Rumpus Vice
Chapter 6: brought to you by The_Omnipotent_Corporation
Disclaimer: The Rumpus is a purely fictional character. Any similarities between the Rumpus and anyone named Romeo Casiple living in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois is purely coincidental and unintentional. The Rumpus is a copyrighted trademark of Omnipotent, Inc. Thank you for your time.
When we last left Rumpus, he was on a jet headed for Bogota, Columbia after being defeated by our heros in Alief. Here's where the story continues ...
BOGOTA, COLUMBIA
At the Bogota International Airport things were hectic. A flight from Alief, USA had been delayed for over thirty minutes, but was now arriving. There was no explanation from the crew except to say that they had some maintenance problems. What really happened was far stranger. They had a sudden loss of pressure in the cargo compartment so they pulled over to check it out. When they walked around to the port side, they found a large hole in it with mousse-hardened hair sticking to the metal. The pilot walked back around to the cockpit and started the jet back up to continue on their way.
What the crew doesn't know was that just on the outskirts of Bogota, Rumpus had pushed his way out of the airplane and plummeted several thousand feet into a big pile of cocoa leaves. A few hours later when he woke up, Rumpus was surrounded by poor farmers that were cursing at him in some foreign language.
Rumpus said, "Unh!" That was the most intelligent thing that he could think of. WHIRRRR! He was barely remembering what happened to him last. When he looked around, he saw the farmers that were now staring at him in awe. "He fell out of the sky," one shouted loudly. "He must be one of the gods!" proclaimed another. "Yeah, but he's so funny-looking," said a third. "That must mean that he is Supmur, the God of Power!" said the second, "He is supposed to have been disfigured out of jealousy by the other gods for having so much power."
The natives all dropped down to their knees simultaneously and started moaning strange things. Rumpus was so scared he wet his pants and passed out. When he awoke, he was high atop a ceremonial chair where the natives had placed him. He looked around and thought to himself, NOW THIS IS THE LIFE!
After bathing him, the natives asked Rumpus what they could do to serve him. He told them to bring them their most valuable possession. After several minutes, the natives gathered a large pile of coca leaves in front of him.
"These coca leaves are our livelihood, oh Supmur, they are our only source of income in this world (tax free, of course)."
COCOA LEAVES, Rumpus thought to himself. THAT WOULD HIT THE SPOT ABOUT NOW. "Fetch me a fresh cup of cocoa!" Rumpus ordered, "Or feel the wrath of Supmur!" He added a WHIRRR! onto the last syllable of the his order. All of the natives cowered down and ran to prepare the fabled drink for his holiness.
After drinking about twelve cups of "cocoa", Rumpus was feeling mighty powerful. "Follow me, my people," he shouted as he ran for the jungle, "I will show you how the god, Tarzan, travels where I come from." His mind raced as he headed for the trees. He had several of the strongest men lift him up into one of the trees. Rumpus ran out to the edge of a branch and leapt through the air and grabbed hold of a dangling vine. The vine stretched and finally made a loud SNAP! under all of the weight. Rumpus fell several feet and hit the ground with a THUD!
A few hours later, Rumpus came to. His mind was wandering around aimlessly sort of like a bad text file. Then he remembered everything. I WAS IN ALIEF ABOUT TO GET REVENGE ON THOSE PEOPLE WHEN SOMEONE HIT ME IN A TRUCK!
He screamed for the natives to step-up production on the cocaine. Within hours he had the first batch ready. When the delivery men from the largest drug cartel in South America came to pick it up they realized that the weakling natives had a new leader. Rumpus met them. He was decked out in a white suit and dark sunglasses.
"Who are you?" the two thugs from the cocaine cartel asked Rumpus simultaneously. M16 rifles so thoughtfully provided by the American CIA perched under their arms.
"I am the new force in the snow business," Rumpus told them. "Tell your boss that he now answers to me and me only. Got that?"
"I got 'dis for you," the larger of the two men said to Rumpus as he leveled the M16 at Rumpus and started to pull the trigger.
With blinding speed, Rumpus reached up and pulled a spike of cocaine- mousse-(holds shape better than normal mousse)-hardened hair off his head. He flung his wrist so slightly. The spike flew through the air and into the barrel of the M16, jamming it. Two more follow-up spikes pierced the kneecaps of the large man and he fell over and screamed. The other man, just slightly underweight, shook everything out of his pants leg as his now-depleted bowels quivered. He threw his M16 down and begged for Rumpus to spare him.
