Chapter 2...

Back at JDHQ (Jost Drinkers’ Headquarters)...

SPOOFE walked into the contamination chamber, followed by Kia. Inside the sealed tube was Chris, who was sitting in an easy chair and knitting, and Danielle, who was wearing an environment protection suit. She noticed the two of them outside the chamber and entered the airlock, where powerful hoses sprayed her suit down and purged the air of any contaminants. She then exited the airlock to the observation chamber and took off the enviro-suit’s helmet.

"What’s the prognosis?" SPOOFE asked.

"He’s still got all of his memories," Danielle replied, "but his mental mindset has been completely altered." She gestured into the chamber. "He’s knitting, for crying out loud." She held out some doilies. "And he made these earlier today."

SPOOFE and Kia looked at the little pieces of cloth; they sported designs such as happy faces and flowers.

"Now look at these doilies that he made three weeks ago, before his libido was supposedly lost."

SPOOFE and Kia looked at the other little pieces of cloth, which had designs of skulls, bongs, and naked women with big breasts in doggy style.

"Great Caesar’s ghost," SPOOFE muttered under his breath.

"Yes?" Great Caesar’s ghost, who was reclining nearby with a porno magazine, said.

SPOOFE looked over at him. "Oh, sorry... I was just using it to exclaim my shock and surprise."

"Oh... well, then I’ll go somewhere where I’m more appreciated." With that, Great Caesar’s ghost left, taking his issue of "Playghost" with him.

"Anyway... where was I?"

"You were shocked," Danielle said.

"And surprised," Kia added.

"Oh, yes!" SPOOFE said. "*Ahem*... we need to find Chris’s libido before he gets any worse. Any predictions on his state of decline?"

"By all estimates, if he continues declining at his current rate..." Danielle checked a graph. "... he should reach full Dipness by the end of the story."

Kia began to cry.

"Are there any chances that we can restore him without his libido?" SPOOFE asked.

Danielle gave him a funny look. "In a story like this? Of course not. They wouldn’t allow it."

"Who wouldn’t?" Kia said, between tears.

"The ‘Bureau Of Stereotypical Story Writing Hermaphrodite Impotence Producing Panhandlers Emergent Resources’, or BOSSWHIPPERS for short."

SPOOFE sighed. "I hate those rat-bastards."

"Why?" Kia asked. "What do they do?"

"The put restrictions on stories like these. They also restrict the sale and trade of impotent hermaphrodite panhandlers and leprechauns."

Danielle interrupted. "Okay, okay, this has absolutely nothing to do with anything! Can we get on with the story, please?!?"

"Okay, okay... I just got word from my intelligence operatives that an upcoming Republican convention will include a strip-show, which leads me to believe that they must have recently acquired the means to become sexually aroused."

"How do you figure that?" Danielle asked.

"Well, all Republicans at these conventions are old men that haven’t had an erection since Vietnam, so the only thing they know how to do with strippers is to regulate them. But, they’ve actually put a full-fledged strip-show on the schedule, with more than a hundred strippers hired to perform."

"Oooh...." Danielle and Kia said together.

"Gather everyone together," SPOOFE said. "Tell them to meet in the conference room. We’re going to put together an infiltration mission for this one and get to the leader of the convention."

"Who’s the leader of the convention?" Danielle and Kia asked together.

SPOOFE’s face was stern. "Bob Dole."

Deep underground... lies Hell, where Satan delights in torturing the souls of the damned, or just sniffing them like cocaine. Slightly less deep than Hell, but equally delightful (at least), is the JDHQMCBR (Josta Drinkers’ Headquarters Main Conference Briefing Room). Along one edge of the JDHQMCBR is the JDHQMCBRFSBTWLOYFAD (Josta Drinkers’ Headquarters Main Conference Briefing Room Full-Spread Buffet Table With Lots Of Yummy Food And Drink). One of the buffet foods on the JDHQMCBRFSBTWLOYFAD are little pieces of fried chicken (fried chicken). Everybody likes those, so there’s a lot of it (it).

But SPOOFE didn’t allow everyone to have much time to eat... only a few hours or so. He called them all to attention.

