INDEPENDENCE DAY – PORT LOUIS.
Nothing, it doesn’t ring.
“Um…wait,” he smiling embarrassed, “now it’s gonna ring.”
He’s still touching it. Nothing.
Embarrassment grows, a murmur rises from the crowd, already rehearsed for the air displacement caused by the thirteen missiles.
A little harder, still nothing.
You can hear some laughter, Super Dan’s face is on fire.
“And make up your mind to sound old rude!” says the first citizen who throws a punch…crack…the crack stretches, people stop talking, all eyes are on the Liberty Bell, which splits in half.
The two sides come off, fall and roll down into the running crowd, once again panicked.
Some in the crowd are injured, luckily slightly.
“Nooo… the Liberty Bell, our Liberty Bell…” the mortified mayor falls to his knees. His deputy MacKay is petrified, barely stuttering.
“Three hundred years of history, he has managed to destroy three hundred years of history…”
“And that’s nothing,” comments Moore, “there’s no limit to what our President can do! Wait, Mayor, wait…”
The injured spectators are rescued and taken to the local hospital, now overcrowded after the thirteen missile launches.
Bell, grazed by the pieces of the antique heirloom, is revived with salts by Wright.
“Try Naive,” Moore suggests, “in these cases she has thaumaturgical skills.” No sooner said than done, Bell resurrects in half a minute.
Blanco, now desperate, is trying to get through the day. “Uh, Mayor, what’s the schedule now?”
“The official lunch…” he answers with a little voice and red eyes.
“Hurray! It’s about time!” rejoices Super Dan.
“At last!” gloats Byjove. “After all this bustle, we all deserve a little refreshment!”
“This way, if you’ll follow me…” MacKay mumbles, still distraught at the loss of the historic bell.
A table in the middle of the lawn awaits them, the scent of the grass mixes with the scent of barbecues.
Super Dan tries to sit next to the general, but is armoured by his wife and Ms Brontesrious, who sit next to him.
“A salad for my husband, please.” orders the First Lady. “With some boiled carrots, if possible.”
“Ja, and water, lots of water for our President, no bubbles, making his belly swell, ja?”
“What?!? Water? Without even the bubbles?”
Super Dan stands motionless with his mouth open, as if he had had a stroke, in front of him General Byjove and Chief of Staff Moore, who stares at him smiling.
Jacob, the waiter who take care of the distinguished guests, introduces himself and explains the menu.
“Well,” says Moore, “gentlemen, do we want to honor the hospitality of these wonderful people by showing that we appreciate their culinary specialties? Jacob, besides the delicious sausages, what else do your famous barbecues have to offer?”
“Gentlemen, sausages are just the beginning. Our pork chops are appreciated all over the country…”
“Pork ribs…” Moore points out watching Super Dan.
“…also we have sausages, meat and vegetable skewers, frankfurters, hamburgers, steaks…”
“Stop, stop, for God’s sake.” begs Moore, throwing a smile at Super Dan. “Slowly, we have plenty of time to sample every one of your specialties, my dear Jacob.”
“So…” Moore continues to torture the first citizen, “At first you said sausages, didn’t you, General?”
“He said it! He said it!”
“And then hamburgers and skewers, if I remember correctly?”
“Remember well!” jumps Byjove.
“And then… I don’t remember…”
“And after frankfurters and burgers and steaks and… and then he stopped,” exclaims the general in one breath.
“Gentlemen,” Moore asks those present, “how about we start with what our good Jacob has listed so far?”
“Of course!” rejoices Byjove. “Just for starters, of course…”
“Of course, General,” replied the Englishman with a sneer, “just to begin with, Mr President…? I bet even President Donald Trump is getting so many delicious meals.”
Super Dan looks like a volcano about to erupt. “I…”
“No.” His wife nips him in the bud. “I’ve already ordered for my husband. Same for me, thank you.”
“So, Jacob, would you be so kind as to bring some trays with all the listed specials?”
“It will be my concern, gentlemen. How about a drink? May I remind you that our beers have their roots in pioneer times?”
“The beers…” exclaims Moore with feigned disregard, “General, I forgot the beers…”
“Bad, very bad, Moore! Leave it, I’ll take care of it! Jacob, start bringing a lot of trays with everything you said, and I want to see an expanse of fresh beer mugs in all colours, from one end of the table to the other! Do I make myself clear?”
“Very clear, sir, leave it to me.”
