Mark of the Scone
“Toastfist! Toastfist! Toastfist!” chanted the Scone army in unison. Their numbers grew each day. And now, with the Manwich of Destiny, victory was all but assured.
“Silence!” blared an inhuman voice from atop the gold-plated balcony which hung over the teeming masses. “Today we take back breakfast! Tomorrow- the Earth!”
Holding the Manwich above his crumbly head, the Scones' leader, General Toastfist, let out a victory howl. The others joined in, their bread-like voices blending together into a crispy cacophony.
Toastfist frowned. There was one man who could still stop him. One man who could thwart his plot to destroy humanity. “What are you doing right now, my nemesis”, muttered Toastfist in a murmur low enough that the troops wouldn't hear. “What are you thinking....”
“Senator Ninja! What in the Sam Hill were you thinking, Senator Ninja?!?”
“What? Huh?” bleated Senator Ninja, quickly turning his head from his nightly reports to face this intruder. He reached for his trusty blade, but stopped when he realized who had invaded his den of solitude.
“What are you doing here, deLame? Come back to steal a few lamps?” Senator Ninja sneered at the former House leader.
“Very funny, Nin-jerk. Come up with that on your own, did you?”
“What do you want deLay? I'm very busy,” said an exasperated Senator Ninja.
“I'm just here to ask how the investigation is going.”
“Aren't you investigating the mysterious death of Senator Bond?” asked deLay, his eyebrows arching ever so slightly. “I know if I was a Senator and one of my friends was killed-”
“Who said he was killed? I never released the details of Bond's death to anyone.”
“I know. And who gave you the authority to do that?! You can't just stick your nose where it doesn't belong.”
“Weren't you just indicted?” quipped Senator Ninja, his eyes glowing with amusement. deLay's eyes also glowed- but with anger and bitterness.
“I may have been indicted,” deLay barked with a lump in his throat. “But at least I have the good sense not to laugh at Donald Rumsfeld's avatar!” That made Senator Ninja's heart skip a beat.
“What do you know about Donald Rumsfeld?”
“What I know about Rumsfeld is none of your concern. All you need to know is this- Kit Bond was murdered. By the Scones.”
He waited a few minutes for that nugget of information to sink in, but Senator Ninja didn't respond.
“Ninja? Senator Ninja? Are you okay?”
Senator Ninja just sat there, staring into space. His eyes flashed, as if a repressed memory was fighting it's way to the surface.
“Here they come, Kit! Act natural.” whispered a twenty-something Dick Cheney.
The year was 1943, the place was Berlin, and the mission was...
“Is the Scone Transducer ready? We need to be able to morph in five, four, three...”
“Who's there?” demanded a young Scone lieutenant, pointing a pistol at the three outsiders. But they weren't outsiders at all. At least, they didn't look like they were.
Well, now we know the Scone armor works. Thought Dick Cheney, his human form cleverly disguised by the powerful device. To everyone but his two companions, Cheney had the appearance of a Scone.
“Citizens aren't allowed here. This is a restricted area,” droned the lieutenant, who had obviously said this to many people.
“I assure you, we're allowed to be here. Kit, show him our papers.”
“Kit? That name sounds almost huma- urk!” yelped the young Scone as the camouflaged visage of Kit Bond quickly reached up and snapped his neck stalk.
“I love my job!” laughed Kit, dragging the crusty carapace behind some garbage cans.
“By the time this is over, we'll be lucky to still be alive, Kit. Drop the routine.” barked Cheney.
“Dick, if you don't drop your routine, you're gonna end up getting a couple of heart attacks and ulcers,” scoffed Kit in his thick Missourian drawl. “Now let's go! I wanna take out Grainsom, and send the whole Scone army back where they came from!”
The third and most indistinct member of the gathering looked back and forth, and finally let out a laugh. “Easy there, Kit. You know that's not our mission. Now wipe those crumbs off your hands. We've got a war to win.”
“Okay. But if we do come up against Grainsom, you gotta let me get 'im.”
“Fine, fine, Grainsom is yours. Now let's get out of here before his buddies show up,” said Dick Cheney, pointing at the garbage cans.
“...caused me to loose my balance and fall in. Then my daddy reached in and-”
“Wha- huh- deLay?! What just happened?!” shouted Senator Ninja at a visibly shaken Tom deLay.
“What do mean 'What just happened'? You've been sitting there like a zombie for about an hour now.”
“How could I just be- wait. What are you still doing here? Going through my cabinets for something expensive, right? I know your kind, deLay. You'd steal the Lincoln Memorial if it didn't weigh a few tons.”
deLay's face became a combination of shock and disbelief. Then it turned ugly. “For your information, jerk, you went into some kind of a coma and I was trying to help you.”
“Wha- why didn't you call a doctor?!”
“I did. I got Bill Frist in here. He told me to keep talking to you. He's a genius.”
“And you're a moron! Get out of my office!”
“I don't have to stand here and be insulted by you!” bellowed an indignant Tom deLay. “You're just a second-rate Senator from... from... where are your from, anyway?! Are you even a real Senator?!”
“Get out!” screamed Senator Ninja at the top of his lungs, gesturing violently at the doorway.
“Fine. But before I go, I have one question for you.”
“What is it?!” roared Senator Ninja, anger burning through him.
“I just wanted to know... what do you know about S.R. 8723?”
Senator Ninja's rage turned to ice in his veins.
“What do you know about it?”
“Oh, nothing.” said deLay in an annoying singsong voice. “Just wanted to know what you know. Bye!”
Senator Ninja sat there in his office the rest of the night, contemplating what had transpired. Every possible scenario led to one inevitable answer: a conspiracy was afoot.
The Scones were on the march.