"Attention!" SPOOFE called to them all. "Attention, I say!"

"You always want all the attention," Casey yelled back. "Let us eat our food in peace!"

"You already had seventeen servings, you pig. Now, attention!"

"Why should we listen to you?!?"

"Because I have the conch!"

All those present said "Oooh" or "Aaah" or something along those lines, and came to attention.

"That’s better. Now, we have received word that the Republican Party will be hosting a conference in Cleveland. Normally, this wouldn’t attract much attention, except..."

"Except...?" Eric asked.

"Except...?" Emily asked.

"Except... they have organized a strip-show," SPOOFE finished.

Eric made a weird face. "What’s so unusual about that? The Democrats always have a strip-show."

SPOOFE walked over to him and put an arm around his shoulder. "Eric, Eric, Eric... these are Republicans. They wouldn’t know an erection from the hole in a woman."

Eric nodded slowly. "I really don’t like your choice of words, but strangely, I find myself agreeing with you. Sorry, it’s the chicken talking."

"Right... Anyway," SPOOFE said, walking back to the head of the table, "this information has led me to believe that the Republicans have somehow managed to get their hands on something to cure their lack of... um... sexuality. And the only thing on this planet strong enough to do that is Chris Benton’s libido."

"Or lots of viagra," Flip said.

"Or a good issue of ‘Playghost’," said Great Caesar’s ghost.

"Or me," said Kia.

"Or some coffee," Katharine added.

"Or a Ground Zero-class powersuit with repeating Radon-tipped projectile cannons, fully-operational hover pack, and cup-holder," Eric said.

All those in the room turned to look at him with funny looks.

"Well, at least, that’d do it for me..." Eric mumbled.

SPOOFE held up a hand, quelling any further speculation (yeah... he’s so-o-o-o-o respected and stuff...). "None of that matters," he said. "What matters is that the Republican Party is in possession of Chris Benton’s libido, and we have to get it back. Which means we need to infiltrate that convention. Which means that we need lots of spying ability for this.

"The team I have chosen is as follows.... Eric, because you’re such a pure little boy..."

"I object to being called ‘pure’. I’m just as dirty as the rest of you."

"But not on the outside. Emily..."

Emily sat up. "What good can I do?"

"You know high-class bullshit and stuff... you’ll fit right in with the Republicans."

"But I don’t want to see a strip-show!"

SPOOFE smiled. "There’s going to be male strippers too, you know."

Emily’s mouth dropped. "Oooh.... I’m in, then."

"Glad to hear it. Kia..."

Kia purred. "Of course."

"...Casey..."

"Not surprised."

"...And Flip."

Everyone groaned, and so did all the others in the room. "What, what?!?" Flip said. "If you’ve got a problem with how I do stuff..."

"He’ll goof up the mission!" Emily said.

"No I won’t!" Flip retorted.

"No, he won’t, actually," SPOOFE said. "The Republican’s are mostly bunglers and klutzes, anyway. He’ll fit right in."

Flip folded his arms in front of his chest. "Yeah, I’ll fit right... hey!"

"You’re on the team, Flip. Be happy."

Flip grumbled a bit, but voiced no other objections.

"All right, people. Grab your gear and get to the transport. We’ll have the briefing on the way. Get going, everyone!"

Everyone got up and left.

"And the rest of you! Let’s go!"

High up in the atmosphere, aboard the Regal-class starship Josta I, the debriefing for the mission was commencing.

"Keep ‘er level, Corny," SPOOFE said as he walked out of the cockpit, "and remember; you’re not allowed to drop bombs on random cities again."

SPOOFE shut the cockpit door, drowning out the "Awww!" that the pilot was making. He climbed down the ladder to the lower deck where the rest of the infiltration team was setting up their gear.

They were all in black tie dress; tuxedos for the guys and long, elegant (and expensive) evening gowns for the ladies. Flip had tried to dye his hair pink, but SPOOFE wouldn’t allow it, pointing out that Republicans don’t do that.

"Okay, is everyone ready?"

"Yes, I am," Everyone answered.

"What are you doing here?" SPOOFE asked. "Get off my ship! Eric, could you do the honors?"

