for a moment's clear sight!"

The frightful drama was being played out within a very short distance of him to judge by the effortlessness with which the hubbub reached his ears. But, in this hellish half light, veiled by shifting shadows, the forest surroundings appeared to be full of hideous illusions.

He shouted out striving to scare the creature away with his mighty, bellowing barbarian voice. The shrieks of the unrevealed broke into a hideous shrill squealing, again there was the noise of rustling bushes and then from the shadows of the tall forest trees a thing came reeling, a thing that might have been a man and falling at the President's feet writhing in pain. The lunatic raised its face up to him, it was the stiffed necked KaBoom.

The campfire cast a light on the stooge's condition. The President stepped back several steps, the unnameable had happened and he shuddered, a rare thing for him who had seen shit before, but nothing like the bloody mess he was witnessing before him.

"Hemorrhoids!" exclaimed the President. "KaBoom's got piles!"

Nothing save for the combination of mad laughter, sobbing cries and gibbering gibberish now yammered from the fellow's maw.

"He's mad, crazy as a fruitcake," IllaryHay stated bluntly, "delirious with pain."

Then, like the shouts of rioters in a liberal mob coming to ear, the President was aware that he was not alone in his revulsion. He looked around, his cold eyes piercing the shadows hiding some of those standing around shocked at the same scene. He saw little, but he perceived, he sensed that the others' eyes were staring on with horror. Pointing at the poor soul he added, "This is what happens when you don't eat your vegetables. Think about that the next time."

The shadows melted and the President saw! At first he thought it only a shadow of mist, a wisp of moor fog that sprung violently from the Troglodyte's butt. He gazed on in horror. More illusion?

Then the thing set about to take on shape, vague and indistinct.

"Back up everyone! He's still taking a shit!"

Horrified eyes flamed upon the poor creature, eyes which held all the stark dread which has been the heritage of both man and woman since the fearful dawn ages, eyes frightful and near certifiable with a madness transcending earthly insanity.

The olfactory shattering travesty that had overtaken KaBoom, like so many horrible travesties, was yet something everyone in this little group could relate to, many having suffered the same mortal frailty at one time or another in their lives.

The President was secretly horrified, yet remained close at hand and as cold as ice. "How much crap can this guy shit?"

The others began to waver having no such psychological strength to overcome the visual and gamy onslaught. He, however, was now a primitive, too and could easily understand how the horror lying in crazily laughing pain could upset the others, a testimony to his newfound hardened nature.

Of one thing he was sure, there was no way KaBoom was sleeping with he and the others that night. There would be no soft bed of grass, but only the dreary jungle and at least a hundred yards of it. KaBoom's shrieks nor pleading would now save him. No, it did not matter for this smelly pile of human shit would soon be dragged down to the creek and thrown in again, and again, drowned if necessary before being allowed back into the troop.

He straightened and drew up his women's driver pausing for a second. The reflection of the firelight danced upon the dull luster of the chrome plated head. Now a vague and grisly mouth gaped wide and the demoniac laughter again shrieked, but soul shaking in its proximity and in the midst of this threat the President deliberately leveled his long driver and struck the stooge in the head.

A maniacal yell of laughter and mockery answered the club stroke and KaBoom came at the President like a flying ball of fur, long arms stretched attempting out to grab and tackle him.

The first attempt to knock the primitive into oblivion failing he leapt aside and watched, like a bullfighter watching a bull run through his cape as the misfit went scampering past. Swinging his club high and in so fast a motion it seemed a blur to the onlookers above his head, he thrust it down onto the one inch thick bone of the man's skull with all his might. The driver sang as it passed through air with speed, only to come to an abrupt halt when chrome met solid skull at the end of his mighty stroke, but finally bringing the demented stooge to the ground.

It was a horrific blow much like hitting a block of granite running on two legs, so thick that even the President's savage blow met without first time success. In his mighty arms, in his mighty grasp he expected all lowlifes of this world to succumb quickly to this sort of brutal beating. That thought was now all for naught. The President looked at his driver and saw that it was now dented. Solid as his ladies driver was, flailing apish creatures with their hard noggins and puny brains, the failure now caused him to shudder to the depths of his soul. The President realized at that moment that he was not in as mighty a position as once thought.

Already the surroundings began to stink with the flotsam of the man critter, but he would never once flinch for the President was now more a barbarian that the wimpy soul he had once been. The thought of showing fear never now entered his tiny, more base intellect. He had never had to flee from a single foe as President and had the thought occurred to him he would have assailed the assailant with all the departments and agencies at his disposal.

He saw no help for KaBoom's situation, but only that the rank hairball should have a good dunking, conscious or not. His only wish was to leave the removal of the filthy body to the others and why not, he had already given a good account of himself.

There above the laid out body flies began to arrive in the flickering light and as if that was not enough other creatures attracted to the smell of the human miscarriage set about to make their presence widely known both in the heavens and in the forest in protest.

"Okay MeChow, LuLux, go dump your compatriot in the creek then jump in yourselves. No reason anyone should smell like KaBoom tonight."

If for the smell alone slight hatred quickly turned up upon the faces of the two lowbrows. It was going to be a ghastly chore, maybe not requiring courage, but certainly the ability to hold one's breath for extended periods of time.

"Go ahead," demanded the President, "while IllaryHay and I move the campsite."

MeChow fought to hold onto KaBoom's arms, while LuLux grabbed his feet both now thinking to themselves that their comrade may have outlived his usefulness to the tribe. The trio melted away like ghosts in the gloom of night followed some minutes later by a fearful laughter that quickly changed to shrieks of agony, for man's only weapon against that scourge is courage, courage that flinches not from the gates of Hell itself, but from the pain.

Of this sort of torment the President knew nothing, he only knew that the falls he was still taking were causing little in the way of real bruises and never scratching, or piercing his thick skin. Others would waver under the onslaught, while his own callous nature would now withstand any such assault. The President might, however, need to work on that his swing of his. Maybe he was holding his club too tightly. Yes, he thought, that could be throwing my stroke off a bit.

The noise of bodies tumbling and splashing about in the creek came to ear as the ogres struggled to rid themselves of the miasma.

The President watched the smoke of the open air fire climb like a serpent into the night sky. His flesh crawled and his wooly hair stood on end at the thought of being in the same sort of condition as KaBoom. A distant gibbering came to ear reminding him of the torture that poor soul was now enduring. The President did not comprehend as a gentleman hears and comprehends the speech of a man, but the frightful secrets it imparted in whisperings and yammerings and the screaming silences sank fingers of ice into his soul. The President knew this condition was the bane of most carnivores.

Later, lying flat on his back in a bed of dry leaves having finished polishing off one of the roasted tree squirrels the President finally succumbed to his exhaustion and disillusions of self grandeur. His hard, taught, brawny body was snug and warm in the leaf litter and he began to sleep soundly - Zzz e eeb bee bee zzz e bee bee. Zzz e eeb bee bee zzz e bee bee.
The Yaks

The Boston Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- "The doorway appears to magically open somewhere between ten thousand and twenty thousand feet up," said archeologist Oprah InfreyWay during a public press announcement. When asked by reporters how the Trianglodylians would have reached a doorway miles above earth she was at a loss to answer saying only, "All I can say is our investigation is still underway and that we hope the dig site will reveal further clues that will provide everyone with the answers."

When morning broke the President found he had been bitten again that previous night by more of those bloodsuckers, the flying Chihuahuas, as had IllaryHay. The primordial folk appeared to be immune to the varmints, and in KaBoom's case for obvious reasons.

All but KaBoom gathered as a group around the little rippling brook splashing their faces, those bitten caring for their slight injuries before taking off again south.

"When do you think we will arrive, MeChow?" he asked, his eyes locked on the every movement of IllaryHay's new fun bags.

"Maybe one sunlight now," replied MeChow, keeping close by the President.

He barely heard her response, his mind moving on now to Mimosas. "Say, you there, LuLux. Go get some more of those Muumuus."

Mumbling to himself and mindless of anything else, LuLux did not hear the President's demand.

"LuLux!" shouted the President.

"Yes, O Bárbaro!"

"Go get us some more of those Muumuus you idiot!"

The near toothless fool nodded in agreement.

"And get one for IllaryHay, too."

"Yes, O Bárbaro," he answered, before scampering off.

"Now, what were you saying MeChow?"

KaBoom was forced to walk fifty yards behind the others, his appearance a shambles, his stupid countenance of what might overtake both the President and IllaryHay the further they trekked into the unknown land.

"I cannot understand why I'm feeling it more and more difficult to leave this weird place," spoke IllaryHay.

Revealing was the President's answer, "I too am no longer drawn to the idea of going home."

IllaryHay sighed, "Yes, but there really is no place like home."

"Of course you're right, but just think of what awaits us there: my bitching wife and her vegetarianism, your husband with his fly always open."

"Yes, but you can always muzzle your wife. I guess I can always have my horny toad of a husband sterilized."

"But what's the fun in that? Here, at least we at the top of the IQ food chain."

"Maybe, but back home I would be President."

"Sure, but for how long? Four years, eight if you're lucky, then it's all over. I know the let down when the end is coming. I've been there when the media is kissing your ass one day and instantly missing the next."

"Say, did you know you've got hair growing all over your back, now?'

The President looked at IllaryHay meanly, responding, "Did you know you're developing a significant overbite."

"Oh yea, I didn't want to tell you before, but now I will. You're starting to look like a salmon, only a male salmon at the end of the spawning cycle."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I means, my dear President, you've developed a severe case of underbite and your lower teeth are now starting to protrude up over your lower lip."

LuLux, who had gone missing for a time, came pushing loudly through the brush yelling excitedly, "Me smell settlement! We home soon!" LuLux looked at IllaryHay and in a seductive a tone as his hoarse voice would allow added, "Smoke mean food." Then he raised his head toward the heavens and taking in a deep breath added, "Smoke mean barbecue!"

"Let's hurray!" exclaimed IllaryHay, a bit of drool dripping down the corner of her mouth.

Somewhere beyond all this uncivilized courtship a drum beat could be faintly heard in the distance. This was to be an momentous day for the President and IllaryHay were going to see for the first time how these broadly built, with long apish arms and mighty chests, but with flat heads and low foreheads lived, so thinking the delays behind them they had hardly been walking an hour when the little party came upon a great precipice that blocked their path, a last great obstacle.

His plaid shorts waving in the wind, from the President's feet the cliff fell away sheerly several hundred feet below. Looking south, then north, he saw miles of chasm cutting through the countryside, its sharply bevelled edges dropping down into swiftly flowing stream and rapids breaking with some fury along its course. As far as the President could see the natural barrier stretched off into the dreamy haze of the distance.

The President, poised like a bronze statue on a promontory overlooking the gorge, then pointed with an evil snarl at the three primitives, saying, "You ignoramuses didn't say anything about this gorge. How do you plan to get us over this damn thing?"

"Walk over," responded LuLux, "we walk over by bridge. Wait and see."

"What, there's a bridge? I don't see any bridge."

"No, wait, see. We will call the settlement for help."

The threesome nodded to one another, dropped to all fours and set about howling like a pack of coyotes - A'rooooooo! A'rooooooo!

Their howling was returned shortly thereafter from across the gorge by others who had appeared on the opposite side of the sheer drop and set about communicating with one another with howling and barking noises - A'rooooooo! A'rooooooo!

Straining his eyes, the President saw the fur clad primitives picking up what looked like ropes and they set about pulling on these ropes, as if in a one sided game of tug of war. With time a suspension bridge began to appear from below swaying dangerously back and forth in the breeze.

"Surely, we're not going to climb over on that?" asked IllaryHay, clearly disturbed by the thought.

"It is safe," responded MeChow, with a gleaming smile.

"Hard to tell from this distance, MeChow," asserted the President.

"It's made of fucking jungle vines you dolt!" IllaryHay cried, growing panic stricken.

IllaryHay eventually acquiesced to the risk taking affair, the odds were in their favor, or so she was led to believe. According to LuLux it had been 'ten toes' since anyone had fallen to their deaths. Lost in the translation were what he meant by 'ten toes,' was it a reference to ten months, ten weeks, ten days, ten hours!

The small group carefully descended the cliffs to a ledge and set off one by one across the dangerous chasm. By the time they reached the village darkness had replaced what little sunlight had filtered through the forest canopy. Screened by the gloom the President could make out the crude nature of the stockade, he could see timbers had been driven into the ground pointy ends thrusting skyward and too dull to act as much of a deterrent. The wall looked solid enough and was lit every dozen yards by burning torches. Trees leaned above the wall, the branches intertwined, so that most of the barricade would be cloaked in semidarkness during the day. From the wall several uncivilized faces leered at him. The stone age settlement of the Yak Clan lay before them.

The pathway wound its way up to a closed, broad gate made of roughly hewn timber. Beyond the gateway there could be discerned the sounds of great commotion. The President shifted his driver from his left to right hand, an adjustment more to his liking, and calmly returned the searching stares of a growing number of lowbrow folk peering down from the stockade, fixing their gaze upon his magnificent presence in the torch light. The President saw their existence only incidentally. Even the bare chested women were noted by him only absently. His full attention was fixed in awful fascination on a fetor that assailed his nostrils from somewhere in the village, it reminded him of his dad's village.

The heavy wooden gate opened after a few howls from his companions, his sight was greeted by stocky, hairy men and women with broad, stooped shoulders and stark naked save for some scanty, fur loincloths. Most of them had suspicious looks and were armed to the teeth with all sorts of stone age weapons. The torchlight brought out the play of their bestial physiques and bare breasts in bold relief. Their dark hair and unshaved faces were immobile, save for their narrow eyes that glittered with the fire that burns within eyes of someone who could eat a horse, or a man. Crude ornaments made of animal fangs dangled from the adults' ears. The few children he saw were completely naked and could be easily mistaken for filthy monkeys.

"These people are pigs," whispered IllaryHay, "and what is that goddamn stench?"

The lowbrows were particularly interested in the President, eyeing him curiously and with suspiciousness for he was tall and stood out among the ordinary Troglodyte men like their enemies, the ButtShoo. The President's hairless face, one of the feathers from one of the flying Touché birds, adorning his head in place of the missing eagle's feather, his weird plant clothes, sandals that had spikes on the bottom, his big ears and his shiny metal stick with big club head, they were all very alien sights.

Led by MeChow, his little group went unchallenged as it threaded its way among the crowd of villagers. It seemed to the President that they were being led to the center of this settlement, a surreal setting with bongos beating in the background announcing their arrival.

The President's eyes wavered away from the steady glare of some of the grizzly women and he repressed a cry of horror. A few dozen yards away there rose a hideous, compost pyramid of every form of garbage imaginable, just visible in the torchlight. Numbly he recognized the worn path which showed where these savages were turning around to dump a load, all kinds of unsightly loads, an outdoor toilet without the commode!

These untamed people were carnivores by the look of things, they were eating any animal they could get their hands on, maybe even people! From what little he could make out, it looked to him as if there could have been years of crap and bones piled up in that one spot. He could not easily understand, even as someone who resembled 'the Hulk,' why these backward peoples had never thought to occasionally cover the disgusting sight: with tree limbs, dirt, something, anything!

The President looked over at IllaryHay, she too, reflected disgust upon her features, but passing another, then another heap, one shit pile followed by another was too much for his companion. Strangely, only a few of the aboriginal faces watching her hurl reflected any sort of repulsion at the act.

Many of these primitives looked emaciated, especially the elderly and most wore downcast, dark expressions, as if waiting for an end to their misery.

IllaryHay caught a glimpse of a leaping naked girl, then a naked leapfrogging guy between several huts in the village. She would soon discover that intercourse was more than an appetite with these folks, it would turn out to be their main pastime and an integral element of this utopia.

The street broadened as they walked on and the President suspected they were getting into the part of the ecovillage dedicated to important people. From what little he could see, the living accommodations were less primitively constructed, some even having stone foundations, but indescribably unimpressive just the same.

A wolfish howling of the locals rose in a sudden torrent of exultation and from a movement in their far ranks an eager surging and crowding the President deduced that someone of importance was indeed arriving. Suddenly, he heard something sounding like rhythmic chanting coming from down the paved path somewhat ahead them, but still hidden by the crowd.

"IllaryHay," he whispered without shifting his gaze.

"Yes," she replied, smiling between clenched teeth and looking like some kind of boob at the primitive audience.

"I'll do the talking," he whispered squeezing the handle of his driver with his muscled hand.

"Be my guest," she replied, still struggling to keep the smile etched on her face, "have fun."

"Shit!" murmured the President, his burley countenance set in wolfish lines as he unconsciously strained his corded muscles when he suddenly saw the lean figure of a middle height woman roughly hidden in shadow and long, Touché bird feathers set on a harness of leather and twirling a baton of fire. From amidst the plumes peered an ugly woman, her feathers fluttered and rustled evilly, her saggy tits flapped about as she leaped about cavorting with her tribespeople.

With fantastic bounds and prancing she came bouncing upon the strangers and whirled around before them silently captivating them. With any other barbaric people this would have seemed ridiculous, a foolish savage meaninglessly whirling about in a smelly gown. But, that face glaring out in the torchlight from the buffeting mass of down gave the scene a sort of demonic feel. No person with a face like that could seem innocent, or like anything except the vicious sorceress she was.

Instantly the thing froze to statuesque stillness, the plumes rippled once and sank about her, just as did the tits, but down to her navel. The howling villagers fell silent. A giant of a man stood semi-erect and motionless behind the dancer and he seemed to grow as he did his best to stand up straight. The President experienced the illusion that the man was beginning to tower over him in order to stare contemptuously down upon him

The half naked man approached with an aura of importance. Grimacing the giant grew even taller, more ominous. The President shook off the illusion with difficulty, but then noticed that to make himself look larger the Chieftain had begun to gradually tiptoe as he inched forward. Now at his side, stepping in unison with the Yak Chief was the ugly thing all dressed up in feathers.

"Who you?" the giant man demanded of him, then looked at the three stooges with derision in his voice, "Why not barbecue?"

MeChow reacted, with a quivering voice, "He have sign Moon Beam, him O Bárbaro Uno."

A fiendish howl bounded convulsively into the air as the uncivilized throng gave tongue to shuddering up to the heavens. They rushed about madly with apparent joy, but the giant beat them back with his arms, he was having none of it.

The leader now asked with a harsh, guttural intonation that carried with it the groan of a grizzly, "O Bárbaro Uno, how know O Bárbaro Uno?"

She pointed to the head of the President's driver, exclaiming, "He have mark!"

