Well, since this fic of mine did not get any notice when I first posted it, and since I am in the mood to add more, I figured I woud repost it. Please read it and tell me if you would like me to continue...


(It is a beautiful day at the NBC news studio. Mr. Tom Brokaw was staring uneasily at a pile of mail on his desk. Frowning and chewing on his bottom lip, Brokaw opens one of his desk drawers and takes out a pair of rubber gloves and some salad tongs. Slipping on the gloves, Brokaw takes a deep breath. He picks up the tongs, but suddenly, there is a knock on the door. Brokaw cries out and drops his tongs)

Brokaw: AAAAH! Er…uh, I mean…er, who’s there?

Voice: It’s me, Mr. Brokaw, I made that appointment with your secretary last week?

(Brokaw consults his schedule)

Brokaw: Oh, yes, of course! Please, come in!

(Cut to Brokaw, so you cannot see the other person, you can only hear someone walk in and sit down. There is a long, awkward silence, and then the visitor clears his/her throat)

Brokaw: Uh…(notices he still has on the gloves) Oh! Oh…er, I was…um, just doing some dishes (hastily removes them)

Voice: Dishes? In your office?

Brokaw: Of course!(serious and stern) Don’t you do dishes in your office?

Voice: Well…no, I can’t say that I have.

Brokaw: You really should…cuts hours off doing them at night.

Voice: Er, well, yes then. Anyway, we should get down to business.

(Brokaw stands and goes to his window. The other person in the room is still hidden from view)

Brokaw: You know if I can get these interviews I’ll be the journalist of the century! This will really put Jennings and Rather in their respective places! Just like that!

Voice: Yes…right. Now, you know what we are asking for in return, correct?

Brokaw: (frowning) In return? Huh…you didn’t ask for anything in return, actually.

(Long pause. Finally the sound of a hand slapping a forehead can be heard)

Voice: Oh crap! I knew I forgot something!

Brokaw: So you want something in return now?

Voice: Uh…yeah! Hello, this is a shady, underhanded deal thing we’re putting together. Isn’t it standard fare to have me want something in return?

Brokaw: (critically) Isn’t it standard fare to remember that you want something in return--without me having to remind you?

(another awkward pause)

Voice: Shut up. Anyway, here are my demands…should be quite simple.

(Focus on a piece of paper exchanging hands. Back to Brokaw as he reads it. He frowns, confused.)

Brokaw: You mean all you want me to do is…

Voice: (cutting him off) Shhh! You want someone to hear us!?!?

Brokaw: Who’s going to hear us? We’re in my office…

Voice: The mail, stupid! You know they can fit microphones in the mail!

Brokaw: Eeep! I mean…oh! I, er, didn’t know that

(Focus in on the mail while some dramatic, scary music plays. Stays focused on the mail while the owner of the voice gets up and leaves. Brokaw makes sure his door is shut and locked. He puts back on his gloves and picks up his salad tongs. Grabbing his mail with the tongs, he tosses the lot of it…even a letter addressed ‘Super-Secret Interview With Donald Rumsfeld…MUST READ!…into the garbage can. Brokaw then lights a match and tosses it in, hiding behind his desk in fear as the contents of the can burns)

(Scene: A quiet street in Washington D.C., circa about 1828. A man is walking down the sidewalk, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, looking down intensely. This man is John C. Calhoun, senator from South Carolina)

Calhoun: (murmuring to himself) Well, I suppose it is a relief to have that idiot Adams out of the White House…now to put up with this new…

(Suddenly, there is a loud, rumbling noise.)

Calhoun: Oh no…

(He stops and looks behind him. A cloud of dust is being raised up, and in front of that dust is a man, running and screaming.)

Calhoun: (rolling his eyes.) HENRY! I TOLD YOU NOT TO HUMOR THE FOOL!

Running Man: I’M NOT HUMORING HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIM!

(Suddenly, something flies from out of the dust cloud and pelts the running man in the back of the head. It’s, surprisingly, a water balloon. The man, who can now be seen as Senator Henry Clay cries out. Another balloon is thrown, hitting Clay again in the back of the head. Calhoun watches this with a raised eyebrow)

Clay: THIS IS NOT FUNNY MR PRESIDENT!

Calhoun: (rolling his eyes and continuing to walk) Every day is the same! (looks at his wristwatch) I am constantly late to work because Andrew Jackson is throwing water balloons at Henry Clay from a speeding carriage. (Sighs) The life of a Congressman, I suppose…

(Calhoun continues walking towards the Capitol building, muttering to himself. The sidewalk remains empty for a few moments. Suddenly, there is a loud crash and an explosion of white light.)

(Scene: the ABC news office. Peter Jennings is bending over a microphone things. All that can be heard is static. Jennings turns the mike off and sighs. One of his assistants walks in.)

