He pulled out his Glock, and slinked over to the bus menacingly.
Ms Pringle rushed into Tom Ridge's office and slapped down the file, causing him to immediately reach over and hit the "Orange Alert" button and alert John Ashcroft to detain all small Chinese men with coolie hats,
He needed a colloquium for the prayer meeting.
(colloquium? A seminar?)
But then, Tom had never found it necessary to adhere to protocol when an alarm of national safety could be sounded, and he knew from experience that Ashcroft would back him up, so he felt no twinge of remorse at ordering all small Chinese men with coolie hats to report immediately to hastily-built internment camps in California (a rogue "blue" state, of course.)
Maybe it was a quintescentially collegial colloquium, eva, but time is short for some of us to thwart all the Toms who enridge our national blanket, ah, coverlet, er, sense of place.
Little Yao Fong was doing his morning paper route, enthusiastically tossing rubber-banded Hartford Courants onto the plush lawns of his sleepy subdivision, unaware of the orders of Tom Ridge--unaware even of who the hell Tom Ridge was, actually--when a large black car with tinted windows squealed to a halt in front of him, and three large men wearing dark, expensive-looking suits and sunglasses got out and started running towards him.
One man, from Zebra City, Nevada, came out, looked at poor Yao Fong and said, 'We're come to arrest you under the Paving-stone Act.'
"Th-th-the WHAT Act?" stuttered Yao as they stuffed him into the back of the long, black car.
"Tom Ridge gives the orders around here, kid", said the biggest, goofiest-looking one as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs, "and don't pretend you don't know why we're here, you sneaky little terrorist sympathizer!".
'Yeaaaaah,' said the other, 'you've been yielding that frisbee suspiciously for too long, boy.'
Yao knew he had to act quickly, and just as big goofy G-man #1 was reaching over to put the handcuffs on him, he kicked out, landing a very strong blow to the vulnerable crotch of big goofy G-man #2.
He jumped out the window and ran as quickly as his short-legs would take him; but he would never, never be truly safe.
Because, you see, he could never run faster than anyone else at all, at all, even on compacted sand.
He needed assistance, someplace to hide; so he ran to his friend, the mysterious Hyundai man.
His friend quickly stuffed him in the small, cramped trunk of a lease car, a silver-grey 2004 Tiburon.
They started playing La Cucaracha to drown out the noise of their counter-conspiring.
In the trunk, drunk, he found La Cucaracha being cacaphonous and catchy, but he had no room to dance.
The Hyundai turned onto an old, gravel road and Yao was amused as the car began bouncing to the rhythm of the familiar Mexican tune.
He was especially amused about the words "marijuana que fumar", for seconds at a time between dips in the road.
