Ernst Stavro Blofeld sat at the head of the table, stroking his cat as he scanned the other faces in the room. “The Legion of Doom is failing,” he said, “We have yet to bring about the destruciton of America. Why is that?”
“We need more bombing in the name of Allah!” yelled the Mad Mullah.
“Bombings have gotten us nowhere,” Blofeld answered, “We need fresh ideas. What have you been up to, Dr. Doom?”
“I’m a little caught up right now in keeping up my home practice,” Dr. Doom answered.
“We are trying to take over the world!” Blofeld yelled, “Why must you keep up your medical practice.”
“Hey! I spent all those years in medical school, and Dr. Doom will have a family medical practice that delivers quality care to its patients, and no one can stop me. Muh ha ha ha!”
“I can defeat America!” Kim Jong Il vowed, “I have nukes; I am very scary.”
“You couldn’t scare anyone!” Blofeld responded.
“Maybe if we sold more of my books,” Hillary Clinton suggested, “I think if more people came to like me, then America could be destroyed.”
“True, but your book is boring and insipid,” Blofeld answered.
“Well, we could try and get my universal healthcare plan passed,” Hillary said, “It will so cripple the American healthcare system that it will kill millions! Heh ha ha ha!”
“The only way to defeat America is to first destroy Aquaman!” Black Manta exclaimed.
“I thought we threw you out of the Legion of Doom,” Blofeld grumbled.
Black Manta looked down at his feet. “But I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Birds and umbrellas! That’s the way to attack America!” the Penguin exclaimed.
Blofeld looked to Chirac. “Do you have any new ideas?”
“Well, I’m not here as part of the Legion of Doom,” Chirac explained, “I’m just here to keep a dialogue open. Also, I would like to note that France’s surrender is on the table for whatever plan you eventually decide upon.”
“More explosions!” demanded the Mad Mullah, “Allah will see to it that we destroy America through irrational bombing!”
“Fools!” yelled a voice in the shadows, “The more you attack America on the outside, the more determined and powerful it becomes. The only way to destroy America is to corrode it from the inside.”
“How dare you contradict my wacky-ass, extremists Islamic beliefs!” shouted the Mad Mullah. “Suicide bombers, kill him!”
Two suicide bombers ran at the figure in the shadows, but a red shield formed around him protecting him from the blasts. “Regular weapons are no match for me.”
“Who are you?” Blofeld demanded.
As he stepped out of the shadows, they saw a large, robotic figure. Through the glass at his head, though, they see a recognizable face accented by a red beard. “I am Cyber-Lenin. I am kept alive by a robotic body powered by the most powerful force known to mankind – Pure Commie Evil! Witness its power!”
Two red beams shot forth from Cyber-Lenin’s hands and hit the Mad Mullah, quickly disintegrating him into nothing but a skeleton.
“Wow! Pure Commie Evil is very powerful; very scary!” Kim Jong Il exclaimed, jumping up and down on his chair and clapping his hands.
“Ooh! Ooh! Ee! Ee!” agreed Chim-Chim, the evilest monkey.
“It can instantly corrode anything touches,” Cyber-Lenin explained, “Just like Communism itself, but condensed down into its purest and most evil form.”
“Excellent!” Blofeld exclaimed, “With your power, you can destroy America from the inside. And, when America falls, the world will be ours!”
“And finally we can defeat Aquaman!” Black Manta added. Everyone just stared at him. “I’ll get back to mopping the floors.”

“Man I love Beer,” Buck the Marine said as he drank his domestic, “I don’t think there is anything I like more than beer… oh wait, kill’n for’ners. I like that better; doesn’t make me want to pee as much.”
“So where are you shipping off to tomorrow?” Rumsfeld asked as he drank his double whiskey sour.
“I dunno,” Buck answered, “Some other country where people will speak gibberish and shoot at me with AK-47’s. I’ll then kill ’em all and shout, ‘Ooh-rah!’. Another day, another dollar.”
“Eighty-five cents,” Rumsfeld corrected him.
“What!”
“The rich needed more tax cuts; sorry, Buck.”
“So they reduced all us Marines’ salaries?”
“No, just yours.”
“Dammit. Why always me? I’m so mad I could kill! Kill foreign people, that is!”
“That’s the spirit,” Rumsfeld told him, patting him on the back.
“You can’t have your dog in here!” shouted the bartender.
“Then make him to leave,” Rumsfeld answered.
The bartender looked at Chomps, the world’s angriest dog, who had found the barstool he hated the most and was now tearing it apart. “Hey! Dog!”
Very slowly, Chomps turned his head to look at bartender with a steady glare.