Assistant: (the voice of that pimply kid from The Simpsons) What is it, Mr. Jennings?

Jennings: Damn…Tom Brokaw is burning his mail again.

Assistant: Well you know, with the anthrax and all.

Jennings: Hmm…anthrax. Yes, I suppose so. But I want to know who that shadowy figure was, sneaking into Brokaw’s office this morning!

Assistant: (chiding) Mr. Jennings, I told you that you would be a lot more relaxed if you stopped hiding in that plant outside of Mr. Brokaw’s office

Jennings: (enraged) I AM NOT HIDING! I AM GATHERING INFORMATION!

Assistant (afraid) Er…yes! (runs out of the office)

Jennings: Idiot. (sighs to himself) Why do I have the feeling that Brokaw is on to the interview of the century here?

(I suddenly storm in)

Me: Because you’re reading the script, you idiot! (I grab the script from him and smack him with it.)

Jennings: Ow! Hey, that hurt!

(I run out)

Jennings: Well then. Damn, now I don’t have the script. I actually have to try, unlike on my show. (takes a deep breath) Well, I have to do the unthinkable then. (picks up a telephone from out of nowhere) Operator? Get me…(dramatic music) Dan Rather!

(Back in Washington, 1828. It is a lot later in the day, because this is my world and I can control time. John C. Calhoun is at a tavern by himself, muttering under his breath)

Calhoun: My dear, sweet Lord, if I have to pass ANOTHER day in the company of that…

(Suddenly the door bursts open and a man dashes into the room)

Calhoun: Aw damn.

(President Andrew Jackson runs over to Calhoun’s table and sits down with a big flourish.)

Jackson: Hey Johnny! How are ya? Well, wasn’t Congress exciting today!?

Calhoun: (extremely sarcastic) Yes. Yes, it was barrels and barrels and barrels of nothing but exciting excitement.

Jackson: I thought so too!

Calhoun: You would.

Jackson: (turns as some more people walk inside) Oh! Look! It’s Clay and Webster! HENRY! DANIEL! COME OVER HERE!

Calhoun: H’mm, could this night get any better?

(Senators Henry Clay and Daniel Webster walk over. Clay gives Jackson a suspicious look before he comes any closer)

Jackson: Ah, Henry, I didn’t bring the water balloons…this time!

Clay: (wiping his brow) Woo, well, that’s a good thing.

Calhoun: (rises to get up) Excuse me, gentlemen…

Jackson: Where are you going?

Calhoun: To jump off a cliff.

(Webster and Clay both grab his coattails.)

Clay: (under his breath) Not without us you’re not

Webster: You only get to kill yourself if we do too!

Calhoun: Aw damn.

(Calhoun sits back down. Jackson, ever oblivious, is sitting down and drinking. Calhoun sighs, and takes a long, long drink.)

(Flash to a darkened plantation somewhere in Virginia. Three shadowy figures steal through the night.)

Shadowy figure 1: ARE WE ALMOST THERE!?!?

Shadowy figure 2 & 3: Shut up!?

S.F. 3: Why did we have to bring HIM on a kidnapping mission? He’s about ten decibels to loud for this!

S.F. 2: He was the only one who would fit into the black outfits Miss Info brought.

S.F. 3: Someone should really teach her how to use a washing machine.

S.F. 1…ah, hell, it’s Loud!: LOOK! THERE’S THE PLANTATION!

S.F. 3…ok, it’s Cho-Cho: Shush! God, we are NEVER going to pull this off.

Loud: WELL I REALLY DON’T WANT TO DO IT ANYWAY!

Cho-Cho: Too bad. Come one, let’s get the sack ready.

S.F. 2…who is Froggo: A sack. How…cliched. And besides, is the sack big enough?

Cho-Cho: Should be…Miss Info didn’t wash it.

Froggo: Thank Heavens for that. But…a sack. It’s so tasteless! Jeeze, we should have at least brought some tranquilizers.

Loud: YEAH RIGHT! YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THOSE COST!?

(Suddenly a light flips on in the house)

Cho-Cho: Aw crap…I knew we shouldn’t have taken him!

Froggo: Shh! This may work out to our advantage!

Loud: WHA--(Froggo and Cho-Cho cover his mouth before he can say anything else)

Froggo: Come on! (leads Loud and Cho-Cho behind a bush.)

(The door opens and a man steps out. He looks around, confused.)

Man: Hello? Is anyone out here? I swear I heard something…(looks around some more)

Froggo: (whispering) When I count three…one…(Cho-Cho readies the sack)…two…(Loud tenses)…THREE!

Loud: ATTACK!!!!!!!

(the three jump on top of the surprised man. There is a shadowy struggle, and finally, the still-moving man is stuffed into the sack)

Man: (muffled) GET ME OUTTA HERE! AHHHH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME!!!!???