"That's more like it," Rumpus said as he followed the other man to a U.S. Army surplus jeep. The small man drove them to a large mansion overlooking a waterfall and a small lagoon. They got out and the little man said "'S cool, man" to the bodyguards that stood outside the entrance to the palace. Rumpus followed the man into a large hallway that seemed to stretch on for miles with many smaller corridors and doorways stretching to either side of the hall. A small cart pulled up with yet another Columbian on it. The three of them rode down the hall then took a right turn about half a mile down. After passing through several more large rooms, the cart pulled to a halt outside of two ornately decorated doors.
"Wait right here, man," the short Columbian said to Rumpus.
"You'd better not jerk me around," Rumpus threatened.
The man smiled to reveal a gold tooth on the upper-left side of his mouth. He turned around and headed through the doors. Rumpus stared around at the plants and other things. The driver sat passively staring into non-space. Rumpus was about to strike up a conversation with the man when all of the sudden, two large men came out and picked Rumpus up under his arms.
They dragged him into a lavishly decorated room with a large polished oak desk sitting in the middle. The floor was covered by a large oriental rug. The room appeared to be some sort of library/office/study judging from all of the books on the shelves.
The two men dropped Rumpus down in a chair in front of the desk. They stood on both sides of Rumpus. He was starting to get very nervous and started to perspire. The large chair that was behind the desk started to turn around. It was a very large, Guido-looking, Columbian with slicked back hair, polished teeth, and a white Italian suit to match.
"I don't think I'll have any trouble with this one," the man said to the two larger men. "You can leave."
The two men left Rumpus' side and walked out of the room closing the double doors behind them.
"My name is Juan Jose Ramirez Galindo Phillipe Chico Rosenbaum (my mother was Jewish)," the man started to say. "I am in control of all of the cocaine production in Columbia. I hear that you have decided to move in on my territory with the peasants. That was a very poor decision on your part, Mr..."
"Rumpus, sir, your highness," Rumpus managed to stammer out.
"Yes, Mr. Rumpus. You see, everything around you was paid for by the sale of cocaine to America (and partially by the CIA). If I feel there is something that is going to threaten the flow of the cocaine, the flow of the money, the flow of my very existence ... I will take whatever measures are necessary to eliminate that threat."
With this, Juan opened up a drawer on the desk and withdrew a pistol. Rumpus was now starting to shake with fear. Juan walked behind Rumpus, drew the slide back on the pistol to chamber a round. He then brought his hand up high in the air then brought it forcefully down on top of Rumpus' mousse- hardened skull.
Outside the room, the two bodyguards were talking among themselves when all of the sudden they heard a gunshot come from inside the room. They both smiled at each other. But after they heard the sound of a scream, then furniture being knocked over, they broke into the doors which had been locked from the inside.
Once inside, they saw Rumpus sitting in the chair behind the desk. Their former boss was hanging naked from the rafters on the ceiling with a torn anus. Rumpus was smiling.
"Alright you numbskulls! I'm now in command here. If you don't do exactly as I say, then the same thing that happened to Mr. Juan Valdez up there will happen to you. Comprende?"
They both nodded in unison.
"Good! Now go step up the production of the cocaine. I have many plans to attend to. And also, dispose of him," Rumpus gestured to the man still slumped over one of the rafters.
They took their former boss down and left. Rumpus looked around the office at what was at his disposal. He picked up the phone and started rattling off more orders for what was to ultimately be the greatest sinister plot ever devised.
ONE YEAR LATER
The announcer began, "And now the President of the United States."
George Bush stepped up to the podium and shuffled his papers before turning the microphone to himself. "My fellow Americans, as you know, over the last year, our great country has been plagued by the worst drug epidemic ever to hit our nation. Drugs are being passed out on the street free of charge by drug dealers. Many elected officials have been found with torn anuses babbling something about short Filipinos. Our economy is in turmoil. Spark plugs are failing to work. Cats and dogs are mating. We believe all of this to be the work of one man."
Picture of Rumpus Casiple's sophomore high school picture flashes on the screen.
"He is known by many names in the underworld, but we just know him as 'The Rumpus'. He is allegedly the most dangerous man in the world at this point. I will be offering a one billion dollar reward (or your own savings and loan) to any person giving information which will lead to the arrest and prosecution of The Rumpus--"
Just then, one of Rumpus' dreaded stormtroopers, the elite "Rumpus Guard", jumped up from the crowd of journalists and photographers and shouted, "Long live the Rumpus!"
