Scott McClellan landed a flying kick to the dummy. He then ripped off its arms and beat it to pieces.
“With that,” the elder said, “You have mastered the art of responding to reporters.”
“What now, master?” Scott asked, bowing before the elder.
“Now you get out of here before your dog attacks a load-bearing stone.”
The ancient temple behind them collapsed. Chomps walked forward and spit out a piece of granite.
“Do you know how many thousands of years old that building was?” the elder shouted.
“We’ll get you a new one,” Scott said, running off, “I need to get to my next press conference!”
“Ah, the chubby man returns,” Zatoichi, the blind swordsman, remarked as he heard Scott enter the White House, “Yet he walks differently. There is confidence in each step. Feels like earthquake since he’s fat. Heh heh!”
“No reporter is going to push me around now!” Scott announced, “I demand respect from all I encounter.”
“So why do you not ask angry dog to stop biting your leg?” Ichi inquired.
Scott glanced a moment at Chomps and his threatening glare. “Because I don’t mind it.”
President Bush ran up to Scott. “We got a problem!” he exclaimed, “I was looking on a globe, and I thought I saw Chile move. Thus, I launched a tactical strike against it. I need you to explain this away to the press.”
“It is my duty, and it shall be done,” Scott told Bush as he bowed.
“Oh, and pick me up some smokes while you’re out.”
“Hasn’t the administration’s idiocy destroyed relations with South America?” one reporter asked.
“Foreign relations are a delicate thing,” Scott answered, “but it takes a particular wrong move to burst it all apart, much like a certain strike to the chest will explode the heart.” Scott then shot out his hand and struck the reporter in the chest with two fingers. The reporter fell to the ground, blood gushing out his mouth. “Perhaps now you see.”
“But isn’t everything going in the wrong direction with these mistakes?” asked another reporter.
Scott charged him and sent a kick to his face. The reporter’s head then flew off his body and rolled along the floor. “This man’s head is not a perfect ball, and yet it rolls forward still,” Scott said, “And, even with imperfections, our foreign policy can move forward as well. Any more questions?”
The press backed away in fear.
Scott bowed to them. “Then we are finished here.”
“Wow!” Bush exclaimed to Scott, “You inflicted almost as many casualties on the press as Rumsfeld does.”
“But I don’t need to use fancy moves made by Asian homos to do it,” Rumsfeld grumbled.
“You know,” Bush continued, “every single day you’ve worked for us, Scott, I’ve said aloud, ‘I sure wish we still had Ari instead of tubbo,’ and, until just now, I hadn’t said that today.”
Scott bowed. “Your words bring me great honor.”
“Cool! Now where’s my smokes?”
Scott looked to the reporters before him. “You have not said anything for the past five weeks. Do any of you dare question the Bush administration today?”
The press shivered, but then one man stepped forward. “I have a question,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering, “and it gratuitously mentions Abu Ghraib.”
Scott ripped off his suit jacket. “Then you will die!” He launched into a flying kick at the man, but it was blocked and Scott found himself smashing into the ground. Scott then looked up and recognized the reporter. “Shen Po!” he exclaimed, “Enemy of the Bronze Mongoose and new White House correspondent for the New York Times!”
“And the fury of your answers is no match for the power of my questions!” Shen Po laughed, “Now you will tell me where the ancient temple of the Order of the Bronze Mongoose is!”
“But shouldn’t you already know where it is since you trained there?” Scott asked.
“Yes, but I lost my MapQuest printout,” Shen Po responded, “Now answer so I may destroy the temple!”
“Uh… it kinda sorta already was destroyed… by accident.”
“Then I shall take my vengeance against you!” Shen Po yelled and tried to stomp down on Scott. Scott rolled back to his feet and sunk into a fighting stance. “Ha!” Shen Po laughed, “You will not survive! For, with my kung fu, THERE IS NO ANSWER!”
TO BE CONTINUED…
Meh… Funny plot, but does Scott Freakin’ McClellan really have to gain fighting skills?
I STILL wish we had Ari instead of Tubbo.
you forgot to point out to everyone how you were first to post, and therefore better than all who post after you.
awesome. There is nothing funnier than Scott McClellan delivering the heart exploding chest poke of ultimate destruction move on the MSM except Michael Moore doing the heart exploding cheeseburger devour technique. LMAO at IMAO
That was absolutely awesome. I love this storyline.
“I was looking on a globe, and I thought I saw Chile move. Thus, I launched a tactical strike against it…”
I lost it on that one. I don’t know how you come up with this stuff.
There is the potential for greatness lurking within this storyline.
But I’m concerned…with every mention of temples and ancient arts and kung fu, the probability of Quentin Tarantino making a movie out of it and completely f*cking it up increases.
I’m soooo embarassed! I always thought Kung Foo was invented by David Carradine, not Asian homos. IMAO is educational!
I wish more people dealt with the media in this fashion…
I want to see more Frank the Artist!
Frank my brother, just got back from the left coast and “corporate training” otherwise known as “surfs’ up dude!” and see that you kids are getting married! Whoa, that will teach me to check the grid more often. Anyway I am the perfect person to give you the best marriage advice in the world; I’ve been married more times than JLo! Heck just listen to me, do the exact opposite, and you’re guaranteed a long lasting relationship. Don’t rely on armatures, go with my professional advice– ;-D
FrankJ, you are the Master of the Blog.
The Puppy-Blender has not a prayer!
off subject, but watch out, it looks like someone got your book and is trying to make a name for herself. i didn’t see any of the credit given to you
This is great! I hope Frank retains that special teenaged like sense of humor even after he turns in his V-card.
Unlike Frank J., Scott McClellan DOES look more sober in a ninja stance…
I can picture Shen Po poorly lip-syncing those words. Or would he be sub texted?
Hey, Connecticut Yankee, you told FrankJ “Don’t rely on armatures.” D’ya mean he should just forget about that magnetic attraction between him and SarahK, or that they should take off the bullet-proof vests?
giggle Sorry, man. I just couldn’t resist!
Destroyed already, kinda by accident? Where did I miss this? Must’ve been while I was on vacation. Anyone care to send me a link to this portion of the story?
No, I couldn’t keep up while on vacation. The hotel was so far out of the way that it only had 1, yes 1, phone line for the entire phone line and we were asked to not connect out computers to the phone lines so as to not interrupt the other guests calling for pizza delivery, guest services, 911 emergencies, etc.
I couldn’t catch the mistake in time. The out of the way hotel only had 1, yes 1, phone line for the entire hotel. Everyone, all 15 rooms shared just 1 phone line.
Sorry for the confusion.
The only thing that can save Scott from the evil Shen Po is a pull off of Rumsfeld’s whiskey.
It causes inexplicable seizures that on any who drink and strangulation upon any nearby.