Cho-Cho: Let’s get him back to Sammy before he has a seizure and fires us or something.

Froggo: Onward into the night, my friends!

Man: (from inside sack) HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!!!!!!!!!

(Scene: Washington D.C. again…Calhoun is walking home
from the Tavern with Webster and Clay. Jackson has
drunk himself under the table again, and the three
senators were only too happy to escape)

Webster: Jesus, Henry, why couldn’t you work out
another underhanded deal to keep this fool out of
office again?

Clay: I tr…hey! Wait! I never did anything
underhanded!

Webster & Calhoun: Yeah…sure…right.

Clay: I didn’t!

Calhoun: Then how in God’s name did Adams get elected
last time?

Clay: He was a talented man!

(Calhoun busts out laughing. Clay throws something at
him, and Webster shakes his head. It is dark out, and
the streets of town are silent.)

Webster: (after Calhoun has calmed down) H’mm,
quite…er, quiet tonight, don’t you think?

Clay: Well that was a very poor sentence there Daniel.

Webster: Shut up.

Calhoun: Regardless…Daniel’s right. It is eerily
silent for a metropolis such as this.

Clay: Metropolis? John…I wouldn’t qualify this
dirt-hole as a metropolis.

Calhoun: Well…er, you’re right. It is kind of a dirt
hole.

Webster: Anyway…I wonder why it’s so quiet tonight?
Even a dirt hole like this should be a little noisy.
If I were a superstitious man, I would say this
silence is a bad omen of disaster.

Clay: You are a superstitious man, Daniel.

Webster: You’re right…(shudders.)

Calhoun: Come off it…there’s nothing ominous about…

(He is interrupted by three people running past him,
carrying a sack. The sack is moving, and a very
familiar voice is screaming ‘HEELLLLLPPP!’. The
senators stare at each other for a moment)

Clay: Did you men hear what I heard?

Calhoun: Well…it depends. I thought I heard James
Monroe screaming help from inside a sack carried by
three mysterious and sinister figures. Is that what
you heard?

Clay: Yes…yes it was what I heard.

Calhoun: Daniel?

Webster: I, too, heard former president James Monroe
screaming help from inside a sack.

Calhoun: Well then, I suppose it WAS James Monroe
screaming help from inside a sack.

Clay: Now that that’s established…

Calhoun & Webster: Yes!

(The three men start running after the sack and its
carriers.)

(Scene: The Tavern. It’s closed, but President Andrew
Jackson is still lying underneath the table. He’s
whimpering in his sleep and twitching his legs and
arms like a dog. Suddenly, the door opens. Charity
Bazaar, Pepper Mills, and Toast walk in)

Pepper: (looking around) I don’t….AHHHH! THERE HE
IS!!!!! (jumps up and down)

Charity: Shhhhh! God, do you want us to get caught?

Pepper: (calming down) Sorry…I just….AHHHHHH! I CAN’T
BELIEVE I’M ACTUALLY KIDNAPPING ANDREW JACKSON!!!!

Toast: Like, seriously! Shut your mouth before the
drunk dude returns to the world of the living!

Charity: Er…yes, what he said.

(The three walk over to Jackson’s sleeping form)

Toast: Do you have the, like, sack thing?

Charity: (pulling it out from nowhere) Right here.

Pepper: You didn’t tell me we’d be using…A SACK!!
AHHHHH!

Charity: Argh! I’m gonna go insane…Toast, do something
about her!

Toast: Right-o! Hey, Pepper, did I just see…

Pepper: AHHHHHHH! (runs out the door screaming
hysterically, and waving her autograph book around.)

Charity: Wow, that was pretty easy.

Toast: Yeah, like I totally didn’t even have to
like…think.

Charity: Well that’s a good thing. Wouldn’t want to do
any damage.

Toast: Huh?

Charity: Never mind. Help me get him into the sack.

Toast: Sure!

(the two open up the sack on the floor, and walk over
to Jackson. Charity grabs one arm and Toast the other,
and they try to drag him out from under the table. His
head slams into the leg, though, and he stirs a bit.
Toast and Charity freeze, but Jackson just mutters
something about the ‘damn British’, and goes back to
sleep.)

Toast: That was like way close!

Charity: I’ll say. Come on, let’s try again.

(The two grab Jackson again, this time managing to get
him out from under the table, but Jackson moves his
arm and knocks over a chair. The chair falls directly
on top of him.)

Jackson: (groggily) Well this is the WORST hangover I
have EVER had…

Charity: Oh no…

Jackson: God…it feels like a chair just fell on my
face. Oh…wait, it did. And it also feels like two
people are dragging me across the floor. (looks up at
Charity and Toast) Oh…wait, they are. Oh well. (goes
back to sleep, snoring loudly.)