The village held its breath, you could hear a plank drop. The Chieftain stood still as a statue, then demanded, "Take look ManJina."

The dancer, her plumes trembling faintly about her stepped toward the President carefully. Looking closely at the club head her eyes began to grow noticeably larger. The thing saw the etching of a donkey, a mystical creature to be sure for they once roamed this world, but like the unicorns, they were now all gone and thought to be extinct. They, like the Yak people, were a stubborn creature, but useful and made this inhospitable life tolerable as pack animals. Famine had forced the ogress of this world, however, to eat these prized creatures and now had to bear the burdens themselves. The mystic surrounding donkeys, or as the President better knew them as Jackasses, had become an emotional, national symbol for these peoples and legend had it that one day a strange looking man would come bearing the sacred image of their beloved idol.

The hag recognized the scratch marks, "Oh, he do! He do have mark!"

A shuddering gasp swept over the village as primitives of all shapes and sizes swiftly crowded hastily around the guests. The Chieftain thrust his head on his short, thick neck toward the President, his eyes shone red and bloodshot in the shadowy half light, but with joy he shouted out, "Celebration!" and the partying commenced.

The villagers uttering mating calls and generally hollering and howling all over the place, "A'rooooooo! A'rooooooo!" were overjoyed and set about whooping it up in all sorts of odd fashions. Everything had abruptly turned into something resembling a street orgy at Mardi Gras. Some grabbed men, women, or children and were screwing the 'sunlights' out of each other wherever they happened to be like untamable beasts. Others who had not claimed a mate in time had pulled their fur pants down and were slapping off in the midst of the throng. The ugliest of the women, those that were not by now engaged in sex, had bared their chests and were waving their hooters around like they worked at strip clubs trying to attract a mate. Those kids that had not been grabbed up in the orgy could be seen high tailing it away to hide.

The President noticed his three stooge companions had also gone missing, joining in the debauchery. He took a glance over at IllaryHay to gauge her reaction at the madness, her mouth had dropped wide open, her eyes were the size of saucers and she had to occasionally punch a primitive, or two who were trying to grab and hump her.

The President glanced back at Moon Beam who had not joined in the sexual carnage and only stood with an approving smile on his face, then turned his attention back to the President bowing profoundly adding, "Mutton heads like to celebrate most any occasion. Welcome to tribe O Bárbaro Uno, we have been waiting for your arrival a long time. I am Moon Beam, the Chieftain," he had not taken much note of IllaryHay until that moment, "and who is this attractive female."

"Moon Beam, this IllaryHay."

Moon Beam nodded his approval, smiling, "Yes, it nice to have both of you with the Yak Clan."

"O Bárbaro Uno."

"Yes."

"Ill, Ill, Illar."

The Chieftain was having a real problem pronouncing her name. "Name no good," Moon Beam looked to the feathered sorceress, "What think ManJina?"

She studied IllaryHay for a moment and nodded with her decision, "Me think name Gork work."

"What?"

Moon Beam nodded his approval, "That sound good, from now on your woman name is Gork."

"What the fuck did he just call me?"

"Shhh, just go with this for now."

"I will not!"

"Shut up!"

"Why she talk back? She not supposed to talk back. She need slap to put in place?"

"No, no, she's good." the President looked at her sternly.

"That good, let me know if Gork act up."

Apparently, this was a man's world, a place and time where the men called the shots.

"Come, we drink and eat to celebrate your arrival. You can bring wench if you must."

The President's cleated shoes drew an occasional spark drawing Ahhh's and Ohhh's from the villagers, as the two walked alongside one another.

Behind the two, IllaryHay could barely control her outrage and was mumbling something like, "I'm going to kill that SOB."

"Oh, look there," the President pointed off to distract the Chieftain momentarily, so he could turn around and whispered, "Shut up, I think these lowbrows are cannibals!"

"Me not see anything," replied Moon Beam.

"If you want us to get out of here alive, you'll stay buttoned up."

"She still talking back? Me know how to put hags in place."

"No, she's good."

Bullshit she was! thought the President. He needed to distract himself by taking a gander at the surrounding scenery. The thatched huts lining the thoroughfare reminded the President of those in his father's village in Africa, practical, dry and circular, regular third world charm. This place was looking more like home. Towards the center of the village they came upon Moon Beam's residence, a circular, closed frame structure of wooded staves, built on various sizes of stone for the foundation, with a thatched roof. Smoke climbed from an open pit somewhere in the center part of the expansive building.

"Come," he pushed aside a large hide that acted as the front door, "wife will take you to the den. I have a little surprise I need to get."

The place was filled with the haze of a burning fireplace.

"This way," remarked the feathered sorceress as she led them toward a surprisingly cavernous room with a pit of burning tree limbs the centerpiece. A hole in the roof opened to the elements and only partially worked in ventilating the Chief's manor.

Cough, cough. "Nice place."

"We like."

"Say, are those human heads hanging on the walls?"

"Yes, shrunken heads."

The President looked over at his companion with a look of, "I told you so."

Moon Beam reappeared with several goblets cradled in one arm and an animal bladdered filled with liquid refreshment hanging on the other.

"Please, sit around fire."

Moon Beam sat crosslegged across from his guests adding, "This is my special brew. We only bring it out on special occasions."

He took what could have only been an animal skull and filled it with the frothy brew from the bladder, he then handed skull to the most honored guest from across the fire pit.

The President accepted the skull of ale, only tepidly nodding.

"It is a special family recipe."

The President hesitantly took a whiff of the beverage, that skull was going to take a little time getting use to.

"Say, this doesn't smell all that bad." The ale, or the fireplace, gave the broth a smokey aroma.

He took a sip. "Say, it doesn't taste all that bad, either."

The President took a large gulp.

"No, wait. Don't!"

Too late, the President downed the contents without taking a breath, the way he learned to drink back at college.

"Uh oh!"

It did not take long for him to realize that brew packed a wallop.

His head began to spin.

"Wow, this crap is like acid."

Dropping the skull to the floor

"What's in that stuff?"

Moon Beam smiled, "Honey, herbs, some mushrooms and fermented marmot piss."

"Marmot piss?"

He heard IllaryHay laughing hysterically and then nothing.
Primitive Sex

The Street Wall Times, Journal, Post \- U.S. stocks ended significantly higher with the announcement of the President's disappearance today. Gains pushed The Dow Jones Industrial Average up 1,200 points on the news, or five percent, to a record high.

That night the flap of the guest suite entrance was slowly pulled aside awakening the President. He did not awake as a civilized dude would - drowsy, drugged and stupid. He awoke instantly with a clear mind recognizing the noise of soft footsteps that had interrupted his dozing. Supine, tense, pretending to be asleep in the dark, he now saw the starlit sky framing the dark outline of someone he could not make out.

"O Bárbaro?"

He felt his skin crawl.

"O Bárbaro want play?"

MeChow was back.

"MeChow want play."

"Oh hell," he mumbled, "why not. Get in here."

"Goody, goody."

"Shut up and close flap first." He did not want to see what was about to happen.

She tied the flap securely.

"Oh God, here we go," he murmured to himself.

Noiselessly she stepped forward, her breathing burdensome and foul. Sliding under the animal skins then slowly coiling her hairy legs around him.

"Wait, wait!"

Too late, MeChow struck the first blow without warning, murderously as if she were a Tasmanian Devil. Tearing and ripping, soon the President was down to bare, naked flesh.

Down and around and down and around, again, again and again; the banging, the muffled screams, the overwhelming stench of raw, animal sex, the debauchery would go on all night. Falling to the floor heavily here, falling to the floor heavily there, on and on and on it went, never slowing, never stopping for a second, again and again; pure, unadulterated, raw, animal, love making.

Later, a rooster crowed announcing the aurora of a new sunlight in paradise. Finally, the nightmare was over. The President lay unmoving in the growing light on some animal skins in a fetal position. Stripped, body fluids smeared everywhere, MeChow had finally satiated herself for the time being. He stared through a crack in the hide flap into the growing light. The orgy had taken the pair to every corner of the hut, then out to the pit of charred bones, then into a small brook, then back to the hut, then back out to the pit, then to his current spot. The President's shrieks could be heard throughout the night, intermixed with other primordial screaming from other two legged animals heavily invested in their own carnal fulfillment.

It was about an hour later when the President finally got the nerve to step from his guest quarters a bedraggled mess. His golf attire was now in tatters. The same was true for the eagle's feather replacement. Beneath the ripped fabric one could make out the claw marks of the She Devil. Clearly visible were the long claw marks down both legs and one side of his face.

It had been a sleepless night. All the tales the President had heard about cavewomen having turned out to be true, save for the being unbathed part, and the claw marks he now sported on every part of his fair body. MeChow had not only used her fingernails to draw blood during those dozen, or so episodes of lovemaking, she had also put her toenails to use as well. The clammy, sweet, stench of sex filled the air about him assailing his nostrils. Thankfully, last night's date had noiselessly sleeked away before the crack of dawn saving him from having to be reminded who he had been doing what to.

As he took pause he recalled another dream he had had that night during one of the few lulls in the whirling dervish when he was able to catch a little shuteye. He recalled that there had been a spinning sphere of ethereal light, that it had engulfed him, then in a flash that specter had vanished like a bursting bubble. Was that what the doorway home looked like?

In the dream the President next found himself standing with a white mist coiling about his feet, a finely manicured lawn below his cleated Oxfords. The haze gradually gave way to the sight of the eighteenth green at Augusta. Groping in his shirt pocket he had magically found a pack of Kool cigarettes and had lit one up. He now saw he had a Titleist all teed up. Cigarette hanging from lips, driver in hands, he addressed the ball as he had seen the pros do on TV. Straightaway he was distracted by something inching forward in the mist. He had turned to see a golf cart unexpectedly appear from the fog and a man shouting something that sounded like, "Playing through!"

The cart was headed straight for him running full tilt boogie with the former president Billy Bob in the driver's seat.

"Playing through!" Billy Bob yelled, again.

In the dream he had reacted by shouting back, "Oh no that shit ain't getting in front of me, again!" He had leapt aside out of the path of that speeding cart, had prepped his driver at the same moment for a mighty swing of his magical club.

Billy Bob was just starting to yell a third time, "Playing," just as the President's driver came whistling around. The last word the former president had uttered was, "through," before his head was knocked clean off by the mighty strength and immeasurable impact of his thunderous stroke. Head cleaved asunder, Billy Bob's coconut went sailing down the fairway even as the headless corpse, blood gushing everywhere, continued on at the wheel of the cart before finally coming to a rest after falling into a water obstacle.

Without warning IllaryHay had appeared at his side smiling, fawning all over him, murmuring all sorts of lovemaking grunts and moans.

His mighty strength had torn her loose from the clutches of that horny toad, the spell that bubble nosed sex addict had over her had been broken. She was now all his!

He had then unconsciously snorted the air, his nostrils expanding, his curiosity increasing as he picked up the faint redolence of something that was curiously familiar. So faint it was roughly indistinguishable from the rankness of his cigarette. The pale funkiness was at first tantalizing, but then grew more repulsive. The stench was at first almost like the sweetness of a bathed girl perfumed, clean, shaven, but slowly began to remind him of a safari he had once taken to the savannas of Africa and of the tribes herding their water buffalo.

"Strange," he had said in his dream, "what could that stench be?"

The President had continued to feel the soft caresses of the babe by his side and was pleased by the tender softness of her caressing strokes, but that abhorrent fetor, it continued growing and the bombinate of humongous flies were now coming on the scene. Without warning there was a female's raspy voice that shook his peaceful setting. He looked shockingly in the direction of the guttural resonance of vocal cords at the thing now by his side only IllaryHay was no longer IllaryHay!

"Nooooo!" No, the female clinging tenaciously had turned into ManJina and the sorceress was grinding the daylights out of his one hairless leg, as if she had changed from a female to a male!

That was it, that was the dream. What did it mean?

The village romp had gone on for all night, before the Chieftain decided everyone had had enough fun. Moon Beam could be heard yelling "Okay, time settle down you Yaks!"

The President watched through the doorway as Moon Beam extended his arms upward with his wand raised above his head shouted for the villagers to cease their degeneracy, but noticed the Chieftain could barely be heard above the continued howling and hooting.

"Okay Yaks, time to stop. Fun over!"

Only a few of the tribespeople stopped their fornicating. That is when Moon Beam went about knocking heads together to get their attention. Surprisingly, the ruckus began to die down.

"I said stop screwing around you fucking Yaks!"

A few persisted, a few more noggins were rocked. Everyone was eventually brought to heal and had picked themselves up from their many varied carnal undertakings and were putting their skins back on to become, once again, uncivilized savages.
Barbaric Destiny

The Street Wall Times, Journal, Post \- The NASDAQ Composite Index also climbed seven hundred points to reach an all time high. Across the globe stock and commodity exchanges have reacted to the news in a similar fashion.

After some time of virtually incoherent dribble and chanting the President was able to deduce a few things about this unusual territory and its inhabitants. All in all, and in other words, nothing about this dimension made any sense, not coming a single bit close to resembling the nature preserve, nor his home of old. He came to believe that he had travelled through some sort of portal into this dimension to an unknown land made up of towering snow topped mountains, great oceans and cannibals. Beyond the range of mountains was a land dominated by the so called ButtShoo, an altogether different race, with a widely divergent appearance, including bigger heads, no protruding arches that acted as sunvisors, were also not cannibals and worshiped something resembling, as best as the President could tell, a mastodon. They had to be the ones the pointed hat PooBoo had mentioned in his vision.

The Yak Clan had been anxiously waiting for the President to arrive, awaiting the day when the prophesies said he would come bearing the mark of their idol, a jackass they mistakingly took as O Bárbaro Uno's coat of arms. This outsider would unite all the tribes of donkey worshipers and defeat the demons they, again, greatly feared, the ButtShoo.

For the moment the President sat on a straw mat in the chamber. The flimsy bark walls rustled in a cool, billowing breeze. The two men were alone, ManJina had made an offer to take IllaryHay on a tour of the village. Both she and IllaryHay were now somewhere in the township taking in the wonderful sights.

Chief Moon Beam paced the dirt floor like a person deep in thought before speaking his mind. Moon Beam's apparel would have satisfied the vanity of any Amazonian people. His tunic was of animal skins with chicken bones sewn into it as a fashion statement. Girdled at the waist was a snake skin belt. He took a seat across from the President exposing his crossed shaggy, brawny legs and revealing his wide feet tucked inside some dry thatched sandals of coarse, tree bark sporting some Morning Glories hand picked that morning by his adoring wife.

The conversation between the two would have sounded ignorant and bewildering to many back in the real world, but here their discourse was both ordinary and normal.

"Let us proclaim you master over all the tribes! Let those ButtShoo feel the shame we have long felt being looked down upon. All the tribes will join you and you will dwell among us, make barbecue and rule over everything between the mountain peaks and the great sea."

The President nodded in slight agreement. "There is no nobler land on earth than the territory from which I have originally come, but I must admit that what you say has truth in it. My role as President in my world was coming to an end. Should I return to that place I would be nothing. Here, if what you say is true I can become lord over all this world."

"Yes, yes, lead us. Lead us to war. Lead us to victory. Get us lots and lots of barbecue."

Suddenly, distant shrieks came to the President's ears - Ayieeeee!

Moon Beam seemed to take no notice.

"Wait, wasn't that someone screaming?"

Ayieeeee!

"Yes, it could be I suppose."

Screaming was a normal everyday occurrence in this sex riddled society, just as the constant wailing of ambulance, police and firefighters' sirens in any major metropolis. The citizenry of the Yak Clan settlement were used to hearing cries of joy at all hours of the day. This panicked screaming was different and the president knew it.

Quickly excusing himself, he rushed back to his quarters and within seconds emerged ready to strike, ladies driver in hand. Hunched over as if ready to lash out like a cobra the President had become a lunatic barbarian, again!

Glaring intently in the direction of the distressed cry he now discerned another shriek from the forest followed by what sounded like a terrible roar. The sounds had come from just beyond the wall.

Moon Beam stepped from his quarters, not for the yelling, but to see what the the President was doing. He caught sight of his guest and watched in humor as the President dropped into a stalking crouch of a hunting minx and set about stealthily edging his way toward the sound of the hysterical screaming.

Taking advantage of the cover of the huts the President darted from one shack to another in an attempt to escape detection, looking like some kind of fool to Chieftain and those villagers going about their daily affairs.

Another panic stricken, breathless screech rose from the jungle, but again there was no response from the villagers.

The President closed in on the bulwark at as rapid a clip as he could, he knew through his newfound uncivilized intuition that something was really amiss. He next managed to scramble up the wobbly ladder to the crudely constructed palisade in his golf shoes. Once situated he looked off in the direction of the whaling, whoever it was still lost to sight, but sounded as if they were making for a secondary gateway running from his left to his right. The President wobbly stood facing the grey and dark shadows looming beyond in the woodlands. The President's eyes were slits of dark fire peering out for some itty bit hint of movement, his bang bang club at the ready. Was this another meat eater getting an attack of hemorrhoids, or something else?

The sound of a crashing noise heightened his senses soon followed by hysterical shrieking, "Demon dog!"

Emerging from the jungle beyond the wall she started running toward a side entrance. "Demon dog coming!"

That announcement had finally gotten the villagers' attention.

The President swiftly noticed that most, if not all, were speedily making tracks for their huts and securing their hide doorways once inside. "Cowards," he murmured to himself.

The forest was now alive with the noise of breaking foliage. Whatever it was that thing was just behind the lass by the sound of it.

The President now heard the shouting from the Chieftain. He looked briefly to see Moon Beam waving frantically for him to come to the safety of his lodge, it was too late!

Bazooms swinging everywhere, with terror in her panicked eyes and running with the grace and ease of a goat, the distressed woman shoved open a heavy door and raced through. Not looking back she ran straightaway through the now open entrance disappearing among the huts.

The President realized now that the idiots had left the doorway unbarred, forgetting it completely during their stupefied partying. Whatever was behind the naked cave girl was fast drawing near.

Moon Beam's shouting had ceased. The Chieftain had escaped to his abode, hiding from the approaching terror.

Stumbling along the stockade the President raced, heart pounding in ears, to get to the entryway before the creature did. He got goosebumps when he discerned an inhuman bellyaching not more than a hundred yards away, he wasn't going to make it!

He yelled out, frustrated and scared shitless at the inept progress he was making, "Damn these pencil stick legs of Ugh!" Tripping over a shoelace that had worked loose with all his tromping he fell headlong and landed but a few yards from the entrance. It looked as if the President was about to meet the approaching menace face to face.

