Chapter VIII
While Mike Gravel protested his love and bared his soul for Michelle, an angry Tim Duncan had found the conference room where the delegations were dividing up the world. He burst into the room, using a simple Level 5 Druid Spell that no one would have ever guessed. He was disgusted, not the least at the unhealthy lifestyle decision choices being made by those assembled. He opened a window, letting in the balmy night air, and blowing away the smoke. He gathered all the uneaten pizza and put it in the refrigerator, for while pizza was a fun treat for now and then, and he didn't want to put food to waste, there had been enough for one night.
And then he looked Handsome Dan in the eye. Druidic magicks, bearing the rich fecund green smell of the deepest forests, where pine needles formed a bed that dampened the sounds of the hectic world, begin to unfurl from Duncan's body, like someone removing a reluctant tuna fish sandwich from a staticy plastic wrap. To even the unaware eyes of those in the room, the clash between the low hum of the earth emanating from Duncan, and the tooth jarring electolysis of Handsome Dan, was a sign that there would be an epic clash of titans. Handsome Dan got to his feet, his imprinted hair not swaying at all in the non-existent evening breeze.
“I am sorry, this is a closed room. This is where Americans decide the fate of Americans.”
“I am well aware of the historical ramifications of Article II, Section 1 of the constitution, as well as the unfortunate flights of fancy some have sometimes had and I am a native born citizen, 'Handsome Dan'”, Duncan said, his steely gaze not loosening from the emotive face of Handsome Dan.
(n.b. Duncan only talks in Olde English when he is fighting a Cursed Sword, but that would be silly when dealing with political debates)
Handsome Dan begin “My Fellow Americans”, but he forgot that below Tim Duncan's cerebral cool, there lay a double-Platinum basketball player. Duncan sent a paperclip soaring, to hit the zip drive eject button on Handsome Dan's thigh, ejecting the zip disk, and causing Handsome Dan to lose all his social skills.
“...what the flipping flip am I doing in a smelly motel room at 4:30 AM in the morning with a bunch of grumpy old wheeler dealers and why must I be in a room that smells of stale, cheap pizza and smoke, even if I can't smell it, I know that has to smell gross”
They were all shocked to their cores, as Handsome Dan's Social Skills and Wall of Logic both disintegrated, and they realized how close they had come to nominating a robot to the Presidency.
They looked at Duncan, who had returned to a meditative state. Suddenly, the oldest of them, a wizened old man in a corduroy jumper and a seersucker blazer, came forth, his voice rolling through the room: “Young man! Can you tell me who was the Vice-President of Chester Arthur?”