Toast: Like…this guy is even stupider than me.

Charity: Uh…I don’t think so. He is president.

Toast: Well I’m on TV, and, like, doesn’t that, like
sorta make me almost a president?

Charity: No. No it doesn’t. Now, let’s get him into
the sack.

(They both regard the sack. It’s pretty small.)

Charity: H’mm, this may be harder than we thought

(A few moments later…after much stress and struggle, Andrew Jackson is now in the sack. Suddenly, Pepper runs in followed by three men we all know very well--Calhoun, Webster, and Clay. Charity’s eyes go wide and Toast drops the sack containing Jackson. A loud ‘OW’ can be heard, then another bit about the ‘damn British’ and some more snoring)

Pepper: AHHHH! Guys! Look who I found! Isn’t that so totally the coolest thing?

Calhoun: WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?!?

Webster: Is president Jackson in that sack?

Clay: OhmyGod, you put the president in a sack…I love you guys!

Charity: Uh, Pepper, what part of clandestine kidnapping operation DON’T you understand!?!?

Pepper: (frowning) Well…the clandestine part…I didn’t understand that.

Toast: Me either.

Charity: (Putting her face in her hands and shaking her head in disgust) I am surrounded…anyway, what I guess I SHOULD have said is…WHAT PART OF ‘SECRET’ DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND!

(Webster clears his throat. Toast, Charity, and Pepper turn to him)

All three: Yes?

Webster: Uh, sorry to interrupt, but why are you putting Andrew Jackson in a sack?

Calhoun: Why do you even have to ask?

Clay: Yeah…don’t tell me you haven’t thought of putting Jackson in a sack, too, Daniel.

Webster: Well…yes, I have…but that’s not the point. The point is…why are THEY putting Andrew Jackson in a sack.

Calhoun: Ah, valid point. Just to…er…satisfy my curiosity, why are you putting Andrew Jackson in a sack?

Charity: Well, we could tell you, but then we’d have to kill you.

Clay: Er…how do you plan on killing us?

Pepper: WITH LOVE! AHHHHHH!

(Toast and Charity give her an odd look, then turn back to the Congressmen.)

Webster: You are going to kill us with…love?

Charity: Disregard her.

Toast: Or ignore her…your choice.

Charity: (frowning at Toast) Anyway, who are you men?

Calhoun: I am John C. Calhoun, of South Carolina, that’s Henry Clay from wherever and Daniel Webster from I don’t care.

Clay: You know very well I’m from Kentucky, John.

Webster: And you also know very well that I am from Massachusetts, John.

Calhoun: Hello…I said I didn’t care!

Toast: Yo, dude who doesn’t care, what does the ‘C’ stand for?

Calhoun: Why do you care?

Toast: Well…’cause I do!

Charity: God…Toast, do you just realize you told a historical figure that you care about some facet of their life?

Toast: I did what now?

Charity: Never mind…anyway…what does the ‘C’ stand for?

Webster: Er, is this really the time to be asking about this? You still haven’t given us any answers except the fact that you WON’T kill us with love.

Pepper: (hugging Webster suddenly) YES WE WILL!!! AHHHHHHH!

(Webster struggles to get out of Pepper’s grip, but he can’t. Calhoun and Clay stare at the unfolding scene.)

Calhoun: I don’t believe it…she’s killing him with love!

Clay: Should we help him?

Calhoun: Uh, well, I’d rather save my own life, Henry.

Charity: Hey! Wait a minute! Clay…Calhoun…Webster…why do those names sound familiar? Toast?

Toast: (Busy playing with one of those glow-in-the-dark yo-yos) Huh?

Charity: Ok…er, never mind. Wait! I know! They’re the other three we have to kidnap!

Calhoun & Clay: Kidnap!?

Webster: HELP MEEEEEE!

Calhoun: (aside to Clay) I say we get out of her fast!

Clay: I’m with you…hey! Daniel! She’s a teenage girl, I think you can break free from her!

Webster: Yeah, probably (does so)

Pepper: Waiiiiiiiiiiiit!!!!

Calhoun: Let’s get out of here!!!!!

(The three Congressmen run outside.)

Charity: Pepper, you and Toast go after them. I’ll bring Jackson back to the meeting place. Loud, Froggo, and Cho-Cho should be there with Monroe by now.

Pepper & Toast: Let’s go! (runs out of the door after Calhoun, Clay, and Webster)

Charity: (wiping her brow) Woo, finally got rid of those two. (hefts up the sack)

(Cut inside the sack. Andrew Jackson opens his eyes and looks around)

Jackson: Huh? Where am I? (feels around) Aw, crap, I’m in a sack. Again! What is it with me and ending up in sacks? God, it seems once every six months I end up in a sack. Maybe I should stay away from people with sacks from now on…h’mmm…

Charity: (voice-over) SHUT UP!