"Of course," Eric said. He grabbed Everyone and tossed him out the airlock. Eric was, of course, wearing his Silencer-class powersuit, which, coincidentally, looked exactly like a tuxedo did. Everyone screamed as he plummeted to the ground.

"All right, are all of you ready?" SPOOFE asked again.

A series of affirmative responses came back. "Okay, here’s the objective. There’s going to be approximately fifteen hundred other people there, sprawled out through this complex." SPOOFE pulled down a poster showing a map of the place. "There are five major chambers, plus several dozen smaller ones circled around the central area. These three," he pointed to three of the rooms, "are the main hall, the front ballroom, and the rear ballroom, respectively. Basically, the whole gathering will be taking place in these areas, primarily the front ballroom. The itinerary calls for everyone to be moved into the other two chambers; the auditoriums, for the strip-shows. This one," he pointed to the slightly smaller of the two, "will be where the ladies entertainment will be taking place, while the other will be for the men.

"Our plan requires us to find out the exact who, what, when, where, why, and how that the Republicans got so randy. Which means we’re going to have to spread out and talk to some of these old farts. What you’ll be specifically trying to find out is why they’re changing policy so immensely, and where in the complex Bob Dole is, because we have to get to him. Chris’s libido may still be intact, and if it is, Dole will have it. Execute your mission with extreme prejudice. Any questions?"

Flip raised his hand. "What does ‘extreme prejudice’ mean?"

"Uhh.... it means ‘do your job well and you’ll get a biscuit’."

"Oh... biscuit...."

SPOOFE went on. "Any other questions?" A hand raised in the back. "Yes?"

"How do I get out of this chicken-shit outfit?"

"You secure that shit, Hudson!" the Sarge yelled.

SPOOFE looked around. "How the hell do you people get on my ship? Off! Off! Eric, will you do the honors?"

A few seconds later, a few more figures went screaming out the airlock.

"Any more questions?"

There were none.

"All right, we land in five minutes..."

It was a pretty wild party, as wild as parties which were 99% populated by really old people in really fancy, expensive clothing can get. SPOOFE looked simply dashing in his tuxedo. He and Emily formed Team 1, Eric and Kia formed Team 2, and Casey and Flip formed Team Homosexu— I mean, Team 3.

SPOOFE grabbed a glass of champagne and nodded to the waiter. Emily, with one armed looped around his, followed suit.

"Okay, are all teams in position?" SPOOFE said quietly into his radio transceiver in his collar.

"Check," Eric replied.

"Yeah," Casey said, "but why do I have to be stuck with Flip?"

"Because you two are so gosh darn cute together," SPOOFE answered back. "Begin with the operation."

SPOOFE and Emily walked right up to an old rich man and his old rich wife, who were talking with a general.

"They’ve put together an amazing party this year," SPOOFE said, interrupting. "Did they hire a new decorator?"

The old man stuttered for a minute, then said, "No, I don’t think so."

The general shook his head. "I don’t know, sorry."

"Well, it’s just simply ravishing," Emily said in her upper-crust English voice. "I just love how they have the little lemon slices floating in the punch!"

SPOOFE held his hand out to the old man. "Arthur Bennedict, but you can call me Artie."

The old man shook the proffered hand. "William A. B. Colemansly, and this is my loving wife, Martha."

"Charmed."

"General Abrams Turrin," said the military man, also taking SPOOFE’s hand in a firm grip.

SPOOFE gestured to Emily. "This is Miss Victoria Walker, my escort for the evening."

There were more rounds of ultra-formal introductions that are really annoying to hear.

"Say," SPOOFE... uh... said, "I checked the itinerary, and it says that there’s going to be a strip show. How is that?"

"Oh, yes," William said. "They decided that this year we should do something new, like what they did last year, when they decided that knee-high skirts were acceptable."

SPOOFE nodded. "Ah, yes... Anyway, do you know what brought on the idea for a strip-show?"

General Turrin leaned in closely. "Well, we’re not supposed to tell people... but I know I can trust you." You glanced around. "Word has it that Bob Dole is going to unveil something special that will necessitate a strip-show."

SPOOFE grinned. "Ah... that makes sense, doesn’t it?"