The President's skin began to crawl for beyond the gateway at the edge of the forest the inhuman bellowing had abruptly ceased. He remained motionless as a statue, his gaze fixed on a dark shadow that had abruptly appeared. Would the culminating horror presently appear?

It was dark and shaggy in the dim light and the President's hair began to lift on his scalp as he looked on. He saw a head and a pair of deep sunken eyes grow out of the forest twilight. There were no sounds of footsteps, but the short wooly form grew more distinct until he recognized the figure of something that resembled a miniature Mammoth, only it wasn't. The thing was bloody and clad in folds of droopy skin and fur and sported a short tail at the hindquarters, it stuck straight up in the air and was waving back and forth like some demonic flag.

This monster had gaping jaws that were set off by a pair of long, pointy ivories that made the thing look partly like a Sabertooth Lion that came very close to dragging on the ground for their length. "What the hell is it," the President muttered.

The President stared at the sweep of the ridge of bulging muscles on a barrel shaped torso with limbs, limbs that were ridiculously short looking given the things proportions and resemblance to an overgrown Dachshund.

The President could see the nightmare was without weakness, without mercy. The eyes were balls of dark fire, the beast looked like no creature he had ever seen before, certainly nothing like the bulldog he had whacked in the nads in the other dimension. This creature was horribly grotesque in every way, an ancient killer.

It took raw, animal courage for the President to fight down his most basic instincts, preferring in his heart of hearts to flee as opposed to standing and fighting, but he now understood why he was here. The fate of this tribe hinged on him. The future of these ignorant souls, these aborigine knuckle draggers hung in the balance.

It was a small thing that tipped the scales in his favor, merely his driver adorned with the image of a donkey, that and noting one of the few brave tribe members now tiptoeing along the wall, it appeared as if he were going to make an attempt to shut that damn gate!

The creature was crouched on its hunches and approached its intended victim, the President, in the same way a lion on the African plains would stealthily hunt a gazelle through tall grass. The grisly fiend would break into a run at any moment.

The primitive reached the entryway!

"Yes," the President whispered, "he's going to make it. He's closing the gate!"

The beast saw the heavy timber door shutting closed and broke into a trot, the din of its flying feet resounding off the earthen ground. Would the brave soul make it in time, or would the monster get there first!

The President struggled to his feet and was standing when he heard a mighty crash as the creature rebounded off the heavy timber door. There was another mighty crash and another followed by a horrible inhuman howl, the hairy ogre screamed out in terror.

The President looked up to see the brave man had been caught, but only by his fur tunic with the beast attempting to drag him out of the compound.

There was still a chance for the President to save everyone, to save the village, to be the superstar! The President rushed to help only he pushed the primitive with his mighty corded muscles into the jaws of the brute. One life, after all, was not too much to sacrifice for heroism.

The poor soul hollered in agony as the monster began tearing him asunder - Ayieeeee!

"Success!"

Dragging the poor fellow out the President succeeded in barring the door shut! He had done it, he could claim to be the hero, again!

There was the noise of a brief struggle outside the city wall. The shrieking rose unbearably mingled with other sounds unnameable and hideous. Evidently the man was being quartered just outside the enclosure! The President, his flesh crawling, visualized how that ghastly fiend of the darkness could have been tearing him apart, instead of that poor unfortunate villager. The noise of a terrible and short struggle came to an end with the primitive's waning screams, then a gasping burgle. Abysmal silence followed, then the burdensome footfalls of the cruel beast could be heard again, but stumbling and uneven as if dragging its victim away.

The sweat stood cold on the President's one brow and his hairy, strapping body, that was a close call. The movement of the horror of horrors soon no longer came to his ears. The frightful drama had played itself out and was finally over.

Again, climbing to the parapet he saw the aberration disappear into the shadows of the bush.

"Well, that's that," he remarked before turning to climb back down. He had proven his courage, again! Another fearless exploit to chalk up to his personal fearlessness.

One of the President's cleated shoes now got caught on one of the rungs of the ladder, he fell, but thankfully, on his head. It was a good time for more of those Muumuu fruits, because it was time to celebrate! The President knew it. Every Yak knew it.

The tribespeople came creeping from their hiding spots and within minutes everyone was carrying on with their primordial merry making.
Celebratory Orgy

The Los Angeles Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- Hollywood is planning a new, full feature film on the life and times of the now missing President. It will hallmark a cast of tens of thousands and is expected be one of the most expensive films ever produced. The multibillion dollar project will be filmed in Wow Vision at locations around the world, nearly all the one hundred ninety-four countries the President had vacationed in during his time in office.

God, was that all these fucking Troglodytes did? thought the President. Forever whooping it up and screwing around?

There was little in the way of actual food, so everyone just danced around swilling skulls of cave ale, stuffing their faces with the raie des fesses apples. Just the same, a ravenous appetite perpetually assailed the President like never before, a side effect of being a bundle of energy burning muscle. He was again feeling the rumblings of those hunger pangs.

Moon Beam greeted the President with a warm, understanding smile and asked him to come accompany him to his personal chambers for a little snack from his secret stash. Strolling over to something resembling a portion of a log, while scratching his fur covered rear end, he added, "You know, women good for only one thing, making passionate love, but only when young."

The President thought of his wife back home: her nagging ways, the way she always made him eat those vegan hamburgers, and then there was that caboose of hers always getting photographed. Yes, he had to agree with Moon Beam, "You no kid, mine hit forty and turn into bow wow."

The two guys never thought of looking at themselves in a mirror. For one, there were no mirrors, just what they could make of themselves in the reflections cast by the surface of calm waters. Moon Beam bent over and the President winced, the guy wasn't donning underwear. All that could be seen was this colossal ass crack and someone who was hung like a horse. Worse still, toilet paper did not exist in this world, so the locals used leaves instead. Anyhow, for a combination of sordid points including the overall hairiness of both sexes of these hairballs and the less than adequate way they had to contend with difficulties when doing number two meant this guy was sporting dingle berries the likes of which the President had never before witnessed.

Gag! He gagged at the brutal obscenity of the visage.

"You like dark, or white meat?" asked Moon Beam, continuing with his scratching.

"Dark, please."

Moon Beam took something resembling a thigh from the hewed out timber, placed the piece of meat atop the improvised cutting table and started to slice off slices with a sharp stone laying on top of the piece of furniture. Picking up the carved off hunk of meat in his unwashed hands, he walked over and handed a share to the President.

"Sit, now eat."

Keeping a handful of thick cut morsels himself Moon Beam now took a seat across from the President, then tore a ravenous chunk out with his teeth. Chatting while chewing with mouth wide open, he set about talking about his adorable spouse, ManJina.

"As saying, ugly spouse from other settlement. Mother in law, hot babe by way. Anyhow, see ManJina talking to rocks. Me think she might be going nuts upstairs. What you think?"

"Me not sure," answered the President, then noticed Moon Beam had some animal skin clothes hanging up on most of the walls of his study. "Marvelous skins," he commented, "why so many?"

"Oh, me settlement tailor on side. Help make ends meet."

The President had only one set of clothes and thanks to his cavorting with MeChow it was now a shredded shambles and fetid smelling to boot. He spied one of the animal skin suits that struck his fancy. The tailored fur roughly looked like a tuxedo hanging on a peg beside the doorway airing out.

"What kind skin that?" he asked pointing to the black and white gown.

Chief Moon Beam looked and smiled reacting, "That travel suit made of skunk skins. Skunk keep snake, no see umms, bear away. Also aphrodisiac with women, you like?"

"Yes, me like."

"You want?"

"Not sure, is free?"

"No free, but give if take bossy spouse with on journey."

"Take spouse?"

"Yes, take spouse and mother in law. Matriarch better looking than ManJina, but kind of look like man. It name DimSum and talk too much. Sound like barking dog all time. DimSum supposed to move in next moon. No can have. Me go crazy if he, she, it move in."

The President looked skeptical, then doubtful. "Me not sure worth."

"Have permission to use stick to shut holes. What think?"

It was a really good looking outfit with patterns of white stripes on a black and brown hair background, and although the stench of the duds reached his nostrils from over a meter away, that repugnance did have those endearing qualities aforementioned.

"But, me no carry wooden stick, me carry metal club."

"Then use the club, me no care. Just take away. Me want to play field, need other women to jam bam."

The President's early hesitation began to fade as another thought popped into his head. It was going to be a long trip taking him far, far away. A lot could happen to that pair of harping magpies.

"Okay, it a deal, but me want skunk hat for bald spot on head, too."

"Good, we 'boom boom' on deal."

These backward peoples, too, had a way of completing business much like shaking hands in more modern times. Moon Beam leaned over slightly in his seated position and ripped one of the most booming eruptions from his hindquarters the President had ever witnessed. With his free hand the President pinched his nose close for the gas attack he expected to assail him at any second, but it did not help.

Gag!

"Your turn," remarked Moon Beam, seeming unscathed by the volcanic discharge.

The President grimaced with effort only to let go with a pathetic, by comparison, squeaker - Poof.

He blushed with embarrassment, but it did not matter, the deal between the two adult males had been struck.

"Good, now eat, then put on new hide."

The President now sampled the barbecue. "Hmmm, this is good. What is it, tree thingamajig?"

"Tree marmot, no, not tree marmot, ButtShoo."

Gag! "This is a person?"

"No, not person. ButtShoo not like you, or I. Them have bigger heads with no sun visor."

Meanwhile, in another part of the village two close knit figures emerged from the shadows of the hut. ManJina was having some difficulty manhandling the struggling figure, her hairy hand fastened over the other's mouth.

"Wait, Gork me got desert."

IllaryHay momentarily stopped her struggling.

ManJina pushed out her hand with something that looked like a flattened out bakery good.

"Here, eat. Good."

"What is it?" asked IllaryHay, always willing to push something looking like food into her pie hole.

"It good," reacted the uncivilized damsel, "desert."

"Okay, what the hell is it ManJina?"

"Is a woo woo."

"Looks like a mushroom."

"No, a woo woo."

"What's a woo woo?"

"A woo woo is a woo woo."

"Hum, it doesn't look all that bad. Let me have a taste," answered IllaryHay, beginning to drool a bit.

Moments later, the President discerned the unmistakable screaming of his compatriot breaking the silence of the pastoral setting.

"That was IllaryHay!" the President exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

"Sound like Gork," remarked Moon Beam, giving the matter little notice, adding, "happens all the time with new female additions to the tribe. Suitors will be coming out of the woodwork."

"But, IllaryHay, I mean Gork is mine!" shouted the President, rapidly making for the doorway.

"You better go save her then," reacted Moon Beam, "many, including some 'She males,' will want new member of the clan as mate."

Leaping from Moon Beam's hut the President heard another horrible screech in the air, then he caught sight of IllaryHay, the glimmer of those pale, glorious bosoms of hers writhing with sweat even as with a convulsive wrench she slipped from the grasp of the brutal embrace of the dyke. IllaryHay came charging toward him, arms widespread. The President watched on as she took roughly a minute to try to race to his side, having to stop to catch her breath, not once, but twice. Again, she came prancing, again as if to embrace him as a lover would. Looking only at him, not watching to see where she was trotting, IllaryHay now slipped on a field of something slimy. She landed belly first and now looked like she was sliding on one of those Wham-O Slip'n Slides. Another one of her intolerable shrieks of anguish and horror split the air.

The citizenry of the settlement heard IllaryHay's screeching, it was louder than many had ever discerned. They too joined in the melee as the President winced, his head still throbbing from the orgy of the night before. The tumult of howling screeches, fist beating chests and heads, he couldn't take any more. He would go mad if they didn't shut up. Desperate, the President hollered out as well, "Shut up idiots!"
Woodland Warriors

The New York Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- Investigators have called off the search for missing candidate and the President for the western half of the Bermuda Triangle. The Atlantic Fleet, the Coast Guard, the Seventh Fleet and all military aircraft along the eastern seaboard are now moving their search further east.

Without notice the hypnotic power of this magical place, this 5th, or 4th Dimension, was causing some strange replacements of his faculties and perception of events. The unseen psychic tremors filling the air were beginning to create hypnotic illusions, illusions of belongingness.

The President was no longer thinking that much of the dimension from which he had come. There was nothing really waiting for him back there, at least nothing that interested him. He had not thought of his wife once, not since IllaryHay had become a permanent part of his world, especially now that she had had a spell cast upon her causing her to forget about home. That past life seemed now far off, uninteresting, virtually boring and beyond a doubt far less grave than being O Bárbaro Uno. The President's very being, his individuality, his appearance was beginning to mutate, changing into something new, something wonderful and a part of this universe. This was truly serendipity of the highest order even though the President was noticing his small entourage was made up of some of the queerest and stupidest friends and relations he had ever known back in the land from whence he had come. His groupies came in all shapes, sizes and ages, but neither were they without some merit and necessary for this expedition, especially those acting as porters. IllaryHay was part of the ensemble and had magically forgotten her earlier desires to go north and now preferred being called Gork, obviously the spell cast by ManJina a few 'sunlights' back had worked.

Things were quite mixed up when it came to breeding in this world. For one, ManJina's mother turned out to be a much hotter looking, but someone who resembled movie star, Matt AmonDay. Her name was DimSum, a 'she male' with dirty blonde hair, a few curves and at least ten years younger looking than her daughter. The President had struggled for a while on the topic, but eventually gave up on coming up with a logical answer on how these two could have possibly been related. Unfortunately, what was lost in their differences of age and beauty was more than made up for by their unison of voice when it came to nagging and complaining and was the reason both now had their pie holes plugged and been made pack animals.

Two of the three stooges, KaBoom and LuLux, were also on the journey and also acting as porters. Both were continually arguing over which of them was going to get stuck with Moon Beam's hag wife, ManJina, when it came to making whoopee. The third stooge, unfortunately never left the President's side and was going to be a constant luckless reminder of what lay ahead for him on many of those cold forthcoming nights.

There were several other hapless souls in the group including the following lookalikes: comedian fruitcake John EwartStay, aka WuzSee, and someone resembling the gargantuan nosed Bill AherMay, aka Snoz.

One good thing to come out of the whole affair was the snappy skunk fur outfit he now sported. The President even had a Daniel Boone style, skunk skin hat to cover up his bald spot, which did not seem to be growing back in as he hoped.

So here they were, a motley crew of backward peoples with pointy spears, fur clad bodies and unintelligible speech, ready to conquer the world, ready to kick ass, ready to put fur wrapped foot to any unbeliever's throat and they all owed their great mission to one man, O Bárbaro Uno, the President, 'The Barbaric One!'

The rolling country at the foot of the towering mountains were in a constant state of turmoil, where the tribes feuded with one another, where bands of outlaws and dark forces roamed unhindered. The President and his fair companion strode along the landscape in the soft morning sunlight followed by his small entourage of Yaks. As they strolled further from the settlement the forest countryside engulfed them like a vast green blanket limiting the distance the eye could see to not more than a hundred yards in any direction. The lava trail they were trekking could be seen disappearing in the distance where the dark shadow of the volcano could be seen on the horizon. Ahead of them lay some of the first of several strongholds controlled by minor chiefs. A banner made from what remained of the President's shorts waved gaily against the clear blue sky carried by the standard bearer, IllaryHay.

Roughly sketched onto the fabric using burnt wood charcoal was an emblem roughly resembling a donkey, but so rough a fourth grader's drawing that it could have also passed for any four legged creature. The mission, to unite the apish tribes under one banner, his tattered shorts!

Even now, with summer half over the forests and tall rich grasses of the plains were rich with life, everywhere collecting food for the short winter to come. The sun smiled upon the growing wearier by the moment travelers as they strode past the gorgeous purples and pinks and reds of the local flowering fauna. It was a land of contrasts with cool, breezy sunlights, hot summer nights and wooly, barely clad dudes and ferocious spine chilling broads. It was not only these rugged, lush surroundings that bred a hardy populace, it also had something to do with being carnivores, cannibalistic carnivores. The locals' taste for fellow humans was forever pitting the lowbrows of one faction against the covetous primitives of the neighboring factions and was the chief reason many went missing.

To the north of this caravan lay the Yak Clan and beyond them the ruins of the great wall, the demarcation line between the cultured and noncultured. Those that had ventured beyond that dilapidation, those that ventured into those unknown lands that lay beyond the barrier, they invariably went missing, thought to have been eaten by horrible, hideous serpents, or fallen off the edge of the world. Thankfully, for the President's companions sake, they were traveling south, coming to the edge of the forest and out onto the Plain of Lubanja, Plain of Bones.

Through the vast steppes ran the Red River and beyond it two more nations of backward peoples to be subjugated. First, the President would come upon the nation of the 'Quack,' and further beyond them the nation of the Waqophs. These tribes held their lands by the weight of their numbers, their spears and stone axes, people who knew little to nothing of farming and agriculture because they were all cannibals.

The President (O Bárbaro Uno), IllaryHay (Gork), Nancy ElosiPay (MeChow), Albert OreGay (KaBoom), Harry EidRay (LuLux), Barbara AltersWay (ManJina), Matt AmonDay (DimSum), Jon EwartStay (WuzSee), Bill AherMay (Snoz) were all part of the little band of merry travelers now crossing the dreaded Plain of Lubanja.

The President noted with mild curiosity the nature in which some of those skeletons had been gnawed upon, others splintered and broken, as if someone, or something were after the bone marrow. The skulls of many of the remains were generally removed from the vertebrae and crushed as if by some ferocious blow of tremendous force.

"By the looks of things these bones have been lying here for a long, long time," remarked the President.

"Yes," replied MeChow, "many hunting parties have lost their heads coming this far south. Thankfully, we seem to be..."

Suddenly, as if appearing from the ground itself, the President and his little group were instantly hemmed in by a party of the Quack Clan sporting animal hide skirts and all carrying menacing pointy sticks. The portliest of the group, the leader, stepped forward sternly ordering everyone to halt. The Quack regarded the President cryptically, a round eyed, white pigmy who in the daylight had a striking wrinkled, hairy epidermis.

"Who are these folk?" whispered the President.

"They be Quack Clan, O Bárbaro," came LuLux's response. "They dummies who can't say "Yak," so instead say "Quack."

"Shut up you!" shouted the portly commander, who was further moved to remark gutturally, "This be Quack Clan lands dogs! You die here like them!" The slob kicked one of the shattered skulls and sent it clattering across the bone strewn ground.