Jackson: (sighs) Oh, all right.

(Scene: Tom Brokaw’s office again. A fire is burning in his wastebasket again, and he is glancing at his watch)

Brokaw: God, where is he? He said eight…and it’s eight-oh-three! God…lateness disgusts me…

(Suddenly there is a knock at the door)

Brokaw: Oh good! Come in!

(The door opens, and we can finally see the man who started this all. And, as can be expected, it is none other than…)

Brokaw: Ah, Mr. Melman! Good to see you again! Now, where are the ‘packages’ you promised?

(Sammy Melman sits down opposite Brokaw)

Sammy: Not yet, not yet. I just came to give a piece of information I think you’d be interested in.

Brokaw: (annoyed) The only thing I’m interested in are my ‘packages’!

Sammy: (critically) You mean the packages burning in your wastebasket?

Brokaw: (turning red and pulling at his collar) Uh…the heat broke. So I’m burning…well…er, my money. Yes. I’m burning my money for charity.

Sammy: Er, well…yes. Anyway…one of my associates has informed me Peter Jennings and Dan Rather have joined forces to stop you.

Brokaw: WHAT!?!! AHH! This is IMPOSSIBLE!!!! NOOOOOOOOOO!

Sammy: (raising an eyebrow) Last time we talked you were ready to put them in ‘their respective places’.

Brokaw: (shuddering) That was when they were un-unified! Alone, well, they’re idiots, but together they’re…er, two idiots, I suppose…but that’s still one more idiot than I am! Er…wait, I didn’t mean that.

Sammy: Of course. Well, I think I can help you out with this, but I need something else from you…

Brokaw: Oh, so you remembered to ask for something this time.

Sammy: (turning red) Hey! Anyway…here. (hands Brokaw a piece of paper)

(Brokaw reads it, rolls his eyes, and tosses the paper into the fire)

Sammy: So, do we have another deal?

Brokaw: Yeah, sure. Now get rid of Jennings and Rather for me, and bring me the ‘packages’. Then you’ll get what you want.

Sammy: Right! Oh, and…Mr. Brokaw? (rises to leave)

Brokaw: (sitting down at his desk, watching the fire) Yes?

Sammy: Please don’t burn these packages. I don’t think they have anthrax on them. (Laughing maniacally, he runs out the door)

Brokaw: HEY!
 
Scene: A darkened room. Nothing can be seen except for a figure, huddled in the wash of candlelight. The man is former president James Monroe. He looks around, afraid.)

Monroe: Hello? Where am I? Is anybody there? Does anybody care?

(Flash to John Adams)

Adams: All right, that was a blatant copyright infringement!

John Dickinson: For God’s sake, John, SIT DOWN!

(Back to Monroe)

Monroe: Ah…yes. That was a bit odd. Anyway, hello? I wonder where those scary kids went to…I mean, they stuff me into a sack and then the next thing I know, I’m sitting in this dark room! What is going on?

(Unbeknownst to him, Loud has crept in.)

Loud: WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO, MR. MONROE!?!?!

Monroe: (jumping up and waving around his arms in fear) AHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

Loud: SHEESH! WHAT A FREAK!

Monroe: Oh my GOD! I think I just had a heart attack!

Loud: REALLY?

Monroe: No…not really. Who are you? And why are you talking so loud?

Loud: IT’S A CHARACTER TRAIT. ANYWAY, MY NAME IS LOUD, AND I AM YOUR KIDNAPPER!

Cho-Cho: (walking in) Hey! Way to hog the credit! I kidnapped you too, Mr. Monroe!

Froggo: (following Cho-Cho) And I as well. Sorry about the sack, we couldn’t afford tranquilizers.

Monroe: (nervously) Er…well…that’s quite all right…I think…anyway (scared)…what are you going to do with me?

Cho-Cho: Oh nothing. You just have to be interviewed by someone.

Monroe: Huh? You shoved me in a sack so that I could be interviewed!? Why didn’t you just ASK me!?

Loud: NEVER OCCURRED TO US.

Monroe: Oh…wonderful. Where am I, by the way?

Froggo: In a basement.

Monroe: What basement?

Froggo: Just a basement. Does it matter? At least you’re not in the sack anymore.

Monroe: Ah, well, you have a point there. Anyway, who’s going to interview me?

Cho-Cho: A soldier engaged in the toughest war in history.

Monroe: I didn’t know there were any Revolutionary War soldiers who did interviewing now.

Loud: NOT THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR, IDIOT!

Froggo: My companion is referring to the Media War.

Monroe: I’m lost.

Loud: I FIGURED.