“Let him do it…” sighs Moore.
Super Dan’s face is now between red and purple, the veins in his neck are about to tear the collar of his shirt, his maximum pressure has exceeded three hundred.
The First Lady’s hand crushes her husband’s arm and the Austrian housekeeper’s whip under the table “caresses” the unfortunate man’s legs.
The waiters arrive with what they have asked for, the table is filled with all good things. In front of Super Dan, his wife and Ms Brontenserious three bowls of salad and tomatoes and three saucers of sliced boiled carrots…
“Gentlemen,” Byjove stands up with a mug of beer in his hand, ” Enjoy your meal!”
Everyone tastes something and drinks a mug of beer, except the general who has already filled a tray with bones, drained three mugs and is now taking care of the second tray and the fourth mug.
“Mr. President,” mocks Moore, “is everything to your satisfaction?”
“Moore,” snarls Super Dan dark in face, “I…”
“We thank you for your concern.” his wife intervenes decisively. “Of course, everything is to our liking, isn’t it, darling?”
Quiet…Super Dan is about to explode like the Pompeii eruption of the year 79 AD., when under the table…swish!
“Aahhh!” jumps the President into the chair. “Nein! Nein!”
“Honey,” smiles the First Lady, shattering his arm with her hand, “it’s okay, right?”
“Aahhh…sure, honey, um…all right.”
“I’m glad,” says affable Moore, “in that case, I think we can order the other food, don’t you?”
“Aye, aye, aye!” Byjove stands up. “I mean, I mean, sure.”
“I don’t really remember all the local specialties, General, but you just happen to…”
“Fried chicken wings, beef, chicken, grilled vegetables, corn on the cob, hot dogs, French fries, onion rings, chocolate cookies. Mustard and sauces at will. All accompanied by cereal or rye bread. And a fresh salad just to degrease the fat,” replies Byjove once again in one go.
“General, you’re a prodigy!” compliments Moore.
“Well, you know, modestly, I’m very good at this.”
“Did you say a fresh salad just to degrease, General?” Moore asks, feigning concern.
“That’s it,” says the First Lady, “for the three of us a fresh salad and a few onion rings. And still water. Thanks.”
“Well, and for the rest of us,” Moore reflects, “General, would you like to order for everyone, as before?”
“But of course! Listen to me, Jacob,” yells Byjove, grabbing the poor man by the lapel, “bring everything you haven’t brought yet, in big trays, and all kinds of beers, fresh and of all colors. And if I see a square inch of this table uncovered, I’m gonna shot you, understand?”
Gulp… Jacob swallows and runs away.
The waiters fill the table with trays and beers, except for three bowls of fresh salad and three saucers with onion rings.
A few tears run down Super Dan’s face, while his wife and housekeeper don’t let him alone for an instant. Around him a triumph of flavors, smells and dishes… everyone seems to like the local specialties, while eating in moderation.
Byjove’s jaws look like a threshing machine at full throttle, a waltz of beer mugs dance in front of him in a play of colors, dark, light, red beers, the advanced bones, one on top of the other, almost build the Eiffel Tower.
Super Dan’s gaze pierces Byjove and goes further, while even his depressed toupee slowly falls over his eyes. This time the first citizen doesn’t put it back in place, he leaves it there…better this way’, better not to see, better not to suffer.
At the end of the lunch the group walks through the streets, among the houses and gardens, greeting the families and shaking hands.
Especially those who are cooking meat on the barbecue, hoping to scrounge a sausage…swish!… “Aahhh!”
Until somebody’s whip and someone else’s incinerator look put a stop to all the tricks.
“It’s time for the bonfires,” Johansson points out.
“Yes,” continues MacKay, “one of the most common traditions around here is to light bonfires.”
“Great,” replies the general, “sounds like a healthy tradition to me. What about the gunpowder?”
“Excuse me?!” asks the mayor wavering.
“Why, don’t you use it?”
“No, nothing,” Blanco comes in again to break the deadlock, “shall we see the preparation of these magnificent bonfires?”
“Of course, this way. And be clear, if you want to join the people, you might as well try lighting one.”
“Definitely!” replies Byjove full of meat and beer.
“Well,” exclaims the mayor, “we have a volunteer!”
“Two!” cries Byjove a little tipsy. “Our commander never backs down in front of anything!”
“Me?! Um…yeah…right.” stammers Super Dan.