“Uh… nevermind,” said the bartender.
Chomps slowly looked back to his barstool and then continued mutilating it.
“What that out the window?” Buck asked.
Rumsfeld looked to see a light in the sky that projected the image of two hands ready to strangle. “That’s the Strangle-Signal!” Rumsfeld exclaimed, “Come, Chomps, to the Strangle-mobile!”
“See you later, Rummy!” Buck called to him.
“Have fun killing for’ners,” Rumsfeld answered.
“I always do,” Buck said, taking another sip of his beer.
Rumsfeld and Chomps jumped in the Buick and sped off towards the White House. Before they could get there, though, they were blocked by protestors.
“My God!” Rumsfeld exclaimed, “They are the smelliest, most incoherent protestors yet!”
The crowd held signs up such as “Yay Dictators; Boo Bush” and “No Blood for Liberation” and chanted slogans such as, “Blood lied, Hitler is Oil.”
“Skibberdy-wa-gibber doo!” shouted a hippy at Rumsfeld, communicating nothing more than that he needed a strangling. Rumsfeld was happy to comply.
Chomps started to growl, beginning to fill with anger as he looked at all the hippies. “There’s too many for you to mangle,” Rumsfeld told him, “And lord knows I’d just ruin my hands with arthritis if I tried strangling them all. We just need to get to the White House and find out what riled up this many dimwits at this late an hour. The only way to do that is plow right through them.”
Rumsfeld pressed the petal to the metal and ran straight through the protestors. Soon hippies and placards were flying everywhere while he was inundated with the smell of patchouli oil. Eventually, he crashed through the gates of the White House.
“Going be spending a long time cleaning hippy off my Buick,” Rumsfeld grumbled as he and Chomps ran into the White House.
“Glad to see you,” Bush exclaimed as he saw Rumsfeld, “We were hoping the Rumsfeld strangler would come, but at least you’re here, Rummy.”
“There are hippies everywhere,” Rumsfeld said angrily.
“Yeah, they just started protesting out of nowhere!”
From out of the shadows emerged the dark figure of Karl Rove. “An ancient evil has come,” he uttered, “If left unchecked, it can destroy the Republican Party, as prophesized by the ancient tome The Dark Book of Punditry.”
“That’s bad!” Bush exclaimed.
“So do we know what we’re up against?” Rumsfeld asked.
Clancy, dressed in his usual black tie, black suit, and black sunglasses came forward and opened a briefcase. “We have some idea. Just earlier today this was a supermarket full of merchandise, but look at it now.” He handed a photo to Bush.
“People are in line for bread!” Bush said, “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”
“The only thing that could destroy a business so quickly is Pure Commie Evil,” Condoleezza Rice exclaimed, “but the existence of such a thing was only theoretical. You’d need a host of pure evil to contain it.”
“True,” Clancy answered, “and we think we know who that host is. According to some second hand information from my cousin Barry, the body of Lenin has been floating around the black market for some time. Then, according to a gossip column in the Idaho Statesman newspaper, Lenin ended up in a wax museum in Norway. Finally, according to this transient I ran into last week, former KGB agents seized the body and then revived Lenin using cybernetic technology.”
“How sure was this transient?” Bush asked.
“Very sure,” Clancy answered, “and somewhat drunk.”
“Man, I thought after we captured the supervillian Chemical Ali we were in the clear,” Bush said, “But now we have to deal with a threat of Cyber-Lenin. We’ll need the best on this: Get me Aquaman!”
“We can’t find Aquaman,” Condi told him, “We tried contacting him with the Aquaphone, but all we got was his Aqua-answering machine. I guess he’s busy battling the evil forces of the sea elsewhere.”
“Dammit!” Bush exclaimed, “I guess we’ll have to go to the second tier superheroes. Get Superman!”
“I’m afraid he’s fallen in with the left-wing Hollywood crowd and doesn’t like making judgments of good and evil,” Condi informed Bush, “Also, there seems to be a strong association between him and a writer for the Daily Planet who is always writing negative articles about you and your big campaign contributor, Lex Luthor.”
“Criminy!” Bush yelled, “Well, what about Batman?”
“You accidentally ran him over on a campaign stop in Gotham, remember?” Condi told him.
“Oh yeah. Well, if you run around at night in a dark costume, it was bound to happen sometime. I hope more superheroes learn to wear reflectors. Is Spiderman available?”
“He was one of the first to go when Guiliani started cleaning up New York,” Condi answered, “He was always leaving web everywhere.”
“The Green Latern?”
“Turned yellow.”
“The Hulk?”
“Learned to express his anger through song.”
“The Flash?”
“Ran away at the first sign of danger.”