Monroe: So…when am I to be interviewed? And why didn’t you let me get a change of clothes? God, I look horrible in these old things!

Cho-Cho: You look fine.

Monroe: (whining) No I don’t! I look horrible! Look! There’s dirt on my breeches! And my stockings…argh! I look horrible!

Froggo: (aside to Loud) It’s 1820-something! Why is he still wearing stockings?

Loud: WE KIDNAPPED HIM FROM 1819, REMEMBER?

Froggo: Ah.

Monroe: Are you insulting my fashion sense!?

Froggo & Loud: No/NO!

Monroe: Good, because I look TERRIBLE!

Cho-Cho: Oh God, this is IT! I’m going out to get this guy a new suit!

Froggo: Er…why?

Cho-Cho: To stop his stupid, irritating, ANNOYING whining! God, how he ever got to be president, I’ll never know!

Monroe: I’m a size ten!

Cho-Cho: (gets up) Whatever (leaves)

(Scene: Dan Rather and Peter Jennings are walking down the aisle…in an A&P {God, what were you thinking…lol}. Rather is pushing a cart)

Jennings: Remind me again what we’re doing here…

Rather: We’re meeting someone. (he throws some frozen waffles in his cart)

Jennings: (frowning) Who?

Rather: I told you about five minutes ago, Peter.

Jennings: You did?

Rather: (putting his head in his hand) Did you accidentally swallow any fertilizer when you were hiding in Tom Brokaw’s office plant?

Jennings: I WASN’T HIDING!!!!! I WAS GATHERING INFORMATION!!!

Rather: Whatever. Anyway, he should be here any second. He told us to meet him in the frozen breakfast food aisle.

Jennings: Who?

Rather: (looking up and seeing a man approach them) Him.

Jennings: Who?

Rather: (pointing) HIM!

Jennings: WHO!?

Man: ME! You godforsaken idiot! God, no wonder no one watches your show!

Jennings: (looking up) Oh, hi!

Rather: Hello, thank you for meeting us. I’m Dan Rather, as you must know, and that’s Peter Jennings. He’s an idiot, so don’t mind him.

Jennings: (frowning) I still don’t know who you are.

Man: Well…I can see you’re right about the idiot thing. Anyway, I am John C. Breckinridge…I was a congressman, a vice-president, a presidential candidate, a general in the Confederate army, and the Secretary of War for the Confederate States of America.

Jennings: Ah…so you’re Southern.

Breckinridge: Er…yes. Yes I am. Now, what do you gentlemen need?

Rather: (Slipping into a really bad Southern accent) Well, one of the Yankee newscasters is saying ba-a-a-d things about the South. And we want to stop him.

Jennings: (confused) Hey Dan, that’s not how you…

(Rather grabs Jenning’s face and pushes him into the freezer. He shuts the door on him and turns back to Breckinridge with a big fake smile)

Breckinridge: Why did you do that?

Rather: Er…medical condition. He has to be…umm…shoved into a freezer at least once a day, or, he…umm…melts.

(Jennings raps pathetically on the door. He’s turning blue and shivering. Rather turns and gives him a murderous look, then returns to Breckinridge with his fake smile.)

Breckinridge: Oh…er, yes. I see…I suppose. (suddenly angry) You say a Yankee newsman is defaming the South!? How dare he! Who is this man?

Rather: (pulls a picture out of his pocket) Tom Brokaw. He says that all Southerners are losers, and that’s why they lost the War. Because they’re losers.

Breckinridge: How dare he!!! What can I do!?

Rather: (smiling sinisterly) Well, Mr. Breckinridge, I’m glad you asked...

(Scene: Webster, Calhoun, and Clay are hiding in an unlit room at a dingy inn. Webster is pacing nervously.)

Clay: All right, all right, let’s reiterate the problem here.

Calhoun: (frowning) Why? We KNOW what the problem is.

Clay: Well, this is a new section, so we should reiterate. It’s only common courtesy, John.

Calhoun: New section of what?

Clay: (looking suddenly shifty) Nothing. Nothing, I didn’t say a thing.

Webster: (giving Clay an odd look) Yes…er, well, never mind. Anyway, since Henry is so intent on reiterating…(Calhoun raises an eyebrow) our problem is…we are being chased by a bunch of insane children.

Clay: Who are trying to kill us with love.

Webster: (wincing from the memory) Ah…yes, the love thing. Don’t remind me. Anyway, they have also, apparently, kidnapped Andrew Jackson.

Calhoun: So? Good for them!

Clay: Normally, John, I would agree with you there. But Jackson sort of IS the president of the United States. We do KIND of need him around…for morale and all that.

Webster: Plus, the kids ARE trying to kidnap us…that ranks pretty high up there on the ‘Importance’ meter.

Calhoun: Yeah, I guess you’re right.