Swiftly, his beady eyes caught sight of a primitive's version of eye candy. Like the President and LuLux earlier in this story, the hunting party leader's fierce dark eyes burned with a light any woman could understand as they ran over IllaryHay's glorious figure, lingering on the huge swells of what could only have been her splendid bosoms beneath a beaver hide blouse. Grinning with teeth missing, eyes transfixed, the primitive with his sexual yearnings now taking hold over his instincts to kill quickly, added, "Okay, maybe keep one as mate."

The President did not deign to reply to the Quack and the leader, energized perhaps by everyone's silence, muttered a curse and stepped forward as if to capture the white honey in his hairy, solid arms. It was an unfortunate move for the cave dweller, who looked a lot like that megaphone toting Al ArptonShay, but whose name was MeCaw in this 4th, or 5th Dimension.

The President was standing just a few feet away, his driver held in the right hand, leather grip locked in his tightening clutches. He would neither let nor allow anyone to ravage his female companion, not as long as the uncontrolled beast of a man burned within his soul. There was but a few feet separating the hollow point bullet shaped noggin of the hunting party leader and his club, well within range of beaning the primitive before he could withdraw his head out of the impact zone. The President gathered his strength, he gathered his courage, he had no time to get into a proper golfing stance, this swing of his was going to rely purely on good fortune. He swung his mighty club, Swoosh! through the air. The driver made a Zing! noise when it connected with the primitive's noggin. The leader's skull was probably over an inch thick, but the Quack fell like a butchered hog all the same. The President smiled inwardly. He had, after all, been working on that golf swing of his.

The laid out primitive's comrades stared on in horror as everyone looked on to see the creature crawl into a fetal position upon the ground, drool oozing from his mouth, terror clearly reflected in his wild gaze.

For the moment no one attempted any reprisal, nor did anyone accept the President's invitation to, "Come on and get some!" Instead, they did nothing save for grunt in their apelike speech soon followed by two of them coming forward, then lifting their senseless, whimpering leader like a sack of wheat, arms and legs dangling and dragging him away.

The President knew things could turn nasty at any second. Sure, they all looked like reasonable ogres, they were all light complexioned with big blue eyes and bearded faces, but they had something resembling a gang tattoo carved into each of their foreheads.

"They look like good eating," he heard one of the hunting party whisper.

"I say stop," commanded the President in his smooth, deep delivery. He lifted his driver again into the air and shook it back and forth to get everyone's attention. "Me O Bárbaro Uno, me here to unite all you people eaters with 'hope and change.'"

"O Bárbaro, what is a O Bárbaro?" asked someone in the hunting party.

MeChow whispered, "Pssst, O Bárbaro, you O Bárbaro Uno us. They call you 'O Bárbass Uno.'"

"What the fuck?" returned the President with a little surprise. "Me O Bárbass Uno, not just O Bárbaro Uno?"

"Yes, you O Bárbass Uno them, O Bárbaro Uno us," reacted MeChow, with uneasiness etched upon her slightly bearded features.

The President did not curse, scream, scold, or rave as a civilized man might have done at the woman. But, the hurtful feelings of being called an 'ass' was very demeaning nonetheless. The President made a mental note at that moment to have the Quack Clan drop the 'ass' off his name, but only after he came to power as their ruler.

His feeble limbs were aquiver with the intensity of his emotions. Somewhere far to the south the other tribes were still not under his heal, he needed to be slashing and burning his way through the heart of those minor kingdoms, not standing around talking to some dimwitted head hunters. It was preordained that his current entourage of sheeple would swell in numbers through the force of his personality, charisma, eloquent speaking voice and soon he would dominate this world. None would be able to stand before him as these insolent dogs were now doing. It might take weeks, maybe months, but eventually all the uncivilized, cannibalistic tribes would succumb to his will. Sure there would be minor bumps along the way, but most assuredly those instances could be overcome through simple mendacity when necessary, just as chance had come to his rescue countless times before. But, in the meantime he must play along, so he did little save for grinding his powerful teeth in tempered annoyance.

These deliberations of his took nearly a minute, a minute of vacuous mental calculation, but time that did not upset the backward peoples on either side of the spears. These were primitives and therefore nonthinkers and completely content with standing around all day looking under rocks, or watching the grass grow, especially when they were not having sex and humping their brains out.

The President finally awoke from his thoughts, "As I was saying I am the O Bárbass Uno, Lord over all you cannibals."

The headhunters looked at each other with questioning looks. Some could be discerned mumbling, "O Bárbass Uno?"

That had got their attention and they now stared full at the weird, top heavy man with string bean legs, who had defeated their greatest warrior with one fell swoop of his strange looking club.

"See, I have the mark," the President pronounced, with a glow of radiance.

The head hunters now each took a look at the head of his women's driver, a shocked look coming to each primitives' eyes when they recognized the emblem PooBoo had scratched onto the metal.

"Saints above!" one of them gasped, "He be O Bárbass Uno, Lord over all tribes!"

The other Quack Clan warriors stared wildly at one another, then roared with bursts of joy.

Now the head hunters swarmed about him howling like coyotes with heads raised, brandishing their wooden weapons into the air, some even humping one another, an ordinary, quintessential display of happiness for cannibals. To witness this kind of raw animal spectacle and debauchery from these lowbrows was a thing most normal timid dudes would have shrunk from, but not the President. The President understood perfectly that these backward peoples were just being who they were, just like his constituents of old.

"Oh, but the warlock will weep tears of joy to see you!" cried out one of the hunters.

"Oh, O Bárbass!" yelled another mongrel.

"Aye!" shouted another. "Mingo has been like one wrapped in a mantle of melancholy and curses himself night and sunlight."

"Now we will have barbecue!" yelled another, using his spear to impersonate a caveman-like sexual act.

"Hail O Bárbass Uno, lord over all the tribes!" another hollered.

The dull thumping of wooden poles all about him and the thunder of their acclaim was infectious now causing most within the President's party to join the spectacle, to howl like curs, to begin hunching one another, to raise their pointy sticks and boneheaded axes overhead and toward the heavens. Their blood thirsty hunger was afire and they desired nothing more than having their newfound sovereign lead them on raids and pillaging.

"What is your command O Bárbass?" they cried out in unison.

"Let one of you run ahead and bear news of my coming to your settlement!"

"Oh, yes! That good! That good idea!" yelled another.

"Breasts are sure to be bared!" exclaimed another.

"Hurrah!" a few shouted.

"Some might even bathe!" shouted another.

"Hurrah!" a few more shouted.

"We might all get laid!" hollered another.

"HURRAH!" they all shouted together.

"Well, get going and tell them O Bárbass Uno is coming!"

The morons did not have to be told a second time, only not one, but all set about galloping off to the still unseen village.
Quack Clan

The New York Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- Investigators have discovered the whereabouts of some of the missing trailer park homes has been uncovered, the flotsam of pieces of the wreckage having been found floating in the Sargasso Sea. This has left experts speculating that the two dignitaries might also be floating in the Sargassum seaweed.

The President had found the Quack Clan, which in themselves were considered the sworn enemies of the Yak Clan, and confirmed the rumors of the menfolk and damsels of the tribe as being an odd variety of primitives. Everyone was a bleach blonde with deep sunken eyes of mostly blue set below the classic protruding foreheads, which acted as a natural buttress for the ceremonial hats many were wearing in his honor, caps that ascended to a near perfect small point a foot above their heads, like a dunce cap, but more resembling Amish corn shocks. Even more interesting were the shrunken heads strung to some of the brims that swung about as the Quacks jostled about. The hats of the dudes were plain and brown, their little women's hats were bright and cheerfully adorned with flowers. Both sexes were dressed in an assortment of animal skins: large, spotted hides and for the most part their manes were long, unruly and fell down to their shoulders. Some, however, like the menace the President thrashed, had their hairdos slicked back with animal grease, these must have been the hunter gatherers.

Both males and females were about the same age and appearance as his riffraff, they stood blocking his path stationary and quiet, as if waiting for something, or someone. The President would soon be confronted with the necessity of explaining his presence to the warlock. He knew through conversation that strangers were not normally welcome and more often than not ended up on the menu if their stories were not good enough.

The shuffling of hide skin loafers along stone came to ear as one of them, a man who was doubtless much older than the rest, came strolling forward. His face was covered with wrinkles, what hair he had was nearly all white and he was not wearing one of those pointy caps, but instead had slicked his hair over the expansive bald spot with bear grease like a comb over, and he wore a chicken bone through his nose. As the pig of a man tottered rather stiffly toward the President the inhabitants of the settlement made a path for the warlock drawing up just the other side of him as he passed, following his labored footsteps step for step.

The President was standing, his stilt legs crossed and half leaning on his driver as a golfer might at the head of his compact flock of misfits. Most, save for KaBoom who made a mad dash into the surrounding forest whimpering in pain, remained quiet and stationary behind him, only occasionally whispering among themselves as if afraid of the magic of the approaching warlock. The squat, overweight Quack warlock eventually made his way to the head of his pack of villagers where the President noticed a strained look upon the old codger's features, but gave it little thought. Standing still and without saying a word Mingo nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment of the President's presence, then made a slight smile then grimaced heartily for the briefest moment. To the President's horror and disgust cut one of the longest winded, most colossal feats of flatulence he had ever witnessed.

Mingo promptly looked more relaxed and let out a big sigh of relief. Ahhh.

He now looked at the President with an expectant gaze that seemed to say, "Your turn."

MeChow had proven a useful interpreter. She now proved her worth, again by whispering, "Him waiting for reply."

"Reply?" murmured the President.

"Yes, boom boom," she whispered back.

"Boom boom like handshake?" whispered the President.

"Handshake? Not know handshake. Boom boom mean boom boom."

"Is that what the old man just did, a boom boom?"

"Yes, that boom boom," whispered MeChow, "it official greeting for all tribes."

Gulp! Now he understood why the geezer had looked so uncomfortable when he approached, the bastard had probably been holding that fart of his in all morning long saving it just for this occasion. The last time he had tried to boom boom it had proven personally embarrassing and not coming close to matching the bravado of the one Moon Beam had cut loose. He hesitated as he mustered up his courage, but delay was cause for concern for those around him. Even worse the villagers opposite him were beginning to whisper amongst themselves, their eyes belying their growing doubts to his authenticity. The President brought his beady dark eyes back onto those of the elder who stood waiting for the customary equivalent of a handshake.

But he was not nonplussed and with cool assurance his face became more ashen as he set about working on his reply. His cheeks bulged like some goldfish as he held his breath and pushed. The seconds seemed to pass like hours as he strained to give his retort. He gasped for breath momentarily then went back to his straining efforts to make a response. The President was going to make this time count, really count. No more cowardly displays of barbarism for him. No, this time he was going to really cut one and show the world what kind of ruler he could be.

"Close, I'm so close," he murmured under his breath. Screeeech! Success! Oh, shit!

The President looked to see if anyone noticed the double whammy, but no, all had smiles of happiness and joy at his success. He had proven himself one of them, a fellow Quack, but at a heavy price.

The President's body language, plus the reaction of the crowd, told the old geezer that the formality might have taken place. The warlock motioned for a Quack who had dutifully followed alongside the rotund relic, to come closer, while apologizing, "My hearing not so good anymore. Gollam, is deed done?" Cough!

The aide nodded his acknowledgement that the primitive handshake had taken place. This made the old Warlock smile and with a slight bow of the head struggled to spittle some more words out, but instead coughed up a lung loogie heartily. Phlegm sprayed from the old urchin's puss as he spat a foul yellowish globule off one the side and landing onto a kinsman's set of shaggy feet. Even the President, with his newfound barbarianism, thought he was going hurl at the sight, but staid his revulsion by giving Mingo a slight, grimacing smile.

"Greetings O Bárbass Uno to our..." Cough! "...tribe, I am Mingo, the tribal..." Cough! "...warlock. This is my aide, Gollam."

Gollam reminded the President of another character, Gollum of Lord of the Rings, only this similar appearing cannibal was more ignorant looking. The President decided then and there he would rename Gollam to Ig'nollam the first chance he got.

"He talk in my..." Cough, cough! "...stead."

Mingo nodded again in his aides direction whereupon Gollam spoke on his behalf. In a low guttural voice, the aide spoke without making a lot of sense, "We, uh, we, uh, want's to, uh, well, well, well come youse, to, to, duh, to duh Quack Clan. We..."

Mingo, meanwhile, had caught sight of IllaryHay standing behind the President and like the President, LuLux and MeCaw earlier, Mingo's fierce dark eyes burned with a luminesce any woman could understand as they ran over her glorious figure, lingering on the bountiful swells of her big bosoms beneath a beaver hide blouse. Mingo's mating post began to rise slightly at the glorious sight as his aide continued with the tribal welcome.

"We, uh, we, uh wants youse, uh, to unwheesh, youse mag, mag, magik, uh, on's."

The President's mind drifted as Gollam continued in his near unintelligible slurring of words, his eyes drifting unconsciously to a cloud of flies that were growing around Mingo's greased head.

"Youse, uh, duh, twain, me's, uh, duh, Quack Clan, uh, uh, an weed dems."

The President half expected to see the old codger at least make an attempt to shoo away the annoying vermin, however Mingo nary moved a muscle save for making a sucking motion with his mouth, his beady eyes remained transfixed on something in IllaryHay's direction.

"Who, who, uh, who wants, uh, bar, bar, barbecue."

"What's that warlock drooling over?" whispered IllaryHay.

"A again't, duh, uh, Bu...Bu...tu, Sh...Shoo Sh...oo. On ours, ours in, in, inmees." Gollam had finally finished his monologue, thank God!

IllaryHay noticed something else. "That fat pig has got a boner, too!"

The President noticed most everyone had empty, blank stares, having no idea what Mingo's aide had just said. The President knew better. It was the same reason, making oneself look good, Joe IdenBay had been picked for Vice President.

Gollam waved his hands in a fan-like fashion in front of Mingo's face. Mingo instinctively blinked, a sign he had returned him to the land of the living.

Mingo waved his hand, croaking, "Come, we get refreshments," then pointing a trembling finger in IllaryHay's direction, "and bring them, too."

The President was thirsty, but nevertheless he walked alongside the warlock warily, his restless eyes combing the shadows of the village, his metal cleats grating noisily on the lava pathway. This place, too was the home of an ancient civilization: rudimentary, dirty and smelly, thatched huts stood about in no particular order under slender, Aspen-like trees. Weeds grew and smothered the once planted gardens, but the occasional tomato plant was still visible. Dirt paths ran here and there away under the trees where scattered critter bones lay lying about. He glimpsed an occasional toothless smile, ornaments made of human bones hanging about their necks.

Ahead of him, through the trees, the snow capped mountains gleamed white in the bright midday sun.

"Say," the President asked, as he followed along beside Mingo, "it isn't made of marmot piss is it?"

"No, nothing so infantile," replied Mingo, "Quack Clan make with porcupine urine, much harder to obtain."

Gag!

"Gollum, go ahead and have them prepare the elixir," commanded Mingo, pointing his boney finger in the direction they were headed.

"Duh, yes mast'a."

It was noonday when they arrived at the Quack Clan palace, the summer weather was oppressively warm as the President, beads of sweat dripping from his pronounced eyebrow, took his seat on a straw mat across from Mingo and his aide.

The President's little entourage, including IllaryHay, had been sent on to other quarters to ready themselves for that nights celebrations. The journey back and forth through the village had apparently tired Mingo tremendously, he had nearly fallen face first into the President's lap when taking a seat. After the excitement died the President sat quietly waiting for something to be said.

The warlock just nodded off!

"Mingo, Mingo, are you awake?" asked the President, noting the old codgers' eyes were closed.

Mingo began to make a slight buzzing sound through his drooling mouth, roughly like he was quietly snoring - Zzz.

Gollam sat with a goofy smile on his face looking on at the President.

"Well, get him up you ignoramus!" he demanded.

"But, he, he sleep."

"I don't give a damn if he's sleeping, get him up!"

"But, he have me beaten if I wake from trance."

"Trance, that's not a trance, that's dementia!"

"De, what?"

"He's stupid, alright!"

"Mingo, get up," demanded the President.

The President raised his voice several octaves, "Mingo, it's time to wake up."

"Mingo!"

"Huh, what, what's going on? Is it potty time?"

"No, it's not potty time, it's talky time Mingo. We have several urgent matters to," the President stopped short when he noticed the old geezer had fallen fast asleep, again!

Zzz.

"Unfucking believable!" The President looked at his aide in frustration. "Is this normal?"

Gollam nodded.

"Can anything reach him when he's like this?"

"No, just take time."

In the short span of a minute the President was getting hoarse trying to cut through the fog that cloaked the old fart's brain.

"Can you fucking hear me in there? Mingo. Mingo! MINGO!"

Mingo stirred, his eyes opened, but were glazed over and a clear sign that he was still in an unthinking state.

"Screw this! Gollam, where are my quarters."

"Dis, dis, ways, O, O, O'Bar..."

"Shut up you imbecile! I'll find them myself. Tell Mingo I will talk with him later."

"Yes, yes, O, O..."

"Shut up!"

The President had long ago figured out that the most serious things these backward types wanted to hear from him were promises of defeating their longtime enemy, the ButtShoo, and just as importantly, serving them up barbecue style.

Not much of interest occurred that night during the celebration, there was a lot of drinking, fornicating and overall miscarriages of what the President would consider normal human behavior. The conversations between the President and warlock were not that intelligent. For example, the following discussion took place during a lull in the festivities.

"Mingo, that's an unusual name, does it have any special significance?" remarked the President, looking for something canny to talk about.

Mingo answered, in good humor. "Well, they call me that because I might do 'that thing' a little too much. You see, I never get laid, the females say I'm too old. Female's say I'm too droopy in the boot, but I don't understand since I never wear grouse, look," said Mingo , pulling up his fur cloak.

The President gagged, "God almighty, cover that dingus up!"

Mingo dropped the fur cape, smiling said, "See, nothing wrong with me, my tallywacker still connected., but I do play with it a lot. I'm like most others my age, if the females don't want to have sex we all walk around with 'mating posts' standing."

"That's why you are called Mingo?" the President asked, incredulously.

"Yes," replied the warlock, nonchalantly, "Mingo means, 'beat post,' anyhow I am grateful you have arrived, to once and for all put end to out misery by fulfilling the prophecy of O Bárbass."

"About that," reacted the President, "I have an issue with being called O Bárbass Uno. It seems you've mistakenly added 'ass' to the end of my title, which I consider an insult. The word 'ass' in my world has serious negative connotations when referring to a leader."

Mingo looked a little shocked and reacted roughly in a whisper, "But, the 'ass' is what we Quack Clan worship. How can you discard the most sacred part of your title?"

