“This is Ginger. Put me through to President Van Deere on the pink phone right away.”
...
“This is Van Deere.”
“Daddy!”
“Sugarplum! Where on earth have you got to, darlin’? Your secret service agent is bout as pleased as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.”
“Oh I’m in Minneapolis, just getting ready to leave. I borrowed a tiny little plane from the Pentagon and I suppose it will have to do since the airport out here is just a mess of timber and concrete. You tell that Agent McMally I’m just fine.”
“You’re in Minneapolis! My poor little Ginger snap, are you all right? I was just about to declare that city a federal disaster area!”
“I’m fine, Big Daddy, cept for a little stabbing in my hand – no, not my shooting arm. Some little girl, part of the strangest little Girl Scout troupe I’ve ever seen. They did the most amazing appearing act, except it was no magic show that I’ve ever seen, just splitting themselves up into more white-hooded scouts. T’weren’t natural, Daddy, and they were mean as skunks.”
“I swear I don’t know what you get up to these days. Now I don’t mind you tweaking the noses of your secret service agents from time to time. Lord knows it gives me a chuckle to see them try to explain to the Commander in Chief that his daughter plain disappeared from sight again. But honeybunny, I’m worried you’re just going to get hurt with these shenanigans.”
“I said I’m fine, Daddy I swear it on the Bible. But there’s something important I have to tell you. I have the feeling that something’s just not right. Like there’s something horribly ungodly happening in places like Minneapolis. I’ve heard tell of people believing in witches and blue spirits and naturally I thought it was just nonsense, but Daddy I swear to you in Minneapolis I saw the most horrifying giants just standing around the city for a time, just standing there looking menacing under a sky that looked just pure evil. And they did not look Christian, let me tell you. Not God-fearing Christian one whit.”
“Oh?”
“And it got me thinking.”
“Oh dear God. I wouldn’t bother your pretty little head about things like that, my little praline. I admit I have received some exceedingly bizarre reports from our CIA agents in the field. But you best let the smart men here in DC handle it.”
“I think that’s a fine idea, Daddy. For starters, there is this little old gentleman named Professor Larsen, head of the Smithsonian’s department of Oddities and the Unexplained or some such thing, and he’s just stuffed down into a museum basement tending to piles of old junk. Listen, Daddy, he needs a bigger budget.”
“How big?”
“Well I don’t think you need quite so many new aircraft carriers, now do you?”
“What?”
“Please be reasonable Daddy, please. There could well be a holy war right here at home and we need to be prepared! Think, Daddy, what would Jesus do? That nice old Professor Larsen needs money, a lot of it, and he needs a team and there has to be someone in charge. Jesus would give that poor professor the means to expose these ungodly activities and bless the person who took over the Smithsonian.”
“Oh Ginger, you’re asking an awful lot...”
“But it’s nearly my birthday! And Daddy, don’t you think it’s about time I had a job?”
”This is the White House.”
“This is Ginger. Put me through to President Van Deere on the pink phone right away.”
...
“This is Van Deere.”
“Daddy!”
“Sugarplum! Where on earth have you got to, darlin’? Your secret service agent is bout as pleased as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.”
“Oh I’m in Minneapolis, just getting ready to leave. I borrowed a tiny little plane from the Pentagon and I suppose it will have to do since the airport out here is just a mess of timber and concrete. You tell that Agent McMally I’m just fine.”
“You’re in Minneapolis! My poor little Ginger snap, are you all right? I was just about to declare that city a federal disaster area!”
“I’m fine, Big Daddy, cept for a little stabbing in my hand – no, not my shooting arm. Some little girl, part of the strangest little Girl Scout troupe I’ve ever seen. They did the most amazing appearing act, except it was no magic show that I’ve ever seen, just splitting themselves up into more white-hooded scouts. T’weren’t natural, Daddy, and they were mean as skunks.”
“I swear I don’t know what you get up to these days. Now I don’t mind you tweaking the noses of your secret service agents from time to time. Lord knows it gives me a chuckle to see them try to explain to the Commander in Chief that his daughter plain disappeared from sight again. But honeybunny, I’m worried you’re just going to get hurt with these shenanigans.”
“I said I’m fine, Daddy I swear it on the Bible. But there’s something important I have to tell you. I have the feeling that something’s just not right. Like there’s something horribly ungodly happening in places like Minneapolis. I’ve heard tell of people believing in witches and blue spirits and naturally I thought it was just nonsense, but Daddy I swear to you in Minneapolis I saw the most horrifying giants just standing around the city for a time, just standing there looking menacing under a sky that looked just pure evil. And they did not look Christian, let me tell you. Not God-fearing Christian one whit.”
“Oh?”
“And it got me thinking.”
“Oh dear God. I wouldn’t bother your pretty little head about things like that, my little praline. I admit I have received some exceedingly bizarre reports from our CIA agents in the field. But you best let the smart men here in DC handle it.”
“I think that’s a fine idea, Daddy. For starters, there is this little old gentleman named Professor Larsen, head of the Smithsonian’s department of Oddities and the Unexplained or some such thing, and he’s just stuffed down into a museum basement tending to piles of old junk. Listen, Daddy, he needs a bigger budget.”
“How big?”
“Well I don’t think you need quite so many new aircraft carriers, now do you?”
“What?”
“Please be reasonable Daddy, please. There could well be a holy war right here at home and we need to be prepared! Think, Daddy, what would Jesus do? That nice old Professor Larsen needs money, a lot of it, and he needs a team and there has to be someone in charge. Jesus would give that poor professor the means to expose these ungodly activities and bless the person who took over the Smithsonian.”
“Oh Ginger, you’re asking an awful lot...”
“But it’s nearly my birthday! And Daddy, don’t you think it’s about time I had a job?”