"Oh, yes... perfect sense," Emily said.

"Thank you for your time," SPOOFE said. He and Emily wandered off to do some more mingling.

Kia and Eric were wandering among the dinner tables. Kia glanced over at Eric; she knew he must’ve been feeling uncomfortable, but he’d never show it. He kept his demeanor very calm and oh-so-suave. Kia, of course, was acting bubbly.

"Oh, I just loooove that dress!" Kia exclaimed in her best ditz voice. "Where ever did you get it?"

The target of her ditziness just feigned a blush. "Oh, it’s only a Chanel..." she said. "It only cost several thousand dollars, plus the extra two thousand for the shoes."

Kia chatted back and forth with her victim for a while (what transpired will not be written here, as it sickens me and would probably sicken you, too). Eric, meanwhile, was being approached by a large man with a goatee.

"Greetings to you," the large man said, extending a large, powerful hand. "I am Craven Gettysburg."

Eric glanced up at the huge man (just about all of his hugeness was muscle), thinking that he recognized this man from somewhere. He took his hand. "My name is Pierce. John Pierce."

"It seems that your escort has made friends with my employer," Craven said.

Eric gave him a quizzical look. "Employer?"

"I am her bodyguard."

"Ah," Eric said. "Assassination attempts?"

Craven nodded. "Among other things. She is the Duchess of Yubeland, a teeny-tiny, yet incredibly rich, country near Scandinavia."

Eric nodded again. This man was seeming more and more familiar, yet he couldn’t place the face. "That is interesting. I work in securities myself. What techniques do you use to prevent assassination attempts?"

Craven laughed. "Oh, no. I won’t give away all of my secrets. You see, I also deal in other industries of life, and if you knew what techniques I used... you might be able to counter them."

Eric shrugged. "Very well." He took a sip of punch. "Have you seen the itinerary for the night?"

"I have," Craven said.

"Very unusual, for a Republican convention to have a strip-show."

"Yes, very unusual," Craven said.

Eric glanced sidelong at him. "Any ideas why?"

Craven gave him a wry smile. "I might have a few ideas... how much would they be worth to you?"

Eric reached into his jacket and pulled out a small envelope. "How about top secret NATO access codes?"

Craven glanced at the envelope. "Ah... tempting offer. Tell me, what do they do?"

"They can gain you access to the NATO inner council records, encryption codes for NATO military transmissions, arming and disarming codes for American, British, and French nuclear missiles, and Prince Charles’ Rogaine expenditures."

Craven’s eyes flashed a bit. "Very well. I will tell you my suspicions." He took the envelope and pocketed it. "My sources have informed me that Bob Dole, who is running this conference, has managed to procure something to increase the ‘drive’ of the Republicans."

"Really... how interesting... any idea why?"

"No idea. But one can only imagine the advantages that could come about from the Republican Party being hornier."

"No doubt," Eric said. "No doubt." He looked over at Kia, whistled, and gestured with his hand for her to come. Kia obeyed (‘cuz Eric’s such a pimp).

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Gettysburg. Enjoy the party," Eric said.

"I will, Mr. Pierce. You enjoy your evening, too."

For the twenty-third time of the evening, Flip tripped on his own feet. He fell into the arms of the daughter of a rich senator. For a few seconds, Flip’s face was buried in her rather ample cleavage, for which he got a very hefty slap in the face. He fell to the floor, rubbing his face.

Casey hoisted him to his feet. "Can you please try not to succumb to the pull of gravity?" he said, more than a bit sarcastically.

Flip gave Casey the finger. "I’m not used to being around so many popular people," he said. "It’s overwhelming my insecurity node."

Casey pointed to some of the people. "They’re not popular... just ‘well-known’. There’s a difference."

"Not in my book," Flip said. He spotted the buffet table and headed over there. As soon as he got there, he grabbed a glass of punch, then began stuffing little crackers with globs of something into his mouth.

"Whoa! Take it easy!" Casey said. "We’ve got a job to do."

"But I’m hungry!" Flip whined. "It’s been half an hour since I’ve last eaten!"