The President remained quiet as he pondered the warlock's words, Mingo's argument did have merit. A thought abruptly popped into his head.

"What if I we called everyone an ass, instead? You, me, the whole clan, everyone an ass!"

"But, the word 'ass' is a sacred word."

"Don't you like the idea of being called a 'ass.'"

"Yes, but you are 'the ass,' that's why."

Mingo had dialed out, again!

"Mingo! Mingo!!!"

"Huh! What?"

Their conversations had then drifted onto strategy.

"I have sent word to the Yak Clan." The President abruptly stopped, noting Mingo had a blank, thoughtless stare.

"Mingo. Mingo! Mingo!!!"

"Huh! What?"

"I said, I have sent word to the Yak...are you fucking listening to me?"

Half an hour later, the President's voice had become horse with all his yelling, but he had finally gotten through to Mingo.

The President had dispatched word to the Yak Clan to have their strongest and meanest mobilized to join the Quack Clan. At first, the order had presented a problem, since the two tribes often ate one another when coming into contact. After a slap to Mingo's head a couple of times, the warlock also began to see the wisdom in combining forces.
El Conquistador

The Jacksonville Post, Journal, Times \- Intense thunderstorms and tornadoes swept through the southeast this afternoon causing damage over a widespread area. At least six Brunswick locals were injured when their trailer park took a direct hit leveling a half a dozen trailers. Local authorities are still flummoxed and trying to piece together where several trailers went. The owners said they just disappeared into the sky.

In the distant southern regions, cut off from the rest of the world, the Waqophs toiled as slaves under their druid, someone who resembled the Publisher of the The New York Times and whose name was Scrow.

Scrow was a tyrant and insured his kingdom remained veiled in mystery and backward. The Waqophs, therefore, remained untouched by more advanced cannibals, their way of life was still prehuman and without experience of fighting. Of the uncivilized cultures the Waqophs were a remnant of times long past eating one another, instead of those captured in raids on neighboring tribes. They were a race whose ape men were entirely beholden to their master, a flaw in their society seized upon by the President.

Scrow had not bowed to the knee, however, not without a mano a mano contest to the death. Final victory had come when the President succeeded in clubbing the living daylights out of that tribal druid, Scrow. Scrow's headless corpse now sat crosslegged, his arms folded, with his head resting upright in his lap next to the President. The mummy was a warning to all who did not immediately succumb to his grandeur and mission.

The President's horde stretched far into the distance, more than a thousand disheveled, furry cannibals who were dancing about and humping one another, shrieking with joy at an orgy the likes of which the tribes had never witnessed. Yes, the President really knew how to throw a party, it was a carnal fest above all others, a commemoration for the first and lasting union of all tribes now joined together under one banner, a tattered pair of plaid golf shorts with something resembling the national symbol scrawled on them.

That nights barbecue was provided courtesy of the Yak Clan Chief, Moon Beam, who had sacrificed several dozen of his elder tribespeople for the cookout. The President nodded in approval as the bender rose into a tumultuous uproar of the three great tribes present: the Yak Clan, Quack Clan and Waqophs. These tribes spoke in similar tongues, were all equally uncivilized, both men and women had menacing deep set eyes and hair growing everywhere.

Months earlier the President had subjugated the last of these tribes of donkey worshipers, all of which he renamed "Jackasses."

The President's attention had now turned to the enemies of the Jackasses, those who looked a lot like Republicans back in his original dimension, the ButtShoo. He hated them because they sounded more intelligent than he and his cannibals from the stories he was told.

The ButtShoo were said to be more logical, stood upright and lacked the single brow that acted as a sunshade. The enemies of these cannibals were the exact opposite of his race of emotional, nonthinking inbreeds. The President's minions only claims to superiority were: cannibalism, massive muscles and heads as hard as rock. Other than those minor details, only a very few of his minions could string together two rational sounding sentences and quite a few were now running afoul of untold communicable diseases, including crabs, the worst of the plagues.

Conflicting legends had come to the President's attention that sought to explain the reason for the discrepancy between the two races, just how could his roving band of Jackasses have ended up at the bottom rungs of the evolutionary ladder? No one had a clue. Equally disturbing were the tales of the demon dogs the ButtShoo were said to have been bred for war and their use of magic to hurl stones great distances. But these worrisome legends had not been enough to cause the President to fear the ButtShoo, because he too had fading memories of things that also flew, that rolled across the ground, that swam underwater, but he could not quite put a finger on just what those magical things had been such were the changes this world had now wrought on both him and his memory.

The President's appearance subtly, ever so subtly, had taken a dark turn and morphed into something even more fierce and repugnant looking. One the plus side, the President was more bronze appearing after his year of roaming the countryside, he was still powerfully built with wide, shaggy chest and large corded arms, but with the same sticklike, long legs. On the downside, the President now looked like he was at the tail end of a spawning salmon run, he had a serious underbite and his lower set of teeth were now uneven tusks that projected up, almost to his nose, from above his lower lip.

The President's eyes were more beady, more thoughtless appearing and like black coals in his even deeper sunken eye sockets. The days of that bright, toothy smile and those sensitive, brown eyes, which had served him so well, were long gone. The President's mental faculties had also gone through an evolution, of sorts, his instincts were more attuned to this world being more a wild animal, instead of a half intelligent dweeb. Yes, the President was better prepared than ever before to become the master over this world.

Just at that moment a runner the President recognized as Ig'nollam came bounding up to the rocky prominence where he sat watching the carnal festivities. Kneeling first, head bowed, Ig'nollam then kissed one of his hairy feet and waited for his master's signal to begin speaking, while sitting on his haunches. With a wave of his hand the President gave the courier the okay to say something. Ig'nollam speedily responded, but with the incomprehensible speech impediments, so dimwitted sounding the President had to bang him on the head with his driver to shut him up.

Crack! "Try again."

"Me got ma...ma map, Mast'a."

"Let me see the map!"

Pulling a roll of parchment, soiled with his sweat to the color of old ivory, from his rawhide thong, Ig'nollam handed it to the President, then started scratching his crotch with a rapid motion.

The President unfurled the scroll, then peered incredulously up at the courier. The so called map was so juvenile and out of scale it looked like a kindergartener had drawn it with charcoal crayons!

"Ig'nollam, what the hell is this? I asked for a map showing the enemy whereabouts!"

"Dis is dat ma...ma map, Mast'a."

Bap! "It's master you idiot."

The President spent a few moments trying to make sense of the crayon drawing. "What the hell does this shit mean?"

Ignorant Gollam carefully approached to better point out the topographical symbols. Maintaining the steady scratching rhythm with one hand, he pointed to something resembling the outline of a large jelly bean with his other, adding, "Dat is de Val...Val Valley of Ka...Ka Kaka Ma...Ma Ma'sta."

There was an 'X' mark on one end of the vale.

"Dat is wha...wha where de en...en enemy ca...ca..."

"Camp?"

"Yes, ca...ca camp be."

Next Ig'nollam pointed to a hand drawn sticks running alongside one edge of the valley adding, "Dat is duh for...for..."

"Forest?"

"Yes!"

Next Ig'nollam pointed to a several of irregular, triangular shapes running along the other side of the jellybean, "Does is de mou...mou..."

"Mountains?"

"Yes!"

"Then where are we located right now?"

"Me no know Ma...Ma Mast'a."

Crack! "It's fucking 'Master' you dope, how hard is that to say?"

The President gave up adding, "Fuck it, just call me 'King.'"

"Ki...Ki Kent?"

Bap! "Get out of my sight you ignoramus, before I have you beheaded!"

Ig'nollam swiftly sprang to his feet.

"And go get something to take care of those crabs."

The miscreant nodded and scampered away.

MeChow was always close by, she sat anxiously awaiting for her master's call. "MeChow, come hither."

"Oh boy!"

"No, no MeChow, no bam jam, just want to talk."

She seemed very disappointed, "No bam jam?"

"No, no bam jam, just talk."

"Ah, me sad, but me got Muumuus," she said, reaching into her pouch and pulling out one of the hallucinogenic apples. "These make me bam jam long time."

"Maybe later, but not now. Now I must strategize. Take a look at this map. Have you seen this valley before?"

"Yes, me have."

"Well, tell me about it."

"It is a long valley with mountains on the north, a dark, bad forest on the south and abandoned fort at end."

The President was examining the map as MeChow ran through her description. He noticed a large black spot had been drawn at the opposite end of the valley, opposite the fort. "What is that?" he asked, pointing to the blob of dark charcoal.

"That is the big, big lake, O Bárbaro."

"How big?'"

"Me no know, maybe Moon Beam know."

The President studied the scroll, the valley would have been considered a natural trap for any attacking army by most, the enemy held an easily defensible position only the President naturally saw things differently.

Soon, the President thought inwardly, very soon I will have IllaryHay back. Back once again in my muscled arms.

The President stood with his driver in hand as a broad grin began to creep across his face. He looked down at himself, his fur loincloth began to give rise to his barbarian lust. The furry wench at his side would have to do for now.

"Okay MeChow, let's go to my tent."

"Oh, goody goody!"
Military Genius

The Jacksonville Post, Journal, Times \- Jethro Bob, Democrat, told reporters, "Dad burned that tornadie just took my trailer like a goddamn Frisbee! I was watching The Price is Right next door at Sue Bob's. I heard a ruckus and looked out the window. One second my trailer and pickup truck were there, the next moment they went flying away in that damn tornadie!"

The President felt the ground shake under him as his shaggy horde marched into the vale marching heavily upon the ground with their huge, Hobbit feet. His army, these Troglodytes, had been under his spell for some time now and had been led across the country, as if by the Pied Piper himself. In this dark dimension the President's horde differed little from his constituents back home, save for being more hairy and devouring anything walking, flying, or crawling, including people.

The President's mindless horde, like his followers of old, could be easily provoked with his mind numbing, emotion ladened, irrational banter, a real speciality of his. The day had finally arrived. A day where he could finally put his sonorous voice and leadership abilities to the ultimate test. Perhaps he could even rescue the one woman he was starting to have feelings for, but not more than himself.

The President raised his driver for his subjects to see then yelled, "Halt!" Instantly, a chorus of women came racing up and gathered about him and set about pounding their chests and slapping their heads, while emitting their famous high pitched shrieks by rapidly moving of the tongue and the uvula, ululating, the Amazon war cry.

Black curses dribbled through the President's parched lips. The great veins swelled and throbbed in his temples, his tusks gnashed spasmodically. The President covered his ears trying to muffle the horrible sirens, but after just a few seconds of their railing he clearly showed he had had enough. Waving both his hands frantically, flat with palms down, moving them from his chest out as a sign like a movie producer would use to stop a scene, "Cut!"

The shrieking banshees had no idea what it was the President was trying to say, no one under his command had thought to clue them in on any signals. Naturally, they took his sign to mean, "Start ululating louder!"

The balling, head and chest banging, near inhuman bawling spiraled upward in ferocity all the while the commander in chief was now making another sort of gesture with one of his hands. Looking about desperately at anyone with a pointy stick, or bone ax and with one hand covering one ear he brought the other to his throat and with his index finger and repeatedly made the gesture of a stroke in the air from one side of his neck to the other. The ordinary primitives in his war party had no idea what the sign meant, but two of his close knit entourage did. With necromantic strangeness the two gigantic figures rose up to carry out his command. The skunk skins of their protective armor showed these two goons were part of his royal guard. Smelling like a skunk was thought by their master to be a way of warding off opponents during close order fighting, a sign of their leader's brilliance and occasional common sense approach to battle.

"Whores," growled KaBoom through a mud caked beard, his eyes squinted cold and with much savagery, "shut pie holes bitches!" The ranting chorus rapidly fell silent, after clubbing one of the wenches to set an example for the others.

The other ogre shouted, "Bring O Bárbaro Uno's throne forward."

Something resembling a life guards chair was dragged slowly forward from somewhere back in the mob. After some impatient foot stomping the President was hoisted onto his throne by the pair of skunk skin clad ogress. He breathed a little easier, even though his ears were still ringing, at least that baying group of Amazons had been silenced.

The President was also dressed in full skunk skin regalia: a black and white skunk skin hat, Daniel Boone style and covering the bald spot atop his head, a permanent reminder of the day he had been whisked to this world. The President was bare chested save for a matching pair of skunk skin breeches and of course, he wore his by now tattered pair of Oxford golf shoes with metal cleats worn down to the soles. In hand he carried his magic wand: a woman's, oversized driver and dented from his many battles. He had worked hard to improve his long, lanky, undersized, stick legs, but still looked like a cartoon character.

The hordes were next marshaled into three distinct sections: the weak and elderly miscreants huddled together to form the first phalanx. The fearsome male Jackasses formed up behind them to become the second phalanx. The 'almost women' could be discerned, by their shrieks, forming up to become the final group. Next, the great, military genius began inspecting the first group of Jackasses, those commanded by the Quack Warlock, Mingo.

Mingo, aged and grossly overweight, could barely keep up with the President's long, lanky strides, which is why he would be leading the first group of feckless meat eaters into the jaws of battle. Yes, this first group, if that's what you could call it, appeared mighty from afar, but were pathetic in individual appearance up close.

The President did not care how bad the first group looked, secretly he considered them expendable and simply canon fodder. He noted with disdain that most were unarmed, half naked, most with missing, or had no teeth at all. They were the weakest and most elderly among the tribes, the aboriginal milksops who, like journalism majors, were all talk and no hat. The President, from time to time, glanced disparagingly at one of the pacifist looking men, or feminist looking females. It was hard for him to hide his disdain for the group overall.

"I've seen enough, let's hear them chant, Mingo."

"But O Bárbaro, most cannot say the words."

"What?"

"Yes O Bárbaro Uno, we practiced all night, but..."

The President, upset, cut the Quack Warlock off, "Well, what words do they say?"

Mingo turned to his hairy choir, then shouted for them to hear, "O Bárbaro Uno wants to hear chanting. Everyone ready to shoutout chant?"

All who heard the weak voiced warlock nodded.

"Remember," shouted Mingo, "just like we practiced. One, two, three."

"Hope!" cried out the warlock.

"Haa!" his horde shrieked in return.

"Change!" yelled Mingo.

"Cha!" returned his horde.

"Hope!" Mingo shouted, again.

"Haa!" answered his wimps.

"Change!"

"Enough! Enough!" shouted the President, raising his hand. "What the fuck was that?"

None replied.

The President looked at Mingo incredulously. Mingo shrugged, "What can I tell you, they're blockheads."

"I give up," replied the President, "go ahead, get these halfwits ready to go."

Mingo nodded, adding, "But, I get to stay by your side, right?"

"Of course not, you're their leader."

"But, but..."

"You can always do what I do, lead from behind."

"But, but..."

"Shut up Mingo! Enough of this banter! You're not the only one with a phalanx here. I must go and get an account of the other phalanxes."

The warlock looked as if he were about to cry.

"Mingo, just remember to lead from behind. Now, I must go!"

"Moon Beam! Moon Beam!" demanded the President. "Where are you?"

"Over here, O Bárbaro!"

"Good, now let's go see if your hairy killers are ready."

The President took quick, lanky steps around Mingo's milksops with Moon Beam at his side. Time was fast approaching when he would need to unleash his savages upon the ButtShoo, before it became too late in the day. His review of the second group of shaggy killers was short taking only the time to single out one, or two those who he recognized.

"LuLux, how do you like being part of the skunk guard?"

"Me loves it O Bárbaro."

"Are you ready to eat some ass?"

"Yes, me want to kick some ass, O Bárbaro Uno."

"Good, that's very good. Nice ax bye the way, I saw you using it a little earlier on a couple of the Amazons. Looks like it has nice, balanced swing."

"Thank you, O Bárbaro. It have nice swing. It easy to knock heads."

"That's good, that's very good LuLux. Keep up the good work and killing."

"Thank you, O Bárbaro, me will."

"Snoz, is that you?"

"Yes, O Bárbaro Uno, it me."

"Looks like you've come a long way from being my porter."

"Yes, me part of skunk squad, now."

"Don't you mean skunk guard?'

"Oh, duh, yes, skunk guard."

"And how do you like wearing skunk skins?"

"Me likes," pointing to several warriors, also in the front line, who were scratching their crotches like flea bitten curs, adding, "help keep crabs away."

"That's good Snoz, very good. Are you ready to go kill some ButtShoo?"

"Yes, O Bárbaro, skunk smell help kill."

"That's what I like to hear. Well, good luck to you."

The President then shouted for all to hear, "Now, does everyone remember the chant?"

Most nodded affirmatively.

"Good, that's very good. Now remember everyone, those words create fear in our enemy's hearts. I know, because the same chant scared the all time shit out of my Republican enemies once before, in another time, in another place."

The President was met with dumbfounded, blank stares.

"Okay, enough of this small talk. Are you Jackasses ready to go eat someone?"

"Hurrah!"

"I didn't hear you!"

"Hurrah!!"

"Come on, you can do better than that!"

"HURRAH!!!"

"That's better, now I believe you."

Turning to Moon Beam, the President added, "Now remember, the words are hope, change, hope, change, got it? Please, don't fuck it up like Mingo's knuckleheads."

The Yak Chieftain responded with nary a word, only half nodding in the President's direction.

To the President's way of thinking, the further he could stay away from his Amazon battalion the better. The last thing he needed at the start of this battle was a headache from their screeching and whaling. The President marched back to his mobile throne smartly, twirling his driver as he might a baton. After carefully crawling up onto his perch the President waved around his driver as a king might with his scepter. His three commanders were awaiting their orders at the foot of his throne, while he commenced with what was to become his most famous speech of all time.

"Jackasses," cried out the President, now standing shakily upon his perch, "look at me! Damnit, look at me you fucking Jackasses!"

The President paused giving more and more of his shaggy, stooped Troglodytes time to gaze upon his magnificent figure.

"I have brought you here to this place so we can defeat our longtime enemy once and for all," he paused, for effect, "and tonight I guarantee you will be feasting on the ButtShoo!"

Many fur clad giants answered with roars of approval, heaving their stone age weapons up into the air.

"Hurrah!"

"That's right my Jackasses, today we will be ripping off their heads!"

"Hurrah!"

"Casting them into our fires!"

"Hurrah!"

"And fucking their women!"

"HURRAH!"

"Mingo, Moon Beam, MeChow, go get your hairy asses ready to fight!"
Hope! Change!