They staggered, one for hunger and the other for the grub, towards the large open space for the bonfires, with piles of wood for everyone to use.
“Um…General,” says Super Dan whisperingly, “now that we’re alone, I have to confess I’ve never lit a bonfire in my life.”
“Don’t worry, my commander, I’ll take care of it!”
They take the wood and stack it, but Byjove doesn’t seem to want to stop.
“General, but it’s not too much?”
“Are you kidding? Have you seen the others? Do you want these amateurs to overtake you? No way!”
Byjove looks like a bulldozer, throwing wood on the pile, now a pyre, a couple of meters high and five wide.
“You!” cries Byjove to one of the security agents, who comes running.
The general takes something from him.
“There you are, Mr. President. Stand back,” says Byjove, walking away with Super Dan. “A little emergency escort, I’ll leave it in the hands of the security men just in case.”
It’s an incendiary grenade, which Byjove throws at the wood castle.
The blaze illuminates the sky, the people of the nearby bonfires run away, the flames envelop their bonfires, creating a single huge bonfire, visible even from satellites in orbit.
The wind pushes the flames to burn the surrounding grass, then the park benches, finally a tree…it’s the beginning of the end.
“General!” cries Blanco, “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”
“My God, put out the flames,” begs Bell, “call the firemen, call the seaplanes!”
“Bell, earthworm,” cries Byjove, “call an ambulance and get in there!”
Moore’s on the phone with the fire department, while Blanco is organizing the area’s seaplanes.
The fire is spreading very quickly and has now reached the forest.
The agents of the escort have taken the general, the president and his toupee, now burnt, to safety.
Ms Brontenserious approaches with a decisive step, grabbing the first citizen by the arm and carrying him, along with his wife, in one of the escort cars.
“Schell! You get in the car and change your burnt head for a new one! Schell!”
“Ms Brontenserious,” the First Lady gratefully addresses you, “you are always foresighted.”
“Ja, I said that two spare big heads are better than one.”
They are just in time to get into the car, when the roar of the airplanes begins to sound. The noise is getting closer and closer, it’s the seaplanes lowering over the burning area.
“Hurry up,” cries Blanco, “get everybody out of the way, the seaplanes are getting closer.”
Moore and Wright try to secure the crowd, Naive jumps lost in every direction, Bell appeals to all the authorities on earth and in the solar system.
“Firemen! Police! FBI! Marines! To me! Help me!”
“Bell,” cries Byjove, “the only one you didn’t call was the right one for you: the Red Cross!”
The seaplanes fly over the burning area and begin to discharge water one by one over the flames.
A flood of biblical proportions falls on the forest and the population, overwhelming everything and everyone, followed by other successive water bombs.
The flames began to go out, but very little remained of the forest, the park and its surroundings were reduced to a lake of water and mud.
The people who had been swept away by the water and fallen into the mud, were just in time to rise up, and a new rain of water from the sky threw them to the ground.
The seaplane crew continued to discharge tons of water over the entire area.
The mud was everywhere, on the people, on the ground, on the stages prepared for the concerts. One giant brown stain had wiped out the Independence Day celebration.
“Moore, Bell, Wright, where are you?” cries Blanco covered in mud.
“I’m here, Blanco,” reassures Moore, “where are the others?”
“I saw the President, his wife and the housekeeper get into an escort car.”
A shapeless brown spot rises from the mud, sways, trembles, falls back, rises again, staggers forward.
“It’s Bell.” sighs Moore.
“Help! I’m drowning in the mud, somebody save me!”
“Yes, yes, that’s him.” Moore confirms.
“Let’s help him!” cries Wright.
The three rush towards Bell, lifting him up when a new flood rains from the sky. Our heroes are thrown back down again, completely submerged in the mud. The roar of the seaplane that’s moving away blends in with that of the next one that’s coming to release its cargo.
A muddy head sprouts from the general marasmus.
“Yuck! Caugh, caugh…help!!!”
The President’s car, meanwhile, is constantly tossed from the water, sinking deeper and deeper into the mud, Ms Brontenserious can’ t put the new toupee on Super Dan’s head.
Moore, Blanco and Wright, reduced to statues of mud, try to lift Bell.
“Naive, where is she? Have you seen her?” asks Blanco.
“Last time I saw her running in all directions,” answers Wright.
“And the general, what happened to him?”
