Most dogs saw in black and white; Chomps saw everything is shades of red. The brighter the red, the more it angered him. The world to him was nothing but a collection of entities begging for destruction. Some things would not move when he tore them apart. Things that didn't move angered him. Some things would try and get away when he tore them apart. Things that moved angered him. What's angered Chomps most though was time. Time limited how many things he could destroy, and because of time he had to carefully choose what to inflict his anger upon.

Around Chomps now were objects he was only mildly angry at. He was familiar with these things, and chose to focus his anger elsewhere. One entity in the room was different, though. Instead of Chomps feeling anger at it, he could feel its anger. This was one of those moving things, and it had Chomps's respect. This kindred spirit stood up above Chomps and walked out the door of the building. Chomps followed for a bit, but he decided whatever angered this thing was for it to destroy. Chomps then searched for his own thing to destroy.

There it was. There was what made him the most angry today. There was what must no longer exist.

* * * *

"I'm a reporter, let me in," Melinda Hawkish demanded. The murder scene was filled with cops. On the floor of the house lay a body covered in a sheet. "Make sure you point the right end of the camera this time," Melinda reminded her camerawoman.

"Hey, we're doing serious work in here," the Detective Ian Competent yelled as he paused the victim's Playstation. "This is a murder scene, ya know!"

"And I'm from Fox News, the most watched and respected news outlet," Melinda asserted, "and we want answers. We hear there have been a series of murders tonight."

"There are murders all the time," Ian said as he walked to the victim's fridge and took out a beer, "and people think we have to solve them all or something. It's crazy."

"But I hear there were eight murders so far tonight, all stranglings," Melinda told him, "Do you think there is any connection?"

"We've found no connection whatsoever," Ian said as he then went to victim's DVD collection and started rummaging through them. "The only evidence is that piece of paper lying next to the victim that says, 'Petition for Donald Rumsfeld to Resign' of which the first eight names - all crossed off - are these eight strangling victims." Ian pulled out a DVD. "This guy actually bought Captain Ron?"

Melinda walked over to look at the piece of paper as the camerawoman followed. "So are you going to dust this for prints?" Melinda asked Ian.

Ian started laughing as he put DVD's into his briefcase. "Get a load of this girl," he said to nearby cop, "Wants us to 'dust for prints'. She's seen too many cop shows on T.V."

"Do you have any suspects at least?" Melinda asked angrily.

"When we got here, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld had his hands around the victim's throat," Ian told her, "and he said he hadn't seen anyone else in the apartment. So, no, we have no suspects. We'll probably just plant evidence on a minority and arrest him... standard police procedure."

"Do you think it may be..." Melinda hesitated for a moment. "...The Rumsfeld Strangler?"

"That's just an urban legend," Ian answered angrily. "Now get out of here. This guy has nothing good to eat, and we want to close up this murder scene."

Donald Rumsfeld then walked into the room. "I left a piece of paper here." He scanned the room. "There it is," he said as he picked up the petition next to the victim. He then kicked the victim and walked out of the apartment.

"Let's get out of here," Melinda's camerawoman said, "Dead people are creepy."

"We're not done tonight," Melinda answered, "We're going to find the Rumsfeld Strangler ourselves, and then I'll be known as the greatest reporter. I might even get to take Geraldo’s place."

"Eww," the camerawoman remarked, "I wouldn't want to have to grow a mustache like him."

"Idiot," Melinda remarked, "Come on."

* * * *

Melinda and the camerawoman hid behind some bushes as they watched a hippy walk by. "Why are we filming him again?" the camerawoman asked.

"He was the next name on that list," Melinda whispered back, "I think the Rumsfeld Strangler may be after him."

"Strangler's are scary," the camerawoman complained, "Sometime I wish I kept my job at Hooters."

"Just shut up and keep filming," Melinda ordered.

The hippy strolled by and was soon approached by Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld. He held of a piece of paper out to the hippy. "Is this your signature?" Rumsfeld asked.

"Yeah, dude," the hippy answered, "They like abused the prisoners in Iraq, and so Rumsfeld needs to... ack... urk..."

Rumsfeld hands were firmly squeezing the hippy's neck. "Stop!" Melinda shouted as she ran forward.

"Why?" Rumsfeld demanded as he continued to strangle the hippy.

"He's our only lead to finding the Rumsfeld Strangler."

"I don't have time for this nonsense," Rumsfeld answered as he dropped the dead hippy. "Normally I'm all for strangling reporters, but I have this long list of other people strangle first. So I'll have to kill you later." Rumsfeld then walked down the street until he disappeared into the shadows.

"Now we'll never find the Rumsfeld Strangler," Melinda whined.

"I know!" the camerawoman exclaimed, "Maybe, in a way, the Rumsfeld Strangler is each and every one of us."

"No, but you're an idiot," Melinda growled, "Now let's get some sleep and then go to the zoo in the morning. We'll push someone into the bear pen and film that for a Fox special we'll call 'When Reporters Need Ratings'."

* * * *

As Rumsfeld neared home, he pulled off his black strangling gloves and put them in his jacket pocket. A block before his house, he found Chomps surrounded by small torn pieces of paper and little bits of blue metal. The dog continued to take each piece and tear them into two, even smaller halves.

Rumsfeld pet Chomps on the head. "I think you destroyed that mailbox enough."

Chomps spit out a piece of metal and then followed Rumsfeld home. What Rumsfeld knew that the dog didn't was, by the principles of physics, nothing could ever be destroyed. And it was good Chomps didn't know that, because it would only make him angry.

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In My World
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