The Los Angeles Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- Regarding the secret love letter from an anonymous admirer was discovered in the luggage of the Presidential Candidate, forensics by eight of the investigative teams have decided the handwriting matches that of political consultant James ArvilleCay. Six of the investigative teams think the handwriting matches that of TV personality, Barbara AltersWay. One remaining investigative team from the Department of Agriculture have come up with a different theory of who the author could be the President himself!

Mingo, with a wave of his hand, shouted, "Forward!"

His mob of weak kneed journalist types moved off slowly, hesitantly.

The shrill screeches of the Amazon banshees sprung to life from the rear, frightening many into moving off more urgently.

"Now, everybody chant!" shouted Mingo, from the rear of the mob. From the back of the group moving through the ranks slowly to the fore, the historic chanting ascended in vocalness.

"Hope!" yelled the warlock.

"Haa!" responded some in the mob.

"Change!"

"Cha!"

"Hope!"

"Haa!"

"That's it!" yelled Mingo, "keep it going!"

The ButtShoo from across the field had heard the hysterical trilling of the Amazons, as many climbed up the stockade walls and peered out at the heathen spectacle. What they saw approaching brought a slight bit of terror, for they could not make out the quality of the assailants of the first wave.

Their golden hair fell in a square mane to their massive shoulders and was confined about their temples by crimson bands. On their bare, muscular breasts they bore the tattoo of a prehistoric mastodon. Their tattoos were much like the banner that flew to the rear, but with far less detail and sculpted by infinitely less skilled hands.

Most noticed the horde approached hesitantly, not at a fast trot as one would expect.

"They're getting ready for a fight," shouted, Mongo, a tall, broad shouldered, slim waisted, lithe and strong as pliant steel, warrior. He was handsome in an aquiline, ruthless way. His face was tanned by the sun. His hair grew far back from his high, narrow forehead, was golden as the sun. His dark, blue eyes were penetrating and alert, the hardness of his thin lips not softened by his thin golden mustache. His sandals were of moose leather, his shorts and corset of plain, dark boar hide. "Haste—we must ready ourselves for the killing."

Off in the distance he could faintly make out the apish men chanting.

"Haa! Cha! Haa! Cha!"

Twisting his mustache, he let his gaze travel up and down the growing mass of degenerate humanity, the affront of their appearance made him chuckle. "They're yelling that stupid chant," he growled out, his voice indicating irritation. "Those are some of stupidest creatures we will ever witness."

Mongo looked about him, all had eager faces, those that were slingers were already cutting loose with their stones.

"Is everyone ready to kick some cannibal butt!" Mongo shouted.

His men yelled out.

"Let's kick some butt!"

The chanting seemed to climb in hysteria the nearer the rabble of knuckle draggers approached. The chants of the first phalanx spiraled upwards in hysteria.

"Haa! Cha! Haa! Cha!"

The minutes passed by slowly, their chanting, cursing and hollering picked up in intensity, as the first of the horde advanced toward the western margin of the vale. The basin floor, whose sides rose away toward a dark forest to the south and a mountain range to the north, sloped upward toward the west and the ButtShoo stockade, the highest point of the valley and natural defensible position both WuzSee, the pussy who resembled Jon EwartStay and MeCaw, the moron who looked like Al ArptonShay, were just about to find would be a very tough nut to crack.

Both Yak and Quack were part of this first group and slowly beginning to figure out words and insults bore little to no results in combating an enemy intent on making war 'out of hearing range.' What little protection they were wearing was having little effect in covering up the vulnerable parts of their otherwise exposed, furry bodies from a growing hail of flying magic.

"MeCaw," whispered WuzSee, looking on in horror against a bizarre backdrop of incessant, meaningless chanting.

"Haa! Cha!"

"No WuzSee, no talk now. Must fight now like Quack!"

"But, I'm a Yak!"

"You no Quack!"

"Haa! Cha!"

"I'm a Yak damnit, but who fucking cares. The ButtShoo magic is too strong. They make stones fall from sky!"

"I see now you not believe legend of O Bárbaro Uno."

"Cha! Haa!"

"You nothing but coward!"

"Cha! Haa!"

"Okay, I'm a coward, so what! Bye the way, why are you here?"

"Me try to take O Bárbaro's woman. Me not know..."

There was a sharp crack of a sound as a rock rebounded off a thick skull ahead of them.

"...at time he have claim to huge boobed heifer at time."

"Haa! Cha!"

A flying stone beaned another narrow shouldered wimp marching just ahead of the Yak and Quack.

Everyone was packed together so closely there was no way to avoid trampling the fallen chum. Crunch!

Many were now toppling over, as ever increasing numbers marched like lambs to the slaughter accompanied by their useless chanting.

"Haa! Cha!"

The two stepped onto more fallen comrades. Crunch, crunch.

Then began the real slaughter.

MeCaw and WuzSee attempted to run the final hundred yards under a hailstorm of flying hurt. Their earlier chants had become name calling and curses once within range of the bad magic, but had quickly nosedived to cries of pain and shrieks of panic. The red clay, war paint everyone had smeared all over their bodies, the plumes of Touché bird feathers they had stuck in their tangled manes, all to give them a more fierce appearance, those visual effects had gone largely unnoticed, because the first group had not yet reached the enemy fortifications.

Hideous cries were MeCaw's and WuzSee's only reply to the arial bludgeoning as they bounded over heaps of bodies in long leaps that carried them ever closer to the ButtShoo encampment. They were not mad as normal, shaggy ogres become mad, but more crazy like creatures possessed by demons. Both felt apart from their normal, primitive selves and more like untamable beasts, real Yak and Quack. Only their unbridled hatred and urge to kill kept them unthinking and noncognizant of the dire risk they were taking. Only that small, largely nonthinking brain kept them racing forward and into a black maelstrom that rained from above.

MeCaw and WuzSee reached, with panting, cuts and bruises, the western extremity of the battlefield and nearly fell headlong into a deep trench. They and hundreds of kinsmen paused to stare at the aberration, this was the first time any had seen this sort of evil wizardry. MeCaw and WuzSee stood staring wild eyed aghast down at the shallow valley the ButtShoo had dug not a hundred feet from the logged wall. Sharpened stakes pointed thickly in their direction from the opposite rim and rain from a few days earlier had filled the lower portion with muck. It was too murky to tell how deep the shit was!

MeCaw and WuzSee glanced into the moat suspiciously, but speedily began their descent when the mass of bodies behind them pushed them over the edge. The slope was not sheer, but slippery, and each slid under the muck at the bottom. What surfaced moments later were two woolly, mud camouflaged Yak and Quack.

A large rock flashed before MeCaw's eyes instantly blinding him with stars! He dropped unceremoniously to his knees, a terrible gash to his thick, muscled brow that had just managed to concuss his smallish brain. With a groan he fell hard face first, instantly followed by a stampede of rushing, hairy feet. MeCaw was pounded mercilessly into the moat and was never to be seen again.

WuzSee had seen MeCaw's head explode in a splash of blood, now he could be seen darting and crawling back the way he had come hoping to avoid a similar fate. Untold numbers of similar cowards were also turning and fleeing away from the many gory travesties taking place on the field of battle.

The Quack Warlock came slowly panting up to the throne whereupon his majesty, the President, sat in all his greatness. Mingo fell to his knees and eventually touched the ground with his nose. Sweating with eyes full of fear he struggled to catch his breath before delivering the message.

"O Bárbaro, things are..." Cough, "falling apart up..." Cough, "front."

The President rose up, seeming to get taller, to grow more awesome and terrible. "What do you mean, falling apart?'"

"I mean my blockheads are getting their..." Cough, cough, "asses kicked. We haven't even reached the wall."

The President, sensing the urgency of the alarm pointed to one of his longtime stooges, "KaBoom, go heather with Mingo and find out what he's blathering about."

"But, O Bárbaro," Mingo panted, then pressing a heavy kiss and hugging onto one of the throne supports, "may I stay here with thou? You see, I'm too..."

"Shut up Mingo," then with a grunt, the President motioned for KaBoom to give the Quack a little smack.

"Wait, wait, me just kidding!"

The President raised his hand halting KaBoom mid-stroke.

"Me want to fight, but we must instill confidence in my group before it's too late."

"Go on," answered the President.

"In the past, when we were losing in a battle against opposing tribes, well our tribal ancients found that promising sex with anyone and anything raised the moral of our warriors. We won many failing battles this way."

"Having sex with anyone, or anything?"

Mingo nodded his head, "Yes."

Hmmm, thought the President, there could be wisdom in Mingo's words. Maybe promising untethered sex with anyone and anything was what the first group of misfits needed to hang on a little longer. It couldn't help to try, and besides, for most it would be an empty promise. Most, he decided, would likely never live long enough to enjoy those fruits of their sacrifices.

"Okay, go on. Go explain to your phalanx that sex is on the house for all who stand and fight, but do it swiftly. I will be sending in the second wave very soon. KaBoom, you go with Mingo. Make sure he doesn't fall asleep delivering the message."

The strange KaBoom could not rotate his head up, or down, so he just motioned with the flapping of his arms like the wings of a bird indicating to the President that this numbskull understood the order.

"Good, now go!" ordered the President, climbing down from his roost.

Mingo went stumbling off with KaBoom toward the front lines, just as Moon Beam, who could not help but overhear the conversation, interrupted, "Excuse me O Bárbaro Uno, but what if those dorks succeed. Does that mean we have to give up our own women, our pets, to be prodded and poked by those sissies."

"Does it matter?" replied the President. "Most of those pussies will never survive the day. As long as they serve their purpose, I don't care what happens to them. In my world it's called 'culling the herd.'"

"Yes, but some of them will survive, then what?"

"I had my fingers crossed."

"What?"

"It means, you dummkopf, 'I lied.'"

"Ohhhhh."

"I want you to tell your killers that those weaklings, if they survive, are going to be allowed to bed their women and pets, but only if they are alive, wink wink, get my drift?"

"Ohhhhh, that good, that very good."

Now, send some of your warriors to make sure those sissies don't cut and run."

"Yes, O Bárbaro!"
Charge!

The Boston Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- Politicians up on 'the Hill' and state legislatures are scrambling to come up with an Amendment to the Constitution, an Amendment that would prevent people with substandard IQs, less than seventy-five, from assuming the post for the highest office in the land.

Suddenly someone shouted, "Those shits, they're retreating!"

The President turned, his face instantly turning ashen in horror, as he watched the first rank of worthless, human debris breaking in complete disorder and making a mad dash headlong in his direction! "Holy crap!"

The President was taken aback, the wimps had broken far too soon. His plans called for those cowards be around for at least another half hour. Desperate to salvage as many of those in flight as he could, at least enough to provide his real fighters with some semblance of a human shield, the President had to act swiftly and regain their confidence, to see them stand firm and chant.

"Stop! Stop! I need you to stop!" he yelled, waving his arms as the first few milksops ran by.

No good, the growing mob of those retreating could not all see him. The President peered toward his raised throne, it would take way too much time to get to it. The plain was as flat a board, but he had to get above the sea of approaching heads.

WuzSee's breast heaved with exhaustion, his brow was beaded with sweat, his hairy body trembled in fear, for WuzSee's attempt to escape were proving futile. No, he could not escape by hastening away for the real combatants on his side, the Jackasses of the second phalanx, were acting as enforcers and putting their hellish, brutal beating on any of those who sought to flee. Splashes of blood and brains now spattered him from head to hairy toe, he had come very close to losing his head just seconds before, the sound of the butchers' cleavers and the gurgling cries that dwindled could be discerned not too far off. WuzSee was trapped along with the other wimps between 'no man's land' and his own army of butchers.

Both uncivilized men and primitive women appealed to their kinsmen by slapping their heads, or flapping around their breasts, the traditional signs of supplication, but the President was having none of it and ordered his warriors to go on bopping heads. They chose no special victims, anyone close at hand would do. The brutes clobbered the weak and infirm Jackasses as they came upon them, even with tits flapping about in uncivilized gyrations by the cavewomen, this failed to stem their lust for pounding the weak.

WuzSee heard the gusty shouts of the brutes sweeping from the rear above the screams. He had earlier witnessed bodies falling like leaves about one of the thugs. One wuss in desperation rushed at the brute, a club in hand, only to fall before he could strike. Any seeking sanctuary became like herded cattle, with no thought for resistance and no chance of escape.

WuzSee had miraculously found a hiding spot behind a cord of bodies and was thinking himself safe, until he wheeled abruptly to see the same ox of a man standing above him and glaring directly at him in wide eyed anger. It was LuLux! All the blood had drained from the brute's face as he cried out fiercely, "Coward!"

"No LuLux," pleaded the wimp, "it's me WuzSee!"

LuLux's lips twisted in a bitter smile, blood drops flew from his bone headed ax as he struck WuzSee savagely into his thick, blockish head. Cleaved in two by the might blow, the giant wrenched his axe free, then LuLux roared, "Okay, who next?"

The President yelled with desperation, " Moon Beam, Moon Beam come hither! They need to see me! They need to see me!"

"Okay, they need to see you."

"Quick, bend over!"

"What?"

"I need to get on your shoulders, so they can see me."

"But, I have a bad back."

"Dash it all, you're right. Okay, just let me shimmy up on your back. I'll ride you horseback."

"Really?"

"Yes damn it all, bend over! Hurry, we don't have much time!"

Grabbing handfuls of back hair the President skittled up onto the Yak Chief's backside and was soon half riding his second in command like some wooly steed. The President next attempted to get his fleeing men's attention by bellowing at the top of his mighty lungs, out above the tumult, "Stop you fucking cowards!"

Moon Beam was doing his best to stand semi upright, but it was clearly not good enough for the President who did not believe he was elevated high enough.

"Stand straight you pig!"

Staggering Moon Beam wobbled up as straight as he could under the burden, as the President set about yelling at the fleeing mob.

"Stop you fucking cowards!" squealed the President, again. "I said stop!"

No good, those fleeing past him were not listening, or were caught up in the rush attempting to avoid getting stomped into the ground. The President shouted out in frustration, "Okay, you asked for it." Raising his driver he gave the sign for his skunk skin clad guard to club those fleeing and within easy reach. The President joined in the head knocking swinging his driver in a oval arc above his head, his club sang and crashed with the sound of bone splintering heads.

Time and time again his driver sung followed by many pairs of eyes going loopy, as his driver rebounded off their thick skulls with a...Bang! Crack!...and the President's efforts began to work!

More and more of those fleeing hesitated in their tracks, more and more eyes were turning in his direction, for fear of being bludgeoned, for fear of being singled out for execution. Slowly at first, the once seething mob gradually came to its senses around the President.

Noting that most were now listening, he gave the signal to stop the clubbing to his guard. Now he needed to set about encouraging this first group to return to the fight.

"Listen up my furry killers!"

All were not completely attentive, some in the group could be seen whispering to one another, distracting those around them with what was likely to be cowardly discussions. From his perch atop Moon Beam, he pointed out wrongdoers to his 'Skunk Guard' as he continued talking, half watching his brutes make their way among the massed of bodies to find and strike down the offenders.

"Now, have I got everyone's attention?"

Most nodded in sullen agreement, including most of those who could be seen rubbing their welts, or looking half conscious.

"Good, that is good. Now listen to me very carefully. I am telling you here and now that you must stand and fight those ButtShoo. We are all counting on you. I am counting on you."

There was noticeable uneasiness.

"Now, I know I told you that you would never feel the sting of battle."

Their murmuring grew.

"But, what can I say, I might have been a little wrong."

More murmuring.

"My back, it's killing me," muttered Moon Beam, in a near pleading tone.

"Not now, Moon Beam," whispered the President.

"But, but, I don't know how much more I can take."

"Stop your whining," he shouted back, "or you'll have a front row seat."

"Okay, okay, but hurray, please."

The President motioned with his club, "Bring up the crates."

Within a minute wooden crate, upon wood crate, all filled with MuuMuu fruits, were brought forward.

"Please," he shouted, "enjoy yourselves."

There was a mad rush by the once fleeting mob, even while Moon Beam's phalanx looked on with anger, those MuuMuus were suppose to have been theirs.

The President had no choice, he had to calm down the rabble and now to sooth them with his hypnotic words. In the distance the trilling of the Amazon battalion could be discerned growing in intensity as they began working themselves into a killing frenzy. Those bitches would soon be in the mood for just about anything and this gave him an idea. The President peered back toward the enemy encampment, the ButtShoo were cooperating and making no moves of aggression, he had time.

The group of weak-kneed misfits were rapidly becoming more docile and under the influence. Normally these doormats did not get those edible delicacies, such was their low status among the tribes. The President noticed nothing more than some slight, disgruntled murmuring at the periphery, largely drowned out by the Amazonian ruckus.

"It does not matter that I might have been a little wrong, but you must stand and you must fight!"

The crowd still did not receive his words well.

"You must, for I have promised you much!"

The throng was beginning to appear agitated.

"Remember, free sex!"

Some in the crowd had hopeful looks spring to their faces, but most had remained stoic.

"I see, some of you don't care about the sex, but do you hear that over there," he said, pointing with his driver off in the direction of the group of howling Amazons. "Does everyone hear those batshit, crazy whores?"

The President was happy to see a noticeable change in their overall expression. Though he knew many of these weaklings deserved mercy, at least some pity, this lot of unlucky cannibals understood the President's underlying threat as evidenced by sudden fear in their eyes and the pressing of hands to ears to block out the horrid screams of the sirens.

"Those horrible, hairy things, they would just love to have sex with you folks."

Gasps spread near and far among the throng. Some could be heard saying "No, not those crazy witches, not them."

"Yes, sex with those crazy bitches," answered the President, "unless you stand and fight, I will set those Amazons on you and I must say, having sex with a panther would be more humane."

"What's a panther?" asked a weakling.

"Shut up you fool, or you will be the first!"

You could hear a board drop.

"But, we don't have any weapons!" someone shouted from the crowd.

"Don't listen to that fool, you do have weapons!"

"No, we don't!" hollered back another.

"Yes, you do!" shrieked the President. "You have teeth don't you? Yes, sure you do. Just check out the Jackass next to you."

There was some wisdom in the President's words, as members of the mob took his advice and began checking out one another's choppers by grinning, or grimacing at one another. The President noticed, however, many were missing quite a few teeth. He had to say something, quickly!

"Now, granted, some of you are missing some of your teeth, but you've got fingernails don't you?"

The throng could be seen peering down at their hands, the President was mostly right, most all had long, chipped, dirty fingernails, but some candy asses began shaking their heads, 'No.'

"Why the hell not?" shouted the President.

Several ogress raised their hands to show everyone they were 'nail biters.'

"Well, let's see your teeth."

