"Quiet, now," hushed his companion, sticking a finger to the nonexistant mouth of the Magic Fruit Cake. She eyed the distance carefully. One hundred yards across the grass, she thought. And on it, about 45 armed guards. She sighed, the bubblegum on her breath causing the Fruit Cake beside her to cringe. "This is it. We kill him now, and my future world will be saved."
"But Brunnette!" whined the Magic Fruit Cake. "I feel all yucky!"
"You're a fruit cake, for crying out loud," Brunnette told him. "Of course you're yucky. Now, do you have a helmet?"
"Good," said Brunnette, hauling a chain over her leather-sleeved shoulder as she hopped on to her motorcycle, the Fruit Cake sitting behind her. "Helmets are for wooses."
She began to rev up her motorcycle, her eyes gleaming as it continued to rev up more and more. Standing in its place, the bike roared as its front wheel lifted and let loose a mechanical howl at the moon. "Let's kick some ass!"
The motorcycle leaped from the hilltop just outside the White House, the sillouhetted forms of a biker babe, a fruit cake, and a motorcycle creasing across the polluted moon of Washington, DC. As it reached its climax point, the form shattered, racing down at intense as well as insane speeds, making enough noise to make Brunnette's earlier warnings of silence seem hypocritical.
With a gasp, a young CIA agent looked up. "My God!" he screeched. "I can see up her dress!"
As the motorcycle wheel pounded into his face, the young perverted agent shut his mouth.
Brunnette continued, racing towards the White House, the motorcycle continuing to blaze, leaving a stench of sulfur embalmed into the grass. A husky agent jumped in front of them, and Brunnette turned away from the man with the loaded gun, giving a look to the Fruit Cake. "Okay, Fruity," she smiled, "execute plan *&$%#^!!!"
The Magic Fruit Cake leaped, in the strange bizarre way a fruit cake can, into the agent's mouth. The bad taste of the fruit cake caused the agent to spit it out immediatly, with an angry cry of "*$%#^!!!"
"Score one point for the good guys!" the Fruit Cake cried joyously. "C'mon, Brunnette... let's go assassanate the President!"
"That's an ironic goal," Brunnette said, catching her breath as the Fruit Cake hopped back on. "But I only wish to do this because I know the horrible truth..."
"Hold," Brunnette said, turning down the power of her motorcycle.
The Magic Fruit Cake looked up. "What is it? I want to kick butt!"
"Stop whining," said Brunnette. "Now, shut up. I sense something... behind us."
She swung around, tossing her spiraling chain in the direction directly behind her, as it latched onto something. "What is it?" the Fruit cake shreiked. "It's horrible! It's ugly!"
A cartoony little space girl stepped out, wearing shiny pink armor. "I'm Gigi, The Abominable!" she sqeauked. 70's style cartoon music played in the background. "I have been hired to personally ensure the president lives!"
"You! You are one of the Alien scumbag type race!" Brunnette snarled. "The Bellbottom Bugs Of Dimension 7Y!"
"Yep," she giggled annoyingly. "And it looks like I'm going to have to kill you, tee hee!"
"DIE!" screeched the Magic Fruit Cake as he leaped towards Gigi's mouth. "DIE, YOU SATANIC REJECT FROM A BAD SCOOBY DOO RIP OFF! DIE!!!"
Gigi spit the Fruit Cake out as soon as he came in contact with her mouth. "You can't stop me, tee hee!"
"We'll see about that," smirked Brunnette as she whirled her chain, grasping Gigi, pulling tightly.
"Ooh..." Gigi gulped. "Time for Plan Groovy, Daddy- O!"
"No!" screeched Brunnette. Remembering the horror stories told in the future, she had learned to dread the dreaded evil dreadness of the Plan Groovy, Daddy- O!. As Rosanne Bar belted out the Star-Spangeled Banner, Brunnette fell, unconsious. "Get 'er, Cake..."
The Magic Fruit Cake defiantly stomped on Gigi's tin plated foot. "Ou-- gergghefehFLL!" she screeched, at first, then tried to screech as the Fruit Cake hopped into her mouth. Gigi spit him out, getting a disco lazer ready. Scared, the Magic Fruit Cake bounced underneath Brunnette, bounding her onto her bike with the strength and speed of 2 Magic Fruit Cakes. Then, defying the very laws of nature, the armless Fruit Cake began driving the motorcycle, making a hasty retreat.
"Don't worry, Brunnette!" he said, as they rode away from the White House. "We'll get them next time, and Bill Clinton will pay..."