As promised

see, I found a folder of stuff I wrote for my creative writing class in college, about 100 years ago. Some of it is horrendously bad, as only forced writing can be, but there is some funny stuff, including my essay on shooting public officials, which I may or may not eventually run here in serial form. But I also found a longish compilation that frankly sucks, but has some good little elements, and this particular bit made me laugh. So here it is.

Al Gore peeked cautiously around a corner.

"You gentlemen are lucky," he whispered over his shoulder. "everyone is out at a peace summit. The two shadowy men behind him kept quiet as they crept through the empty halls of the White House. They didn't need to, all the staff and aides had gone along to the summit with the first family. The lights were off, the front door locked, and the key hidden, as usual, under the welcome mat out front.

"You know, I actually invented peace summits," Gore continued, as he opened a door. "I mean, my name isn't on the patent, but I once wrote a letter to my congressman, and I said: what we need is a forum, so that leaders can get together, and discuss peace." The three men passed into a shadowy room, full of darkness and large furniture. "I said it should be called a garden of peace, because the peace would grow, like a little plant, but summit works fine too." Gore flicked a switch.

"Oooooooooo!" the Cuban and Chinaman sucked in their breath in awe.

"Now, Mr. Castro, about my payment..." Gore ventured. The bearded leader blinked at him.

"Payment? Oh yes, we've decided to pay you in the form of two pandas."

"Pandas? What am I going to do with pandas?" Castro shrugged.

"We're throwing in some sand too. China learned how to engineer perfect test-tube pandas, and in Cuba we have much sand. Americans love pandas and sand. You twisted capitalists."

"Look, Mr. Castro, ever since I didn't get elected Tip and I have had some trouble making ends meet. Now I've just used my private knowledge of White House secrets to sneak you gentlemen in for a Lincoln-bedroom pillowfight, and all I get are pandas?"

"Thats capitalism. Its not my fault you have an inadequate government and debauched populace. Two male pandas, thats all."

"Male pandas? Two male pandas? Thats not fair, I can't even breed them and release their offspring into protected bamboo groves." Gore pouted. Castro merely shrugged.

"This is not my problem. We could send one male and one female, if you'll recruit footsoldiers for a communist uprising here in America. And you can design your own commune." Castro pulled the biggest cigar Gore had ever seen from his pocket.

"And if I don't?" Gore asked, trying not too look too eager. A commune of his very own! It would be poetic justice, since the original idea for the modern commune had, of course-

"We'll kill you," Castro said, simply, puffing out a ring of thick smoke.

"I see your point, and I suppose I can work with you on this matter." Castro smiled.

"Yes, we thought you'd decide that. You may select which landfill you want to re purpose for your commune, and begin building your bamboo groves. But first, would you take a souvineer photo of us?"