Casey sighed. "But we are on a mission... we have to find Chris’s--"

Casey was interrupted by a loud, obnoxious, "perfect-grammar" voice. "That’s quite the appetite you have there, young American!"

Casey glanced up. "Rush Limbaugh?"

"The one and only," Rush said. "It’s nice to see some of the younger generation taking part in politics."

"Uhh... yeah, right, taking part in politics," Casey said. Flip was still eating.

"Let me try some of those," Rush said. He reached for the crackers, but Flip growled at him. "Whoa! Your little friend really enjoys his dinner snacks."

"I do," Flip muttered between mouthfuls.

Casey turned to Rush. "So, what do they have you doing at the convention this year?"

Rush glanced eagerly at the crackers again. "Well, I’m supposed to introduce the strip show.... for the men, anyway. To introduce the women’s show, they brought in Janet Reno to introduce, and to give the first performance."

Casey shuddered at that thought. "Do you have any idea why they changed tactics so much this year, and copied the Democrats?"

Rush glared at Casey. "It’s not copying the Democrats. The Democrats merely predicted that we’d do this and stole the idea first."

"Ri-i-i-ight..." Casey said, slowly. "But, what I meant was why did they decide to hold a strip-show?"

"I don’t know," Rush said. "I’m not really into facts." He glared at Flip. "Okay, boy, that’s enough... time for me to have some!"

Flip growled and bared his teeth at Rush.

"Careful," Casey said, "he’s in his ‘Rabid Squirrel’ mindset."

"For a rabid squirrel, he sure eats a lot."

"Yup. Nobody can eat more than he can when he’s like that."

"Wanna bet?" Rush said with a gleam in his eye.

Casey grinned. "Sure."

"Five bucks says I can eat more than twinkle-toes here," Rush said, gesturing at Flip.

"You’re on," Casey said.

So they got set up. They brought out more trays of crackers and set them down, and Rush and Flip got ready to begin shoveling.

A Secret Service agent came forward with his gun. "Ready.... set.... Purple Mosquito Flying Eastward... Go!" He fired his gun, and the eating began.

Crackers disappeared faster than you can say "Vacuum Cleaner". They shoveled, and shoveled, and shoveled, and shoveled, and shoveled... within a few minutes (and seven trays of crackers) Flip began to slow down. Another tray later, he had enough. He staggered, reach for another cracker... then collapsed. He gurgled a bit.

Rush kept right on eating. Twenty minutes later, he had consumed 457½ trays of crackers, before he noticed that Flip was unconscious. He glanced down at him, with bits of cracker drooling out the side of his mouth, then finished up the tray of crackers. He grabbed the bowl of punch, drank it down, then let out a long, loud belch. All the spectators clapped. Rush tried to bow, but his expanded belly made him fall over. He hit his head on the floor and was knocked unconscious.

Casey saw his chance. He rushed over to the fallen man and said, "Rush! Rush, you okay?" He began checking his vital stats with one hand while checking Rush’s pockets with the other. He pulled out Rush’s security pass, and put it in his own pocket. Just then, a team of medical types ran up and put Rush on a stretcher.

"Don’t worry, he does this all the time," one of the medical guys said. "We have contingency plans for this."

Casey watched them go, then said into his hidden microphone, "Overlord, I’ve got a security pass, and I’m going to begin searching for Bob Dole."

"Affirmative," SPOOFE answered over the comm units. "We’ve almost secured our own security pass."

Emily was over at the bar, getting Ted Kennedy really, really drunk. He was laughing and belching while Emily pretended to not be disgusted. She handed him another bottle of hard liquor, and he chugged the whole thing. He wobbled a bit, then fell over. Emily leaned down next to him and pulled his security pass out of his pocket.

"Got it," she said, returning to SPOOFE’s position. "I will never, ever, ever, ever do that again."

"All righty, dearie," SPOOFE said. "I owe you one. Let’s go find Dole."

They began walking towards the high-security door leading into the "Employees Only" area. SPOOFE keyed his comm again. "Casey, get Eric and Kia before you begin searching for Dole."

"Already done," Casey said. "We’re heading for the main security passage now."

"We’re heading for the back one," SPOOFE said. "Stay sharp. We don’t know what other security they may have in here."