Clay: Who are these kids anyway? I mean, who would be crazy enough to kidnap senators and presidents for NO apparent reason?

Webster: Well, I don’t know about Jackson, but the three of us are worth kidnapping.

Calhoun & Clay: (with self-satisfied smiles) Oh yeah…

Calhoun: (getting back to his normal business-like self) But seriously, we need some help here. Now, remember before the scene in the bar? We heard James Monroe being carried off in a sack?

(Clay and Webster look blank for a second, then all of a sudden, their eyes light up)

Clay: Oh yeah! Do you think maybe there’s some correlation between the two events?

Webster: Yes, I think so.

Calhoun: I, too, think so.

Webster: Ah, well, we have that squared away now. So, all we have to do is find out why James Monroe was carried away in a sack, and then we may be able to understand why Andrew Jackson was carried away in a sack.

Calhoun: One problem with that, Henry…how can we find out why James Monroe was carried away in a sack?

Webster: H’mmm…you have a point. We’re about as close to finding out why Andrew Jackson was carried away in a sack as we are to finding out why James Monroe was carried away in a sack.

Clay: Ok, that is ENOUGH! Stop saying the word ‘sack’. God, we are three of the most accomplished orators of our time, and neither of you can find a suitable synonym for ‘sack’.

(Webster and Calhoun wait until Webster stops flipping out.)

Webster & Calhoun: Henry…

Clay: Yes?

Webster & Calhoun: Shut up.

Clay: (throwing his arms up) Why do I even try?

(Suddenly the only candle in the room is blown out. The three senators are left alone in the dark. The door opens and footsteps are heard.)

Voice: (very sinister sounding) I can tell you why James Monroe was carried off in a sack…or bag, if you prefer…

Clay, Calhoun, & Webster: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

(Scene: A clothing store. It looks like your typical Old Navy/Bob’s/Limited, what have you, except instead of normal clothes it has 18th-century men’s styles…breeches, waistcoats, stockings, buckled shoes, vests, puffy shirts…you know the drill. Cho-Cho is going through the racks angrily)

Cho-Cho: (muttering darkly) I can’t BELIEVE I’m doing this! God, that man is so whiny…(Slipping into an imitation of Monroe) ‘but I look HORRIBLE’…God, how the HELL did he ever become president?

(She flips through some more clothes)

Cho-Cho: (still muttering darkly) How am I supposed to find anything in here? I don’t know what to look for…

(Someone comes up behind her)

Voice: Do you need some help?

Cho-Cho: (jumping) AHHHH! God! You scared the crap outta me!

Voice: Oh…oh, forgive me, I didn’t mean to…

(Cho-Cho turns around. Standing behind her is Albert Gallatin, former Secretary of Treasury under Madison and Jefferson. He bows politely, and Cho-Cho smiles, her eyes still a bit wide)

Cho-Cho: I forgive you…anyway, can you help me? I’ve never actually shopped for 18th-century men’s apparel before.

Gallatin: Of course…now, who are you shopping for?

Cho-Cho: (rolling her eyes) James Monroe.

Gallatin: (with a knowing look) Ah, yes, James can be quite hard to shop for. I remember one time he was in a dressing room and…

Cho-Cho: (holding up her hands) Thank you! I don’t need to know anymore, please…

Gallatin: Ah, I don’t blame you. Give me a second and I’ll grab some breeches and a waistcoat for James.

Cho-Cho: Thanks.

(Gallatin walks off. Cho-Cho is standing, bored, when all of a sudden someone lays their hand on her shoulder. Cho-Cho jumps, but calms down when she sees it’s only Sammy.)

Sammy: Ah, God, I’ve been looking EVERYWHERE for you guys!

Cho-Cho: What made you look here?

Sammy: Well, I knew about James Monroe and his whole fashion deal, so I figured it would make sense…

Cho-Cho: Oh, I see.

Sammy: So I guess this means you have Monroe?

Cho-Cho: Yuh-huh. How did Charity, Toast, and Pepper do with Jackson and the Senators?

Sammy: Well Charity came back with Jackson, but Webster, Calhoun, and Clay managed to escape. Toast and Pepper are after them, and you know Pepper.

Cho-Cho: (rolling her eyes) God yes.

Sammy: Well anyway, I came to warn you about something. Seems Peter Jennings and Dan Rather have joined forces to stop Tom Brokaw…which translates to stopping us. So be on the lookout for anything suspicious.

Cho-Cho: What could Jennings and Rather do?

Sammy: They’re newscaster moguls…what can’t they do?

Cho-Cho: Ah, you have a point.

(Before Sammy can reply, Gallatin walks back with the promised pair of breeches and a waistcoat, plus a frilly white shirt and an embroidered vest)

Gallatin: Well, here you go, and if Monroe complains about the color then…(suddenly notices Sammy. His eyes go wide in surprise, and then in anger)…YOU!