“Present!” is heard screaming from a slush monolith. It’s Byjove, standing at attention like a statue.
“Yuck!” caws Bell. “The mud in my mouth, I’m suffocating!”
“Bell,” says the brown monolith, “shut your mouth and swallow it, so we can get it over with once and for all!”
Our five heroes struggle through the mud, their legs sinking almost to their knees, determined to find Naive.
“Where is she?”
Meanwhile, the car with Super Dan cannot move, with the wheels completely sunk into the mud.
“Do something, I’m the President! Save us, that’s an order!”
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” roars the First Lady. “Or do you have something else on your mind? I don’t know, maybe an atomic bomb…”
“Me? What have I ever done? We light a little fire…”
“Little”? Ja, little fire little like your belly, ja.”
“But no, it was the general, I had nothing to do with it…”
When the First Lady calls: “Ms Brontenserious!”, she answers: Swish!
Meanwhile, from afar a persuasive and familiar voice calls for help… it’s Naive, completely blocked by the mud that covers her.
“Maybe it’s her. I heard the voice, even though I can’t see her.” Blanco says.
“I don’t see anyone…” says Wright.
“I haven’t heard anyone,” says Moore.
“I can’t even breathe…” Bell complains.
“That would be the first good news of the day,” says Byjove.
The five ones are struggling to move, like the part of the population that didn’t get away in time. Bell is the first to freeze completely.
“Oh, God, I’m not moving anymore! The mud, the mud, help me, I’m becoming a statue!”
“A monument to the fallen,” cries the monolith, “it’s about time!”
“And now what? Bell, try harder, come on.” Wright says.
“I’m on it!” declares Byjove, advancing toward Bell slowly. Then the mud monolith wraps its arms around Bell’s statue’s legs, pulls it out of the slime and loads it onto his shoulders.
“That’s it! Let’s go!”
“Help! What’s going on? I’m flying, put me down, help!”
“Bell,” slams the angry monolith, “if you don’t stop squawking, the only flight you’re gonna make is off the edge of a ravine!”
“Bell, calm down.” Blanco comes in trying to calm him down. “General Byjove has pulled you out of the mud and he’s carrying you on his shoulders, you understand? You don’t have to worry. You’re safe.”
“Really? Are you sure?” Bell asks.
“Absolutely,” confirms Byjove, “so now shut up and leave it to me. I’ve carried more soldiers on my shoulders in Vietnam than the entire Red Cross!”
“Help,”calls out the Naive’s voice, “Moore, Blanco, where are you?”
“This time I heard her,” says Moore, “it’s really her, Naive.”
“Let’s look for her,” suggests Wright, “she has to be close by.”
“Yeah, but how can we do it,” Blanco asks, “they all look the same, lots of mud statues.”
“Naive, where are you?” cries Moore. “Let’s call her. She’ll hear us when we get close.”
“Wait a minute,” says Bell, “but weren’t you supposed to get me to safety first?”
“Bell, invertebrate,” thunders the monolith carrying it, “first the women and then the children! Have you ever heard that?”
“No, I swear, it’s the first time I’ve heard that. I knew the sick first and then everybody else...”
“The Sick?” Byjove gets hot. “If you want, I’ll make you sick in a second!”
“No! Oh, God, for God’s sake, stop him, I want to get off!”
“Bell,” says Moore, “he’s not a bus, he’s a general.”
“And thank him for what he’s doing for you…” Blanco adds.
“There she is,” rejoices Wright, “Naive has answered, do you hear? This way!”
“I’m here, I’m here!”
“This is it, it’s her!” exclaims Wright. “This statue is Naive!”
“Yes, it’s me, I can’t move anymore.”
“There’s one of our escort cars there,” Blanco proposes, “let’s leave Bell and go back for Naive. Let’s go.”
“Leave me?” Bell complains. “What do you mean leave me?”
“We’ll be right back, Bell, just relax.” Moore calms him down.
“That’s right,” agrees the talking monolith, “we’ll be right back.”
Byjove throws Bell in the backseat as he unloads the ox quarters at the slaughterhouse.
“Ouch! What a knock, what happened? My back!”
“Stay calm, it’s not broken.” replied Byjove. “At least for the moment…”
The four ones go to Naive, the monolith also uproots the President’s secretary and takes charge on his shoulders.
“Where do we put Naive now?” Wright asks.