Emily slid the security pass into the locking mechanism. The door beeped, then slid open. SPOOFE and Emily stepped inside; the door slid shut behind them.

SPOOFE pulled out his MP-10, which was hidden in his tuxedo. Emily pulled out her own PP7. The two of them advanced down the hallway.

"How’re we gonna find Bob Dole?" Emily asked.

"Here we go," SPOOFE said, walking over to a large map of the complex. "Let’s see...... ‘You are here’...... ‘Bob Dole is here’. Okay, let’s go that way."

The main security door slid open, and Casey put the key-card back in his pocket. "All righty, keep your eyes peeled for Bob Dole."

The others nodded, and they all pulled out their weapons; Casey had his sword, Flip had his shotgun, Eric had the vast array of weapons built into his powersuit-that-looks-like-a-tuxedo, and Kia had her little crossbow.

The hallway led to a small group of guards who were watching some roosters fight. "Hey!’ one of them shouted when they saw the group of infiltrators. "Wanna place a bet on the next match?"

"Umm... no," Eric said.

"No?" the security guard repeated. "No?!? That’s the first time anyone’s ever said no! You must be intruders!"

"That we are," Eric said, and all four of them began firing their weapons. Guards disintegrated left and right.

When they were all dead (the bad guys, I mean) they continued on, searching for Bob Dole. After a few minutes, they came to a large room. Craven Gettysuburg was standing there in the middle.

"Hello again, Mr. Pierce," Craven said. "I’m sorry, I cannot allow you to continue any further."

Eric stared for a second. "I remember you now," Eric said. "I beat you in a game of ‘Tribes’ once."

Craven grinded his teeth. "You didn’t beat me! You cheated!" He lunged forward to grab Eric’s throat, but his hands only struck the powersuit’s shields. He ricocheted off and slammed into the wall. Eric pulled out his PPP (Person Perforating Projector) and blasted Craven. Chunks of Craven meat went flying down the hallway.

"That was rather unpleasant," Eric said. "Let’s go."

They continued down the hallway. They came to a corner; Casey noted a shadow approaching. He pulled out his handgun and stood up against the wall; when the person rounded the corner, he whirled around and shoved the pistol where his head should’ve been... except it was SPOOFE, and he was kneeling down with his MP-10 pushed into Casey’s gut.

"You’re too noisy," SPOOFE said. "Let’s go, Dole’s down here."

They hurried down the hallway to the large double doors. SPOOFE and Casey pushed them open, and the whole group rushed inside. There was a large desk with a single large spinny chair, turned away from them.

"We’re here to retake Chris Benton’s libido, Bob Dole!!" SPOOFE shouted at the spinny chair.

The chair spun around. Everyone gasped.

"What are you doing here?" SPOOFE said. "Get out of here!"

Everybody left, dejected.

Casey walked up to the chair. "This isn’t Bob Dole," he said. "This is a prune."

"I know it’s a prune!" SPOOFE snapped back.

"It’s not Bob Dole," Casey said.

"I know it’s not Bob Dole!" SPOOFE said.

"It’s a prune."

"Shut up!"

SPOOFE picked up the prune and stared at it. "Eric, scan this with your bio-sensors, will ya?"

Eric grabbed the prune and applied the sensor lens to his right eye. It glowed a bit, then went dark. Eric put the sensor away. "This is odd... it has Bob Dole’s DNA strands in it."

"Just as I suspected," SPOOFE said. "Bob Dole has turned into a prune!"

"Shouldn’t he have turned into a pineapple?" Emily asked.

SPOOFE sighed. "No, no... you don’t understand." He bent behind the desk and picked up a can. "This is what Bob Dole wanted to use to make the Republicans more lively." He showed the can to everyone. "Guarana-enriched prune juice."

Everyone gasped.

"Get the hell out of here! I told you to leave!" SPOOFE yelled. To the others, he said, "Prune juice is normally harmless, but when you add a chemical as powerful and potent as Guarana... who knows what’ll happen."

"Apparently, this will happen," Casey said, gesturing to the prune.

SPOOFE nodded. "This is another dead end, people. Let’s go home."

On to Chapter 3...