Sammy: (his eyes go wide in surprise and then in anger) YOU!

Sammy & Gallatin: YOU!

Cho-Cho: Huh? Sammy…What’s going on?

Gallatin: (to Cho-Cho) You know this…this…poor excuse for a human being!?

Sammy: She works for me, you Swiss…you Swiss idiot!

Gallatin: Ooo, good one, Melman…I’m hurt. I think I might just go jump off a cliff now because you hurt me like that.

Cho-Cho: (fake, stage whisper) I think he’s being sarcastic.

Sammy: (dryly) Thank you.

Cho-Cho: So, wait…you two know each other…and, apparently, hate each other? Why? How?

(Sammy and Gallatin give each other dark, hateful looks)

Sammy: Well, it’s a long story…

(Scene: Rather, Jennings, and Breckinridge are in Rather’s office. Jennings is watching the water cooler bubble with interest. Rather and Breckinridge are watching him in--Breckinridge in confusion and Rather in annoyance)

Jennings: Ooo! Look, it’s about to…wow! It bubbled again!

Rather: (putting his face in his hands) Jennings…please?

Breckinridge: Shouldn’t you put him in a freezer again…so he doesn’t melt?

Rather: Er…no…not for a while yet (under his breath) I wish he would melt…

Breckinridge: Anyway, now, how can we get back at this Brokaw fellow?

Rather: (with a sinister smile) Well, John,…

Breckinridge: Call me Mr. Breckinridge, please.

Rather: Ah, Mr. Breckinridge…(turns to Jennings, who has a confused expression)

Jennings: Wasn’t that…

Rather: (flips out, waving his arms around) NEVER MIND! (calms down) Well, Mr. Breckinridge, the way we get back at newsmen in this era is quite simple. We have to match him! I happen to know he is interviewing some very important people…so, we need some very important people to interview.

Breckinridge: Eh…I thought you were getting back at him because he was defaming the South…

Rather: Why…why of course we are!!! Uh, he’s interviewing people who are…um…defaming the South…as well…too…

Breckinridge: Ah, now I see. So, what can I do to help?

Jennings: We could interview him, couldn’t we, Dan?

Rather: Yes, we could, but we need more…we need to totally out-interview Tom Brokaw. So, Mr. Breckinridge…

Jennings: He said you should call him Mr. Breckinridge.

Rather: (sighing and rolling his eyes) I did, Peter…

Jennings: Oh, right, of course (turns back to the water cooler)

Breckinridge: (aside to Rather) Is there anything…

Rather: Yes. Yes there is. Anyway, as I was saying, Mr. Breckinridge, do you think you could convince some of your friends to grant us an interview? Like, Mr. Davis, Mr. Stephens, Mr. Benjamin, Mr. Toombs…all of them…whoever you can get. I’m sure if they granted us an interview, the South would be well represented, and we could stop Tom Brokaw.

Breckinridge: (thinking) Well, I’m sure I could get them. But, aren’t you forgetting the most important Southerner?

Rather: Am I?

Breckinridge: If you really want to represent the South, you need John C. Calhoun, along with the others.

Rather: (aside to himself) Calhoun! He’s one of the ones Brokaw is after. Damn, I have to get to him first…

Breckinridge: Did you say something?

Rather: Oh, no, no I didn’t.

Jennings: Yes you did, Dan. Look, it say so in the script!

(I run in again)

Me: How the hell do you keep getting this!?

(I grab the script and smack him with it again. After smiling and waving at Breckinridge, I run back out.)

Breckinridge: Who was that?

Rather: I have no idea. Anyway, can you make contact with your Southern friends? Jennings and I will see what we can do about Calhoun.

Breckinridge: Of course.

(Scene: The darkened hotel room. Calhoun, Webster, and Clay are still screaming madly, when all of a sudden, another candle is lit. The three senators have all grabbed on to one another, huddling and shrieking. The owner of the unknown voice steps forward into the light…and he is none other than…our favorite host, Bill Straitman!)

Bill: (giving them an odd look) It’s ok, you can stop screaming and grabbing each other. I’m not going to do anything!

(Calhoun, Webster, and Clay stop screaming, then realize themselves. They jump apart, brushing off their coats and trying to look dignified.)

Calhoun: (calmly, with great dignity) Excuse me sir, but…uh, who are you and why are you sneaking into our room?

Webster: And what do you know about Andrew Jackson being stuffed in a sack.

Clay: (majorly flipping out) AHHHH! THAT IS IT!!!! Daniel, I am getting you a thesaurus! (storms out of the room in a huff)

Well...it's ended kinda abruptly...and if I receive any interest, I'll finish, because I actually want to now...lol