“The only place we can.” the monolith responds decisively, marching towards the car. “Here.” …and throws the statue of Naive in the backseat, right above Bell.
“Aaahhh! What a pain! My back! What happened? Help me, I’m being crushed!”
“General, couldn’t you keep it down?” Blanco points out.
“Bell,” says the monolith, “some chivalry, a man must always sacrifice himself to save a woman.”
“But not my back. I have delicate vertebrae, and I also suffer from degenerative spinal discopathy…”
“Bell!” snarls the monolith.”I’m going to put you out of your misery, so I won’t have to hear your medical records anymore!”
“Calm down,” Blanco says. “Bell and Naive are safe now. Let’s make sure of the President and First Lady’s condition.”
The four heroes are crawling through the mud all the way to the President’s car. Inside Gwendoline is giving her husband a good grooming, with the support of the Austrian governess and her riding crop.
When they open the door…
“You’ve made a mess, that’s what you’ve done…” interrupts Gwendoline. “Ah…there you are…we were just wondering where you were. We were worried about you.”
“We heard it.” Moore replies from the layer of mud surrounding him. “And we can see it, too. Even the President’s toupee was anxious for us.”
Super Dan straightens his toupee, crooked from the reprimands and the whips he has suffered. “Uh… yeah, that’s right, we were trying to organize the rescue.”
“Perfect.” He seizes Blanco’s opportunity. “Then call the Civil Defense and the army immediately. Thousands will be in need of help.”
“Of course, that’s exactly what we were going to do, wasn’t it, dear?”
In less than an hour the first aid was given to the thousands of participants in the Independence Day celebration. Only after several hours could the unfortunate people return to their homes or, in the most serious cases, be hospitalized.
But before the end, when the sun gave way to the moon, one last event remained on the agenda…
“Thank godness,” sighs Mayor Johansson, “it’s over. Now we can go home…”
“I’m broken,” says his deputy MacKay.
“To me you’re telling it?” Bell adds with a sore back.
“Freeze!” exclaims Byjove, back to his human form.
“Oh, God,” Bell’s about to collapse to the ground, “what’s he up to now?”
“Nothing’s finished here.”
“General, sorry,” Wright asks him, “but what else would you have on your mind?”
“Tsunami”? The grasshopper invasion? The pestilence?” questions Moore.
The people present remain silent. After what happened, it had slipped everyone’s mind.
“Actually…” mumbles Super Dan.
“Yeah,” mutters the mayor, “actually the fires would remain…”
“Excuse me,” Blanco asks stunned, “but are you telling me that with all the water that fell from the sky, some firecracker was saved?” “Firecracker?” asks resentful MacKay. “Know that our fireworks are famous all over the country. And yes, they’re safe, because they’re always firing from that hill up there, outside our town, see?”
“Hear that?” cries Byjove. “What are we waiting for? Fire in the hole, light the fuses!”
“I honestly don’t know if that’s the case after what happened…”
“It’s the case, Mayor!” Byjove shuts it down. “Just after what happened, don’t you want to offer some comfort to these poor people with the show of your famous fireworks?”
“Well… seen in this way” stammers the mayor.
“Indeed,” MacKay joins in, “it would be a way to end a disastrous day well.”
“Perfect!” rejoices the general. “Where are the fuses?”
“Fuses?” jumps Bell. “Again? The inhaler, where’s my inhaler?”
“No, General,” the mayor explains, “as my deputy said earlier, the fires are being fired from that hill up there. I have to give the order to fire them.”
“Then give it, what are you waiting for, for a thousand cannons?”
“Mr. President, what do you say?”
“Our President’s a commander,” Byjove says, “he says yes. Isn’t that right, sir?”
“Um…of course…um, of course. Let’s shoot these fireworks and enjoy the show.”
“All right, as you wish.”
The mayor calls the technicians on the hill and orders them to start the fireworks show.
“Well, let’s at least enjoy the finale of the celebration,” says Wright.
“They won’t erase what happened,” says Blanco, “but at least they’ll end the day well.”
While everyone is getting ready to watch the big show in the dark sky, the general goes a few steps away to talk on his mobile phone and then returns with the others.
Do you know,” Byjove points out, “that last year our American cousins, by order of President Trump, fired more than 60,000 barrels that lightened the waters of the East River on July 4th in New York City?
“Wow, my ass!” Byjove bursts out. “Do we want our cousins to overtake us? No, not for anything in the world!”