One, or two had just a couple of teeth.

"How the hell do you eat anything?"

One answered, "We pound everything into a pulp with rocks."

"Well then, pick up some rocks and for those of you who have fingernails, let those ugly things be your daggers! Now, everyone here has a choice, you can stay here and let those Amazons tear you to pieces, or you can go out and bite, scratch and fight!"

The rabble seemed to take heed in a positive sort of way. The President could see the rekindled fire in eyes of more and more of his hairy lackeys, that and the glazed looks that accompanied the intoxicating effects of the Muumuus.

"That's right my ogres, you can bite and scratch and you can win by clawing and taking chunks out of those ButtShoo with your fangs!"

They were beginning to believe.

"Now, everyone GROWL!"

Grrrrr!

"Louder!"

Grrrrr!

"Louder!"

GRRRRR!

"You're Jackasses, right?"

Grrrrr!

"Those across the plain are barbecue, right?"

Grrrrr!

"You can do this!"

Grrrrr!

"Remember who you are! You're Jackasses, but you're also Yaks, Quacks, and Waqophs!"

Grrrrr!

"For the honor of our people!"

More growling.

"For the honor of our tribes!"

Yet, more growling.

"For the honor of me, your magnificent leader!"

Everyone joined in the uproar.

GRRRR!

"Now, attack!"

Everyone hesitated, glanced back and forth at one another with questioning looks that said, "I thought he was kidding."

"I said, ATTACK!" squealed the President.

There was more hesitation.

"Okay, so sex with our own doesn't turn you on. I can understand that, I have trouble getting it up as well with such hairy creatures, but think of all the raping and the pillaging you will get when we defeat the ButtShoo."

There was a noticeable upbeat murmuring.

"That's right and they don't have hair growing everywhere like our women."

"Holy shit, hairless females means NO CRABS!" shouted one sissy, obvious joy ringing out in his soprano-like utterance.

"Yes, no crabs!" yelled another.

"Yes, my ogres, no crabs and sex with honest to goodness, real hot looking women!"

HURRAH!

That did it, the thought of the plunders of war had lit their fuses.

"Now go, attack like you really mean it!"

"Attack! Attack! ATTACK!"

The President smiled as he watched his canon fodder turn back in the direction of the ButtShoo redoubt. Soon they were all slogging off, many wobbling under the influence, to face an uncertain destiny.

"Haa! Cha! Haa! Cha! Haa!"

The chanting gained strength perhaps in the hopes they might strike fear in the hearts of the ButtShoo, even as the leading edge of the phalanx began to falter under renewed pelting. Sure the President's military strategy was uncomplicated, his plan called upon the simple bludgeoning of the ButtShoo encampment with wave upon hairy wave of his furry ogres. He could be seen smiling as his horde moved off to battle. Just as in the other dimension the President had that magic touch of working his voodoo, on the simpler minds of that, and this plane.

"You truly are a great leader," marveled Moon Beam. "Never have I seen someone who could lead the weakest of us to certain death."

"Never mind that now, I must return to my throne." With a swat to the ass the great leader rode his lieutenant horseback through the second phalanx and back to a safer place.
The Amazons

The Chicago Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- Prayers continue to come in from around the country as the search widens for missing Presidential hopeful IllaryHay and the President. Fears that the two may have been whisked away by tornadic winds continues to build.

The President looked on with pride as his primordial schwerpunkt, his second phalanx of forward pointing spears marched off to confront the ButtShoo. The President winced when the hairballs started their chanting.

"Haa! Cha! Haa! Cha! Haa!"

They too, could not pronounce his special chant.

The first group of Jackasses, especially those unlucky enough to be up front and caught on the receiving end of the stone slinging assault, could be heard shrieking in panic as they struggled to avoid being run over and crushed by the second group of goons.

Those that had not fallen, bruised, cut, or unconscious, now found themselves caught between a rock and a hard place and running into a fusillade of stones, or if unlucky, toppling over the felled bodies of their comrades only to be flattened to death by the second wave. The compressed mass of those tripping, stumbling, bumbling and screaming Jackasses began to grow like cords of wood before the ranks of the enemy.

Far away from the fighting and sitting on the dirt floor of a wooden cage, the chunky figure of IllaryHay whenced as she saw wave, upon wave of missiles slung up over the wall and onto the noggins of her fellow cannibalistic men and women. She knew the President knew nothing of tactics. IllaryHay pictured him packing everyone tightly together, so that every projectile would find the mark. She also knew through experience that the President's rabble would be behaving much like those contrived mobs of jobless, food stamp collecting liberals in the old world, carrying on in the same old traditions of anarchists with shouting, cursing and chanting their half thought out slogans.

IllaryHay knew by her captors laughter and their pointing that the blonde goons seemed to be winning. She pictured the President, sitting somewhere safe behind his horde, exhorting his troops forward, brandishing his ladies driver and occasionally using it to crack a subject, or two over the head.

Meanwhile, within the ButtShoo encampment, the war dogs stood about smelling each others asses, scratching at fleas, or dumping a load here and there as their handlers waited grimly for the order to unleash these horrible creatures.

The President could clearly make out that there was a lot of fighting going on around the ButtShoo position. In the distance he could see his second wave of real, fighters had brushed aside, or run over Mingo's milksops. A wild melee was taking place as the two great hosts vied for victory. Yes, thought the president, smiling, all is going according to plan!

However, at the front many within the horde were beginning to realize most of the fighting was occurring within their own ranks, as the second wave battled its way forward through the weak and infirm who had survived.

Snoz, 'the Nose,' and comedic lookalike Bill AherMay, could not clearly remember the finer details of his failed attempt to reach the enemy position, only that an unexpected blow had left him stunned and lying among a heap of fellow Jackasses. Snoz had only a fuzzy impression of the whirl of mayhem around him—the terrifying grip of pleading hands, the blazing eyes of terror, the hot stench of sweat, piss and blood. Everything was crazy looking. Groups of shaggy Jackasses were clubbing one another in the bedlam mistaking them as the ButtShoo in the heat of battle. What began as minor head banging here and there was quickly growing in intensity as more of the first wave of wimps struggled to get out of the real fighters way.

Snoz looked about him in disbelief, stones were still being hurled in the hundreds from behind the enemy wall and now many of his own comrades were knocking the crap out of anyone standing in their way.

A rock rebounded off the head of one of the dead, just missing him and reminding him he was still in the field of fire. Snoz had had enough of the bullshit, he found himself scampering fleet footed toward what he hoped was the rear and safety. There was the sudden sensation of pain, of him hurtling through the air, the heavy thud of his bulk landing among the scattered bodies. The last thing he saw were hundreds of Hobbit-like feet stampeding by, more pain, then everything went dark.

Behind the ruckus of battle, the President sat on his throne daydreaming, daydreaming of such a moment as this, a moment he never believed would come so speedily to pass. "Oh Gaia, how I have yearned for this day!"

"Is it time, O Bárbaro?" asked MeChow, watching him anxiously.

"No, not quite yet."

"When will it be time, O Bárbaro?"

"Soon."

"How soon?"

"Soon!"

"Soon is soon?"

The moment had not yet arrived to release the Amazons. The President's second phalanx of goons were still making some slight progress against the ButtShoo position.

"MeChow, shut the fuck up. I'm beginning to think I might have made a mistake in making you one of the royal Amazon Battalion commanders."

"Oh no, me be good. No more questions."

"That's good, that's very good."

After studying the battle from atop his life guards chair the President's primitive instincts began to tingle. The first of his ogres had scaled the wall and were disappearing inside the ButtShoo encampment. It was almost time!

"MeChow."

"Yes, O Bárbaro."

"Are those Amazons of yours ready?"

"Yes, we're ready."

"Good, when I give the final word I want you and your Amazons to charge, but you must wait for my signal."

"Yes, O Bárbaro."

"Remember, no go before my signal."

"Yes, O Bárbaro."

"Say words, before signal, no go."

"Before signal, go."

"No, no, before signal DON'T GO! DON'T GO! Got it?"

"Yes, I think so, before signal, before signal..."

"DON'T GO!" squealed the President. "DON'T GO! Now you say it!"

"Before signal don't go."

"Yes, yes that's it. Now, how hard was that?"

"Not hard."

"Right, go now and have those Amazons of yours ready for the attack."

Something akin to women's shrieks, but more untamed than most primitive male folk had ever heard, blood curdling and causing even the strongest of male warriors to tremble in fear, could be discerned from the rear as those untamable bitches came running, their wild, unkempt manes billowing behind them, bare chests on full display flopping up and down as they ran full tilt boogey with pointy spears in hand.

A fear ridden warning cry instantly came tumbling from the mouths of those already joined in the battle, "The Amazons, those bitches are a'coming!"

The President had used his trump card, a rising storm of horrendous shrieking were the only evidence anyone needed.

With urgency Moon Beam gave the warning cry, "Let those Amazons through!"

Snoz, supporting himself on one arm and seeking to shake the darkness from his head, was suddenly and mercilessly pounded into the ground by the stampede. His sad story would not be the only one as more and more ogres were squashed, as the entangled warriors tried to clear a path for the oncoming animal skinned 'She Devils.'

The calvary had arrived to carry the day and at its head none other than ManJina, the 'Man-woman,' came bellowing at the top of her mighty lungs. Wearing her ceremonial, Touché bird feathered gown and waving her pointy, wooden spear, she trundled her way into that cloud of stinging hurt, with nary a care for self. The she beast galloped without the grace of a gazelle, her feathered gown blowing free in the wind, rapidly panting just before screaming out another inhuman shriek. ManJina saw flashes of fear in the faces of the men, her grim appearance of being batshit crazy served she and the other Amazons well. Would her raw, aboriginal looks work similarly on the ButtShoo?

The speed ebbed from her flashing hairy legs. ManJina reeled in her gait to avoid the hundreds of fallen kinsmen. In this untamed soul flamed the fires of a screaming She Devil. Cold blooded yelling was forthcoming as ManJina closed in on her prey, just as she tripped with a haunting cry, flinging out her arms to break her fall. ManJina fell to the ground and was mercilessly trampled into the turf. Her taught, sinewy body twisted this way and that as she fought desperately to fend off the iron hard hammer blows of her fellow stampeding hellcats. ManJina writhed from the punishment, striving to avoid the most savage blows from the largest of the hairy feet.

Onto the ButtShoo ranks now crashed the 'almost women' and from every conceivable angle and at the tip of the human spear hollered a courageous figure leading the charge. A half attractive woman of medium height, in animal skins, breasts banging around every which way as she sprinted barefoot: MeChow, 'the Sex Toy.' Mongo saw her get beaned between the eyes by a rock the size of an egg, her falling, then disappearing from sight under a flood of furry, shrieking banshees, he thought, probably never to be seen again.

Mongo admired those Amazons as they came on waving their flint tipped spears and stone axes with clinched teeth through a whistling cloud of hurt, in spite of the terror of their untamable appearance created in his soul. The bitches surged forward to break like a thundering wave upon the wooden wall of the fort, their screams and clenched fists rose and fell above their bobbing heads, this flood of human garbage seemed unstoppable. Mongo looked on to see them fall one by one as the Amazons blazed over the wall. The stout courage of his warriors was no less fierce than that of those wild Amazons, but Mongo's men and women were exhausted, worn down by wave upon furry wave of the human debris.

Mongo laughed evilly as he watched one of the Amazons attempting to throw a stone back at him only to see the rock arc harmlessly through the air. The sight was like watching a right hander trying to throw with their left. More and more Amazons were, however, coming on gallantly as their traditions of blood curdling violence demanded, breaking over the wall after easily charging over the moat filled with furry corpses. Those bitches were able to exploit their fresh state, racing rapidly into the heart of the encampment, whereupon they could seen using their secondary weapons of teeth and fingernails to rend and tear at the tall defenders.

Mongo's position was under serious assault. His warriors had been fighting for over an hour, the strength in their arms had grown weak and now they were forced to engage against those 'almost women' in hand to hand combat.

Mongo, realizing his men might just now break and run, quickly gave the order, "Fall back! Fall back everyone!"

The battle had reached its climax!

At the rear of the encampment, those carrying for the injured took pause when they saw their dogs of war being rushed forward on their leashes. Most smiled for the briefest of moments as they watched the handlers struggling to maintain their grips on the unholy creatures. Those brutes no longer appeared like dogs, but were cross bred with a number of lethal creatures to arrive at this stage of genetic development with long, saber-like daggers of the cat. All had thick, muscular bodies and stubby, bobbed ears, with blockish, brutish heads of teeth and sinew.

Mongo's warriors stumbled under the blows of both hairy man and bitch alike.

"By all that is holy, don't rest until we strike down all those thick headed cannibals," shouted one blonde haired warrior, before he was overcome by a tide of hairy bodies.

Slowly, stubbornly, sullenly, with grim determination the defenders fought off the cannibals.

"Come on and get some you animals!" hollered another defender, just before he too fell.

Not one warrior was free from cuts, bruises, claw and bite marks. There were not enough of his blonde warriors to stop the howling banshees from overwhelming the position!

"And stop that goddamn stupid chanting," hollered another, whose throat was seconds later slashed open by the dagger-like nails of stooped over Amazon.

"Let's get it on!" shouted another, before succumbing to the blows of clubs wielded by hairy men.

Mongo was witnessing a lot of his brave people falling to the tide of the furious onslaught, now was the time to turn the tables.

"Come on and get some you goddamn hairy animals!" hollered another golden warrior, just before his head was split in two by an axe.

The critical moment had arrived! The trap was set.

Without taking his eyes off the oncoming hairy torrent, with bloodthirsty lust, Mongo's jaws champed tensely, foamy lather appeared on the corners of his darkened lips, just before he shouted, "Release the dogs!"

Those batshit crazy cannibals were now in for a rude awakening!
Retreat!

The Chicago Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- White House spokesman Jay Bob ArneyCay gave reporters little in the way of hope that evidence might be uncovered and would lead to the discovery of the twos locations. "Any trace of the President and Presidential Candidate appear to have been wiped clean by the horrific winds that struck the island late this afternoon. We can only hope that Gaia, I mean God is looking out for them and that they will soon be found and found safe."

The President had watched on as his Amazons reached the wall whereupon he could see his hairy primitives stabbing and jumping onto his adversaries. He was already congratulating himself on the victory when he noticed a change in the direction of the battle. Barking and howls reached the President's ears, even over all the commotion and chaos.

From outside the wall Moon Beam's wife, ManJina, regained consciousness to find herself buried under half a dozen bloodied bodies. The Amazon bitch had experienced the problem with uncomplicated tactics like massed attacks as wave upon attacking wave of meat eaters became plugs in the path of making any forward progress. Packed together like sardines, there was no room left for maneuver, there was only on way and that was forward. ManJina labored like one driven by the necessity of haste, yet was forced to move at a snail's pace, pinned like a bug under those heavy carcasses. Her groping hands and feet found niches among the unconscious souls, precarious holds at best. More than once ManJina found herself squealing in frustration. Upward she struggled, fighting for every inch. At times she paused to rest her sore muscles, to blink the sweat from her eyes, then began anew twisting this way and that searching for a way out. Pretty soon ManJina's anger gave way to even more uncivilized acting out as only a crazy bitch would, or could, by clawing and chomping her way out from under the human mess.

The President had been thinking the battle won just when he noticed his savages speedily emerging at a trot from the encampment they had just taken. What they doing? His expression quickly changed to one of angst. Why are they running?

At that moment the lookout he had hoisted above the field on a triangle of bamboo poles shouted a warning. Off in the distance, off in the direction of the ButtShoo, a low howling could just be discerned above the shrieks of fright. Alleyways swiftly opened up among the ranks as things yet unseen cut swaths upon the masses. Desperate Jackass warriors could be seen pushing and shoving each other aside or into the approaching track of the oncoming menaces. Their smothered screams grew as fear swelled among the tumult of dispirited cannibals, their terror and desperation clearly evident, spread like wildfire.

Swifter than anyone had imagined the demons swarmed and pounced upon the half naked, oftentimes unarmed prey, even as some in the background continued with their silly chanting.

"Haa! Cha! Haa!" Ayieeeee!

The dogs had been trained to attack anyone crying out those silly words, the culprits were fast away discovered and muzzled with slashing, trashing and gnashing.

Topside, the uneasiness of KaBoom was noticeable, something was afoot, but unlike the untamed splooges who needed to slake their general pent up thirst for blood, he had been been tasked with taking care of the weakling, Mingo . The enemy, suddenly counter attacked before KaBoom could whisk both he and the Quack Warlock to safety.

From the rear of the enemy encampment the beasts came, one moment the Amazons were hooting and ululating in victory, the next wild bitches were running in all directions to save their lives. The beasts quickly made a sizable impression on their ranks as many failed in their vain attempts to escape the four legged nightmares. Like lions their massive jaws slashed and bit into flesh, snapped bones, maimed both male and female cannibals without mercy. The more athletic raced past the slower, overweight Jackasses, pushing and slapping them into the oncoming path of any four legged critter hard on their tails.

"Monsters! Monsters!"

KaBoom felt the short hair stir on his scalp at the warning. "Not, them," he whispered, fear etched upon his block headed features.

Everyone began to stampede in wild disarray as each Jackass ran for safety.

KaBoom had grabbed the warlock, but was having a difficult time moving the rotund leader along when a huge bastard of a beast bellowed not a hundred yards behind the two. KaBoom had never heard such a satanic sound. The skunk skin warrior turned and froze at the sight, after dropping Mingo to his feet. The monstrous howl was the embodiment of some horrible nightmare, and stupidly, KaBoom and quite a few other knuckle draggers now found themselves in the path of one of those approaching jaws of maniacal horrors.

"Is it coming for us?" asked the overweight, but well dressed warlock standing shakily at his side.

"Gaia, what is it?" whispered another Jackass, fear reflected heavily upon the ogre's face.

The things color was of a curious pale and dark stripping which made it seem ghostly and unreal as it passed through the shadows of a broken section the wall. There was nothing unreal about the low hung, savage head and the great curved fangs that glistened in the half light. On taloned feet it approached like a phantom out of the past. It had to be something from an older grimmer age, the specter of many a nightmare, another saber tooth-like creature that resembled a bulldog. Most would never see one of these brutes in their lifetimes, now KaBoom had come face to face with such a creature.

The hideous beast that now glided along was apparently looking for one of them to break and run. Its shoulders and forelegs were so monstrous and mightily muscled, as to give it a curiously top heavy appearance. Its jaws were massive and its head was brutishly shaped. Its brain capacity was small. It had room for no instincts except those of destruction. It was a freak of carnivorous development, evolution run amuck in a horror of fangs and talons.

