There were no parades or cheering crowds for Jimmy when he returned home. A nation that once celebrated its ex-Presidents now spat on them and denounced them as inflation mongers and job killers. No matter how many homes he built, no matter how much he trashed America and cozied up to dictators, he could not make the demons go away. One demon in particular he held particularly responsible for his problems. One demon still haunted him more than a decade later: the swamp rabbit that attacked him that fateful day, April 20, 1979: Killer Swampee. Jimmy knew that one day they would meet again.
May 13, 1990, was a day like any other day for Jimmy. That is, until he stepped out his backdoor and found himself transported back to hell. Killer Swampee had found him. But this time Jimmy was ready. He lifted his shotgun and took dead aim. “Wait!” he thought, “did Killer Swampee really deserve to be filled with birdshot? He was after all, the product of an unjust society.” “My God”, thought Jimmy, “Am I turning into Dick Cheney? I think I’ll just sting him and scare him away.” BLAMMM! BLAMMM! BLAMMM!
Rosalyn raced to him, “Jimmy! Jimmy! What are you doing!?!”
“Is he dead? Did I kill that wascally killer swamp wabbit? I only meant to sting him.”
“Killer swamp rabbit? What are you talking about Jimmy? You just blew away your sisiter-in-law's cat.”
“What? Really? I guess I better make up a story and write her an apology.”