He managed to throw two custard pies at the president before being wrestled to the ground be Secret Service agents. He was also found with a cream pie in his possession which luckily wasn't launched at Mr. Bush.
MEANWHILE IN COLUMBIA
Rumpus smiled to himself as he turned off the television. His plan was coming along just fine. He picked up his telephone on his desk and ordered for his plane to be fueled up. He would be heading to America soon.
After a seven hour flight, Rumpus' plane landed at a hidden airfield in Virginia. His bodyguards rushed him into a waiting Mercedes Benz and sped off with him in the back seat. Along the way to Washington D.C., they stopped at a Stuckey's and had a very nice breakfast consisting of two scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and a glass of orange juice for only $2.99.
They shortly arrived at the Vice President's Mansion where they ran into their inside man in prearranged meeting...
"Dan Quayle, it's been too long," Rumpus said to his longtime friend.
"It sure has. I just can't wait until all of this is over. Now the deal is still the same: I get you into the White House so you can take care of Bush, then you let me have the Oval(tine) Office. Right?"
"Of course, Dan," Rumpus lied to the Vice President.
LATER THAT NIGHT
The Vice Presidential limousine pulled up to the White House for what was to be an unexpected visit. They all shuffled out and quietly snuck up to the Oval Office where George Bush was waiting for Dan Quayle to meet with him after getting him out of bed because he "really has something important to say."
When the doors to the Oval Office swung open, George Bush said, "Okay, Quayle, what's this about you little shi--"
He didn't have time to finish his sentence before the three leaders of the Rumpus Guard, Colonels Larry, Moe, and Curly, rushed behind his desk and pinned him to the wall. Rumpus casually strolled in followed by Dan Quayle.
"Dan! How can you do this to me? I thought you liked me since I kept you from being drafted and sent to Iraq," George was whining.
Rumpus shouted, "Shut up you fool! He works for me. Larry, Moe, and Curly: Take Bush up to his bedroom and lock him in there with that old woman he calls his wife." They dragged Bush out screaming and carrying on.
Quayle started to get excited and hopped behind the desk and started saying, "Yippee! I'm the new puppet-leader of the free world."
"I believe there had been a change in the plans," Rumpus started as he locked the doors and started to unzip his pants. All that was heard in the White House has a high pitched buzz followed by a loud scream.
SOMEWHERE IN A CHICAGO SUBURB
The television on the coffee table was tuned to Cable News Network which was broadcasting a live transmission from the White House where Rumpus was addressing the nation and declaring martial law.
Rumpus Senior stirred on the couch. His wallet was not in his pocket where he had left it and he had a large welt on his head. He looked over at his wife who was still making gurgling sounds with her head in the plate full of food on the table as it has been since we last heard from them.
He was shocked to see his son addressing the nation on the television declaring martial law. By the time he found his own empty wallet laying on the coffee table next to the emptied contents of Rumpus Junior's wallet he was starting to get extremely angry. He picked up his telephone and dialed 1-212- 456-1414.
Meanwhile, from the Oval Office, Rumpus was rattling off terms like "controlled press" and "concentration camps" when the red Batphone next to him started lighting up. At first, he just barely glanced over at it since he was still addressing the country on live television, but it kept ringing. He picked it up.
"Hello?...Yeah, what do you want...But, Dad, I'm in the middle of a coup here...I can't come home right now...I didn't mean to take your fuel-injected turbo 1988 Yugo GT, but I had to go out...please don't ground me...please please please please please please pleeeeeeeeeeease!"
He hung up the phone. "My fellow Americans, please ignore the previous broadcast. I have to go home now." With that he got up and left.
CNN went back to it's regularly scheduled "Larry King Live" program.
(c) 1990-91 Omnipotent, Incorporated
This has been a Tampered-With Production. All rights reserved. Braile transcripts are available at the Library of Congress (ISBN 0-713-10841-9).
If you have any comments, death threats, or if you want to report an Yvette sighting, please contact Omnipotent, Inc. by e-mail at reflex@darkside.com or lc179@works.UUCP. We can also be reached on the following quality boards:
The Dark Side of the Moon AE/BBS (call and v0mit!)...............[408] 245-SPAM
Curiosity Shop (featuring WeaselNET graphics)....................[713] 326-3729
The Works Text-Files Leeching BBS (3000+ files)..................[617] 861-8976
Apocalyptic Funhouse (those wacky ANUS members)..................[713] 531-1139
Pez's Underground Dump...........................................[313] DEL-ETEDEOF