“The X-Men?”
“Remember? We decided mutants were a threat to society so we rounded them all up with the help of large robots.”
“Do we have the large robots then?”
“They’re rusting in some warehouse in Minnesota.”
White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan then came in the room. “I heard something was going on.”
“Good you’re here,” Bush said, “We need you to defeat Cyber-Lenin. If you need a weapon, you can have this letter opener – the point is somewhat sharp. Also, if you want a cape, you can borrow some drapes. Just make sure they get back before Laura finds out.”
“Why do I have to fight Cyber-Lenin?” Scott complained.
Bush rolled his eyes. “Do you have something better to do right now?” Bush asked with annoyance. “Now come up with a cool superhero name and get to it.”
“Bah!” Rumsfeld exclaimed, “Back in my day we didn’t need any superheroes to handle our problems. If a supervillain tried to take over the world or a portal opened up out of which aliens swarmed, we just picked up some rocks and sticks and beat the crap out of them.”
“Fine, Rummy, you can try things your way,” Bush said, “Just take Super Scott with you as back up. Oh, and tell your dog to stop ripping apart my desk.”
“He must not like it,” Rumsfeld answered.
“But it was picked out by Queer Eye for the Straight Guy,” Bush said, “I’m the straight guy, by the way.”
“Come on, Chomps, we have a Commie to kill,” Rumsfeld told the dog. He then turned to Scott. “You too, tubby.”
“Alright,” Scott answered, “but I better get overtime for this.”

Having made their way back through the hippy protestors, Rumsfeld, Scott, and Chomps drove about the city looking for Cyber-Lenin.
“So what’s the plan?” Scott asked, fixing his floral pattern cape.
“We find him, we strangle him,” Rumsfeld answered.
Chomps looked at Scott and growled.
“I don’t think your dog likes me,” Scott stated a bit nervously.
“Is he ripping you apart?” Rumsfeld asked.
“No.”
“Then he’s still deciding.” Rumsfeld looked about. “All the businesses here are either shut down or out of merchandise. And the cars are small and fuel efficient. We must be close to the corrosive effects of the Pure Commie Evil.”
“What should I do?” Scott asked.
“See that McDonalds over there?” Rumsfeld asked.
“Yeah.”
“Go get me a Big Mac meal with a coke,” Rumsfeld told him, as he stopped the car and got out. “I get hungry after kill’n.”
Scott ran off to the McDonalds while Rumsfeld and Chomps started walking on foot. “Plan is,” Rumsfeld told Chomps, “I strangle him, while you rip off his limbs.”
Chomps growled angrily in approval.
They traced the destructive effect of Pure Commie Evil until they found themselves down an alleyway. There stood a glowing red robotic figure. “You must be the Rumsfeld Strangler,” he laughed, “I knew I’d run into you. Well, I’ll destroy you and your angry dog too.”
“Well see about that!” Rumsfeld shouted. “Rarr!” Rumsfeld ran forward and tried to get his hands around Cyber-Lenin’s neck, but it was protected by metal and bulletproof glass. Soon, Rumsfeld had to let go as his hands started to burn having touched Cyber-Lenin.
Cyber-Lenin threw a punch, sending Rumsfeld flying backwards. “Soon you will learn the power of Pure Commie Evil,” Cyber-Lenin said, “and it will be the last lesson you learn, Rumsfeld Strangler.”
Cyber-Lenin fired a red beam at Rumsfeld, but then Chomps leaped at him, his mouth agape and ready to bite. The beam instead hit him, sending the dog flying backwards. He hit against a wall and then fell unmoving to the ground. “Chomps!” Rumsfeld exclaimed with worry. He then turned his rage to Cyber-Lenin. “Rarr!”
He threw a punch at his enemy, but Cyber-Lenin caught it in his metal hand and backhanded Rumsfeld, sending him smashing through the brick wall behind him. Dazed and injured, Rumsfeld tried to get up, but Cyber-Lenin was soon standing over him. Rumsfeld looked again to Chomps, but he lay there motionless.
“It is over for you, Rumsfeld Strangler,” Cyber-Lenin said, his hands charging with red Pure Commie Evil as they prepared to release the fatal blow, “Say goodbye to your precious country, as it will not be here much longer either. Muh ha ha ha!”

Is this it for the Rumsfeld Strangler? Is Chomps now in Doggie Heaven (or in Hippie Hell, biting hippies for all eternity)? Will the Republican Party and then America fall against Pure Commie Evil? Will Black Manta ever get to defeat Aquaman?
For those answers and more, tune in Monday for In My World: The Rumsfeld Strangler vs. Cyber-Lenin Part II.