You're feeble attempt at declaring the potence of Fred failed Frank. You should save face and give him 10 dollars now before he becomes mildly annoyed and vaporizes Iowa.

Hey! I was born and raised in Iowa...

I heard that some group is planning on doing research into Mr. Thompson's background to dig up dirt on him. Will he be sending these people to the Pit of Doom?

That'll be a pretty short issue.

Frame one: Mr. Thompson, backlit with face in shadow, receives news of whatever nefarious plot is about to unfold.

Frame two: Mr. Thompson, in profile, slowly rises and turns toward the window.

Frame three: Mr. Thompson fixes his steely gaze out upon the world (metaphorically fixing his attention on the imminent tragedy).

Frames four - ??: Scenes of various supervillians across the world imploding (I can picture Magneto turning his powers on the iron in his own blood and curing into a small ball... SQUISH! POOF!).

Frame ??+1: Mr. Thompson gives a manly sigh, returns to his high-backed leather executive chair, already contemplating solutions to a real problem (like the high cost of broadband internet...). The End. Or is it?...

I see a Fred Thompson Comic in the near future.

Wait!!! Stop the Presses!!!!

One of those ?? frames....

Former Sen. Edwards, on the stump, suddenly stops and looks to the sky. He screams: "THOMPSON! NOOOOO!! NOT LIKE THIS!!! PLEEEEEEEEEASE!!!!". He then proceeds to rip his own hair out, effectively neutering all his "special" powers, and any hope of a Pennsylvania Avenue mailing address.

Fade to black.

OT, but I figured you would like to know that the Limey just got his Christmas present early.
Rage Against the Machine is back and they're raging again.

Another frame series from "World War Hulk"

Sen. Obama is seen in the glare of the footlights - dapper in a red silk lined black cape - mesmerizing a large crowd with his amazing feats of accommodation.

His head snaps to the side, perspiration breaks out on his brow... A hissed "Thompson..." escapes from his clenched jaw.

Struggling to speak: "Must... perservere... my mission... my career!"

With almost inhuman determination, Sen Obama whirls his cape around his lithe frame and.... vanishes! We hear a fading voice: "Curse you, Fred! I'll be back!...."

Fade...

And one last vignette:

Four bar tumblers meet amid a swirl of smoke and the smell of cheap bourbon >clink!

A wheedling voice is heard: "To the polls!" Three voices chorus, "The polls!"

Pan back. Four figures in the classic smoke-filled room. Three henchmen: the wheedling, whining sycophant called "The Punk". Shaved head, wild eyes, Southern drawl harsh as a rusty saw: "Wild Jim". Blank glare, blind loyalty, large black bag by his side with the initials "D.T." in red on the clasp - the man known only as "The Forehead".

And, sitting with pink pantsuit clad legs stretched out, sensible shoes placed on a strangely familiar replica desk: The Boss. We see the smoke in the room comes from the contraband Cuban clenched in The Boss' teeth.

The cigar droops. A frown replaces the smug satisfaction of savoring the latest Gallup and the latest Cuban. Wild Jim leans foreward, "What's wrong? Why y'all upset?". The Punk echoes, "Yeah! Why? What's wrong? Why?, Yeah, why?" The Forehead continues his glassy stare.

The Boss' feet drop to the carpet. The cigar is removed. A husky voice, clearly out of line with The Boss' feminie attire, intones, "So. He's begun." The chair swivels, and a coiffed head drops between finely manicured fingers.

Wild Jim splutters in his rage! "Y'all can't let this happen! We got to get back to the House! Ya gotta do whatevah it takes to stop him!" A feral gleam appears in The Forehead's gradually slitted eyes.

The Boss visibly struggles for only a moment, then the transformation begins... Taller, Thicker, Lined face, Baggy eyes... Only the cigar remains the same....

The Boss rises from his chair and turns.

The Punk: "Boss! Boss! What'll we do?!? You look like..."
Wild Jim: "ARRRRGGGHH! Right Wing Conspiracy! What the...?"
The Forehead:

The Boss drawls, "The farce is over. I don't know how - yet - but someone found us out and discovered a way to neutralize the disguise. Thompson. It could only have been Thompson."

A pregnant pause... The Boss grunts: "Constitution be damned! We'll find a third way into a third term!"

Fade to black...

I sense a sequel: "World War Hulk: Apocalypse Soon!"