“Excuse me, General,” the mayor tries to reply, “but what do you mean? I assure you our fireworks are wonderful…”
“I don’t doubt it!” Byjove interrupts him. “But what if it’s not enough?”
“I don’t understand…”
“Don’t worry,” reassures the general, “I took care of it.”
“You”?! Thought about what…” says the confused mayor.
“A little reinforcement.” the soldier replies with a smug smile.
“Oh, God,” exclaims Bell, “here we go again. My anti-anxiety meds, where are my anti-anxiety meds?”
“They’re buried under the mud.” Byjove responds dryly. “Take a spade and go find them.”
At the top the first fireworks colour the sky, with designs that intertwine in a glittering play of lights.
“Uh, General,” Blanco intervenes concerned, “may I ask what you meant by ‘reinforcement’?”
“My God,” prays Bell, “protect us…”
“Relax, Blanco, relax and enjoy the show.”
“Uh…general, what’s with the little reinforcement?” questions Super Dan puzzled.
“You’ll see, you’ll see. “Forget about the 60,000 fireworks of President Donald Trump!”
“My God,” Bell keeps praying, “you protect us…”
“Bell,” the soldier says, “if you don’t stop whining, I’ll send you to see God.”
At that moment you hear a faint, distant hiss…
The sky continues to colour with splendid figures, the fireworks display is worthy of its fame, the designs that intertwine in the air are so beautiful that for a few moments they make everyone forget the misfortunes of the day… the hiss has become a figure, long, tapered…
The explosion in the sky sweeps away every color, the displacement of air makes all the spectators fall to the ground.
“What the hell was that?” cries Super Dan.
“Our answer to our American cousins!” cheers Byjove.
“What?” cries Blanco in shock. “But that was a missile!”
“A missile? Another one?” Bell sobbs and then faints.
“I told you there’s no limit to the worst,” comments Moore.
“General,” cries Wright, “what have you done, are you crazy?… Oh, my God, Bell… he’s fainted.”
“Bury him!” ends Byjove.
“A missile…” mumbles Wright in disbelief.
“No.” Byjove replies. “Not a missile.”
“Oh no?” asks Super Dan banned.
“No.” continues the general. “Not a missile. It was the first missile…”
After a moment a second deflagration also shakes the earth and the few remaining trees in the adjacent forest.
People run in every direction terrified, screams in the dark, rescuers confused and stunned.
Six are the missiles that General Byjove ordered to fire from the nearest missile base, with the specific technique of exploding in the sky right above them…
INTERIOR – UPPER FLOOR OF THE BIG HOUSE – PRESIDENT’S APARTMENT – THE FOLLOWING MORNING.
The next morning during breakfast, Blanco knocks on the presidential apartment and rushes in gasping, with newspapers in her hand.
She crosses the hall in great stride towards the first citizen to show him the headlines, but she doesn’t make it in time, because on television the news is talking about a terrorist attack on the neighboring state: a missile has deflagrated in an industrial area, causing huge damage. No casualties, fortunately, but a great deal of damage.
“Sput!” …Super Dan spits out the orange juice he was drinking and starts coughing until he goes crazy.
Blanco, standing next to him, passes out.
At that moment, Moore and Wright knock on the door and rush in.
Super Dan is choking to death, now purple in his face.
“Cough, cough… I’m hearing the news now, I don’t know who did it… cough, cough… but we’ll find out.” says Super Dan coughing.
“We must immediately show…cough…cough…our solidarity with our neighbors. Hurry up, start an investigation into the terrorists!”
They two look at him stupefied, then they notice Blanco and lean over her to help her.
“Mr. President,” he tries to talk Wright, “look, last night…”
“So what?” interrupts them Super Dan. “I want an investigation! The best agents and the Secret Service too! Whoever did this will pay for this cowardly attack!”
Blanco opens her eyes and is helped to get up.
Moore nods to the young and less experienced Wright to follow him, so they go out together.
“Moore,” says Blanco, still in shock, “you know that this morning Mexico and the American President Donald Trump asked us if we declared war on them…”
“Yeah.” Moore sighs disconsolate. “Now who’s going to put it in the guy’s head with the toupee?”
“Moore,” questions Wright, “what can we do now…?”
“Yes,” says Moore, “I should have asked for more…”
That’s the conclusion of the first participation of the government of President Daniel Kramp in the Independence Day celebrations.
See you next week. Ending theme!