KaBoom no longer doubted they could escape by running. Like a whisper at the back of his consciousness rose the vague thought that only by using stratagem could the demon be persuaded not to kill him. KaBoom backed away slowly, pushing the warlock behind him with his left arm, his useless axe trembling in his right hand, half prepared to strike.

KaBoom took a glance about him, thankfully his head, neck and shoulders were always locked in place, so he just let his eyes do the work. The great warrior was looking for the weakest and frailest among those around him, unfortunately all looked too solidly built but for one, one of his fellow warriors had a serious leg injury.

Mingo, his tailored fur caked with dried mud, was splattered from head to toe with blood and bits of brains. Blood oozed from a slight cut to his forehead, perspiration glistened on his livid face, his hands raised over his head for protection against incoming rocks. Mingo said nothing, yet his trembling body reflected his mental suffering outweighed his physical pain.

"Mingo, are you still behind me?"

"Yes," came the warlock's trembling voice.

"Don't worry," KaBoom whispered, "I will protect you."

The monster moved past a stack of bodies without appearing to notice several cowering behind the cover. This thing was no grubber. It hunted only the living in a life dedicated solely to butcher. An awful hunger burned greenly in the wide unwinking eyes, its hunger not alone of empty space, but the lust of death dealing. Its gaping jaws slavered.

KaBoom winced when the great beast suddenly sank into a crouch and stared directly at him and waited, waited for him to make a move.

Numbly, some of the surrounding Jackasses took short, slow steps backwards hoping to escape that appalling, brute of ferociousness.

"I can't move," whispered Mingo, adding, "I'm too afraid."

KaBoom only half listened as he carefully watched the four legged monster, trying not to trigger an attack, adding in a whisper, "Pssst, shut the fuck up!"

There were sudden screams everywhere when the fanged monster sprang.

"Hurry, move!" KaBoom had never dreamed of such a leap, such a hurtling of incarnated destruction embodied in that giant bulk of iron thews and ripping talons. Fortunately, he had time to grab and throw the wounded kinsman into the monsters path before becoming the victim himself.

"Run, no wait!" Suddenly, another creature appeared, stopping everyone, again, dead in their tracks. Just as big, just as ferocious looking, the creature softly treaded behind the first beast, now in the process of getting its grizzly fill. Mingo inched his way slowly backwards, the warlock was trembling uncontrollably with fright, piss running down both his legs.

The primordial creature came on in their direction. The sabertooth dog seemed attracted by movement, that and anyone stupid enough to be still chanting. Unfortunately, idiots several hundred yards to the rear were doing just that. Both he and Mingo were directly in the path this beast must take to silence to those noisemakers. KaBoom now knew what he must do.

"Mingo," whispered the Jackass warrior.

"Yes."

"Ready to be hero?"

"No."

"Too bad."

KaBoom turned so quickly the warlock had no time to react. Grabbing Mingo by his cloak, KaBoom struggled to pull the warlock around to his fore and held him, kicking and screaming like a gargantuan shield by the arms.

"No, no, me...Nooo!"

"Sorry," murmured KaBoom, then tossed warlock at the monster.

Ayieeeee!

It was now time to run for the hills!

The monsters giant fangs tore the Quack's head off first, shearing through bone as easily as through flesh, tossing Mingo's noodle several dozen feet in KaBoom's fleeting direction. The head landed face up, Mingo had had some terrifying final thoughts for the horrified scream was caught frozen upon the urchin's face.

KaBoom was soaked with sweat as he ran, on and on, paralyzed in fear as he raced to safety. His brain refusing to credit what his eyes were seeing. In leaps the great animals were catching their prey to his left and right. KaBoom had to leap over the several mangled bodies that had been suddenly tossed in his path from a short distance off. Hairy corpses were getting gutted like a fish, the huge fangs the dogs could instantly disemboweled and dismembered any two legged fur ball.

Bang! A rock rebounded off KaBoom's head. A saber tooth beast was upon him before he had time to recover. He too, vanished in a grizzly carnage of dismembered chunks of flesh.

ManJina, stood naked, having lost her feathered gown in her struggle to free herself. It took but a moment for her to understand the scale of the slaughter that had been taking place above her. The ground about her was littered with flattened and mangled roadkill. Moments later, she was scrambling back up the grassy plain as fast as her hairy feet would carry her. Everywhere, her fellow Amazons bore the wounds of battle, from welts to bruises, to deep cuts and all with tattered pride. ManJina became part of the mob of hairy women running back in the direction of their leader's throne. The lifeguard chair was the only means of orienting oneself, it was the only recognizable feature anyone could see from eye level.

ManJina gasped for breath as she struggled over the carnage trotting, hunched over, alongside her fellow savages. She was close, so very close to reaching a safe place. A heavy rock, a despairing cry, ManJina staggered, her wide eyed gaze seemed to be fixed in agonized intensity. ManJina staggered forward a few more yards doing a parting cartwheel before hitting the ground, only to be crushed underfoot by her fleeing kinswomen.

Looking on at what remained of his army the President found the hoped for rout of the enemy would not be forthcoming after all. What remained of his army were surrounding his lifeguard chair, but even then, the ButtShoo devil dogs had not yet reached his position.

From the broken wall Mongo made no outcry of triumph as the hairy rabble ran for their lives. He peered back down into the confines of the encampment to see his warriors were quickly closing ranks, filling the many gaps made by those missing. Sweat and blood ran down from his brow and into his eyes under the heat of the mid afternoon sun. He gripped his timber club tightly, his fierce heart swelling with pride that such a large host of backward people looked to have been defeated by an army one tenth its size. Mongo now gathered what remained of his army just beyond the wall, it was now time to see if that Troglodyte, O Bárbaro, had anything else up his sleeve. A show of force was what the gold-haired leader decided was needed to put the cannibals to flight, once and for all.

"Stop them!" bellowed the President. "You there," pointing to some nearby meat eaters, "put those spears of yours to work and kill them!"

No good, his horde was now in complete flight running to escape with their lives. So, unveeringly desperate in their struggles to reach safety many ran headlong over and through any who remained loyal. The President now descended from his lofty perch and was running back and forth exhorting his fighters to reenter the battle. His back hair bristled, his eyes glared with anger, but was having no effect on the aboriginal avalanche.

"Fuck this, where's my driver?" The President 'hoped' there was a chance to 'change' events with the sight of his magic wand, but this was no longer battle, but butchery, frantic, bloody, impelled by hysteria and hate.

Retaking his place on top of his lifeguard chair he shakily rose and set about waving his staff back and forth yelling, "Stop you fucking chickens! Stop I say!"

The President half watched as the serpent-like swaths of four legged beasts continued slicing and dicing through the ranks, like a hot knife through butter the brutes only slowed on occasion to put some serious hurt on some unfortunate soul who got pushed into the things path, or made a vain attempt to put up a fight. Already, some of those real bastards were closing in on his perch, a massively, muscled brute, larger that all the rest, appeared to be coming directly his way! Suddenly, a distant whistle abruptly came to his ears from across the valley, from the encampment of the ButtShoo!

"Look, O Bárbaro!" shouted Moon Beam, "They are recalling their monsters!"

"By Jove, you're right, they're retreating, the cowards."

"Retreating? I'm not sure I would call getting our asses handed to us cause for their retreat. Surely, it must be some kind of trap."

Embolden by the sudden change of events and too stupid to understand the real nature of the events, the President again stood up on his throne. Wobbling, he shouted "Look there everyone, the ButtShoo are retreating!"

Moon Beam responded, with incredulity, "Uh, O Bárbaro, I'm not sure that is the right conclusion to draw."

"What the hell are you talking about, those cowards are clearly retreating. Moon Beam, you are giving me pause to consider your value."

Gulp! "Wait, I meant to say you're right O Bárbaro. They are retreating."

"Good, that's better, now shut up. I must regain control over my Jackasses."

The President now banged his driver against the lifeguard chair trying to get the passing ogres attention. "Everyone, let me have your attention. Everyone, I need to have your attention for a second, please."

No good, this was a full blown rout.

"You there," pointing to his royal guard, "I want you to knock the crap out of those cowards who are still running away."

None reacted, instead the skunk squad stood by watching the unfolding scene with trepidation.

"Look there!" the President shouted pointing off in the direction of the disappearing monsters. "Look, they're retreating!"

Stones suddenly started falling like a rain about him and he found himself quickly having to cover up under the stinging pain.

"What the fuck do we do now?" shouted one of the skunk skin warriors.

"Let us run away!" yelled another.

"I'm with you, let's get the hell out of here!"

The President's royal guard quickly joined in the mad rush.

Twang! The President's loyal Chieftain, Moon Beam, sank to his knees, a sharp edged stone sticking out of his skull. That would be the last the President would ever see this Yak alive.

The President was now alone save for those rushing by. His face strained, muddled in knots of anger as madness began to consume him. Abruptly, in a fit of rage, he crawled down from his roost and into his own ranks. In anger he began striking any Jackass who came within reach, his chrome plated knocker helping to complete the slaughter.

He dashed the sunlights out of one ogre's head with the driver, eyeballs and teeth flying everywhere at the terrific impact. He leapt and swung, wild swinging arcs of pain for anyone and anything in sight. Soon there was a heap of dazed lowbrows about him all the while he continued to flail about in madness here and there.

"You, cowards!" he roared, loosing with a viciousness most had never witnessed.

The President was the center of a hurricane, both his own ogres were now stabbing at him with their spears, at the same time he was taking incoming from the ButtShoo aerial assault. Such was his madness, he continued to dashed about in a blinding blur of speed. Spears broke and splintered under his blows, or stabbed at only empty air and his driver sang with the song of pain. The fighting madness of a crazed lunatic had overcome him, a red mist of nonsensical fury and insanity glittering in his blazing eyes. He dealt out broken heads, broken bones, ripped off their hides, all that flotsam of battle fell about him, both ghastly in cost of appearance and life.

Thinking himself invulnerable with his driver he stood among the heap of unconscious, shaggy bodies panting with rage and anger. Then, just as his own Jackasses lifted their spears to cast them and the President tensed himself to leap and die in the midst of them he staggered, his vision was filled with red sparks as the stone cracked into bits of blue fire into his mighty forehead, but as he reeled he swung his club with all the power of his great shoulders. His driver sailed true striking another square in the face, teeth were dislodged, some of the bloody mess could be seen going airborne.

The President stood swaying, a sudden sick weariness assailing him. The glare of the sun was now only partly obscured by his deep set eyes and single, protruding brow. His surroundings seemed shrunken and strangely afar. He turned away from the threats and peered upward. He took a few steps looking into the glare of the sun. Everything suddenly dimmed as a rushing wave of grayness and sparks engulfed him and he sank to his knees as more rocks rebounded off his skull. More bits of blue fire began to dance before his eyes, then everything went dark.
New Beginning

The Washington Post, Chronicle, Tribune, Times \- White House spokesman Jay Bob ArneyCay has confirmed the worst of rumors, Vice President Joe IdenBay will become the 45th President of the United States.

The calamity of the battle had died away, the clangor of the slaughter was hushed. Silence now lay on the red stained plain. The hot, bright sun that had shone so blindingly from above had sunk like a dull glowing copper ball into a lake of fire. The dark mountains merged with the fading blue of the sky, both turned to soft dark velvet, clustered with stars and the mirrors of stars. The President's nerveless hand unconsciously trembled. His minions, some in their final death throes, struggled grimly to regain their feet, as if in a last struggle to escape alive.

Across the drifts of furry bodies, tall figures approached in the growing darkness, one who was especially tall and lean was carrying a torch, an alabaster block of a woman at his side. In that utter desolation only those two seemed to be moving along without great injury. The moon was rising over them, the blood stained plain around them, they stumbled among the broken bodies of a once great army. Slowly through the carnage they came as conquerors might come to administer the final coup de grâce.

The blood curdling dogs were close behind the two, vaguely seen in the dying light, held in check by straining handlers. Mud smeared the President's body. His hands were red with blood, his exposed body showed the marks of fierce fighting: claw and bite marks and smatterings of brains here and there.

The taller of the two spoke, he whose lean loins and fur garment were also splashed heavily with the blood of Jackasses.

"O Bárbaro," said golden haired warrior, "are you still with us?"

"He looks hurt, let me go!" begged IllaryHay, tears of despair staining her face. "Hasn't he suffered enough?" There was humiliation, pain and degradation laced upon her words.

"No, you're wrong Gork, your boyfriend is still part of the living."

"Thank all that is good, but he needs help."

From under his head full of golden hair blue eyes regarded her sympathetically. "Go see what you can do for him and let him know my offer."

The President's eyes cracked open, his sight cleared briefly upon hearing the familiar woman's voice, a horrible, screechy voice that cut through his complete darkness. "IllaryHay," his voice squeaked, "is that you?"

Now kneeling just over him, like some mighty oak, she laughed, laughter that was like nails on a chalkboard to him. There was a strangeness about her he could not place or define, a familiar callousness he had not heard for some time.

"What's the matter Mister President," IllaryHay's words were ladened with a slight bit of cruel mockery, "did someone bop you on the head?"

"What a hangover," he mumbled, in return. "Wait, where is my?"

"Don't worry, I have it."

The President looked up into her deep set, beady eyes. Her hair was still a dirty blonde, but from her huge feet to the birds nest atop her crown, she was still as perfect as any dream a simpleminded person could want. His pulse increased, was he getting another boner?

"Do you have any idea where you are and what has happened?" she asked in a mocking tone.

He pushed himself to an elbow to get a better glance around. On the ground about him lay hundreds of fallen Jackasses, the outcome of having been one of the most inept military leaders to have ever existed.

"Why am I still alive?"

"It was something to the effect of, 'What better way to keep the lowbrow, hairy apes in check than to have them be led by such and incompetent boob,' and something about making me queen."

The President's eyes swept his surroundings seeking a way to disprove IllaryHay's words. He thought of the millions of mindless followers who had elected and supported him as President, and yes, there were many similarities with the ogres of this world. "What do you think?"

"Take them up on the offer, the other option is having your head cut off."

The angst disappeared from his dull face. The President glanced at IllaryHay holding his staff stained in crimson and dented, but still engraved with the national symbol, the Jackass. He glanced up at the dark sky considering the options. It would mean he would have to go on a renewed quest, to reclaim what was rightfully his, but now lost.

"If only PooBoo were here," the President mumbled, he had not heard from the fairy for some time.

The President stumbled to his feet, then looked at IllaryHay and nodded his agreement, "I will do it." She next grimaced, he too then grimaced, and their bond echoed near and far across all time. Screech!

IllaryHay threw wide her arms, "Oh Mister President, hug me you bastard!"

"Hold on a second."

She grabbed him in her arms. "I will warm you with the fire of my bosoms—"

With a desperate tug he twisted from her grasp, leaving her holding two handfuls of back hair. The President stepped back and faced her in wild contemplation, his huge breastwork of muscles heaving, his beady, dark eyes blazing with terror. For an instant he stood frozen, flung his arms toward the skies and cried out, "Oh my God, what the fuck have I done!"
Acknowledgements

Special thanks to our former President, the Democrat Party, the works of Robert E. Howard of Conan the Cimmerian Fame, L. Frank Baum for The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and Charles Dodgson for his Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, these all helped form the foundation for this bizarre tale: a tale of high adventure, of witchcraft and a lot of primordial debauchery. For many of the characters herein some could easily be mistaken for early primogenitors of Progressive Party heavyweights, but thanks to this author's use of Pig Latin, he has insured their true identities will forever remain unknown and obscure to history.
About the Author

I decided to write a novel, or two, or three a half a century ago when I accidentally discovered I might have the penchant for putting pen to paper, so I began writing in earnest in 2011 with my first novel Liars the News Industry. Liars is a hard look at our liberal dominated media and the aristocrats who own them and are bent on changing the nation with their control over the truth. These publishers and their pawns in the Democrat Party have always believed themselves untouchable until one fateful day when their empires are attacked.

My second novel is WTF! This Is a Liberal Utopia! is a satire on liberalism which speaks to the issue of what America might look like by 2050 if the kooks on the left ultimately prevailed. Corn has become the bedrock of the American economy. What cars there are are either Mexican lowriders, or battery powered bubble cars. Rioting and something that looks like football, but with hockey sticks and Pillsbury Doughboy padding, are the national pastimes. Yes, America had become a place turned upside on its head and you get to see it through the eyes of one of its liberal founders, Ivy League Professor Felix Schwartz.

Now, on to a little more about my sojourn into writing. It began many moons ago before long hair, pot, surfing, driving and girls had come on the scene. The part of the 1960s I am speaking of is the part of that era when Simon and Garfunkel, the weekly television show Kung Fu and the comedy hour of Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In were voted most popular in our junior high year book. This was before Woodstock, drugs and long hair, so you were either a 'jock,' as evidenced by wearing a school jersey; a 'hoodlum,' as evidenced by the pack of cigarettes rolled up in ones short sleeve shirt; a 'future hippie' who wore their shirts untucked. Or, you could be 'Miss Popular,' one of the cheerleaders; a 'wallflower' who slinked unseen from class to class, a 'nerd' with their leather briefcase; or another brainier type who took Latin, while the rest of us took Español.

My epiphany came to me one typical school day when I was sitting at a desk peeking out at freedom from a third story window. The tardy bell would have by that time rung out echoing down the largely empty hallways. This was followed shortly by the English teacher closing the one and only doorway for my escape. I was getting great grades at the time, so it was not like I hated school, just English Literature.

The hour slowly ticked by as the red second hand of the wall mounted Simplex advanced with that hesitating, analog motion. As the minute hand closed in on the end of the period the teacher announced she would be reading a short story from one of her students, someone in one of her half dozen classes who deserved meritorious mention.

She started reading the paper and I still remember thinking, "Wow, that's really kind of killer, I wonder which goody two shoes wrote it!" It was not until the second or third paragraph into her monologue that I realized the teacher was reading mein paper, an ephemeral account of the last thoughts of a man on death row in the closing hours before heading to the electric chair. Macabre I know, nevertheless that was what I assessed the homework assignment called for and may have had something to do with being a preacher's kid and prisoner to an autocratically run household. Anyway, being put in the spotlight for that briefest of moments had never come up before and resonated with me, becoming one of my proudest moments.

I still call to mind the pride I felt as the classroom listened in near riveted silence and now, a half-century later, that far flung memory has returned. Would my decades of experience in business help me? Would the self-taught nature of my education be enough? Only time will tell.
