CIA agent Deltoid P. Hamsterlicker entered his superior officer's office with a feeling of dread. He hated the assignments that his boss gave him, because they usually involved things he hated to do, such as get coffee for visitors, or fill out forms to requisition $60,000 paperclips.
Deltoid looked around the office. Pictures of every Republican President since Abraham Lincoln lined the walls. Rush Limbaugh was playing on the radio. A foam model of Jimmy Carter's head sat in a corner with knives sticking out of it. Behind a desk, directly under the only light in the dark grey room, sat Hamstring Q. Formica.
"Deltoid, sit down," said Hamstring, indicating with his hand that Deltoid should sit down. Deltoid sat down. "Good, Deltoid. You're a good man with a proud name. That's why I have chosen you for a very special assignment."
"Sorry; the cafeteria is out of donuts," said Deltoid.
"Not that assignment, Delt. I'm refering to the best thing a Republican can do for this country."
Deltoid felt a chill run through him. This may have been because the air conditioning has propelled the temperature in the room down to 45 degrees Fahrenheit. "Uhhhh," began Deltoid uncertainly, "what assignment?"
"Deltoid, I want you to kill the President."
"Bill Clinton?" blurted Deltoid.
Hamstring looked thoughtful. "Yeah, you better kill him, too."
An hour later, Deltoid was on an airplane headed for Philadelphia, home of the greatest baseball team on Earth, where the President was going to give a speech later in the day. With shocking bitterness, Deltoid realized he was torn between his sense of duty and his sense of right and wrong. He had never disobeyed a direct order from Hamstring Q. Formica, and he really didn't want to now, but he very much doubted that he'd be able to shoot the Clintons. His mind kept putting him in Lee Harvey Oswald's place, but before Jack Ruby could shoot him, his mind would switch over to the Green Acres theme song. It occured to him, not for the first time, that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't too stable mentally. It probably had to do with getting picked on all the time for his name, all day, every day, non-stop until he just couldn't take it anymore, and he brought a gun to the high school he attended, Charles Manson Public High School, and shot everybody who had ever made fun of him, and then he escaped, and now it was happening again, and he was going to kill the President and her husband, and suddenly he was in handcuffs, and Jack Ruby was in front of him, and GREEEEEEEEEN ACRES IS THE PLACE TO BE, FAAAAAAAAAARM LIVIN' IS THE LIFE FOR ME...
Deltoid shook his head. Green Acres couldn't help him now. Only he could help him. He had a choice to make. He could shoot the President, and his life would he over, or he could spare the President, and Hamstring, good friend that he was, would kill him.
He simply had no idea what to do.
Little did he know that he wouldn't have to make a decision.
The airplane, in a typical example of aviation safety, landed within Philadelphia city limits in the center of the Delaware River. Deltoid clung to a piece of wreckage. Being unable to swim, he had to wait until the debris reached the shoreline. Once it did, he walked over some sand and some frogs with more than the standard four limbs and into the heart of the city.
It could be said that the plane crash was the first omen that forces beyond his control were working against him. What happened next could be said to be the second omen.
As Deltoid was walking down a sidewalk in downtown Philadelhia, he became aware of an alrming fact: his clothes were shrinking. Apparently, the synthetics in his suit were reacting to the pollution in the river. Deltoid raced into a warehouse and looked for something to change into. What he found might be called the third omen.
In a box, he found a pair of jeans that were exactly his size and a shirt that said, in bright red letters,
STOP ME! I'M GOING TO KILL PRESIDENT CLINTON AND HER HUSBAND!
Sighing, he switched into the other clothes. After changing, he noticed his suit had shrunk to the size of Barbie doll clothes. Trying to put the incident behind him, he hurried on his way.
At one point, he got lost. Looking around desperately, he saw an envelope taped to a wall. He opened it and read the note:
The map was very detailed. Deltoid followed it to a book depository. He followed the directions to a room far above ground level. Several guns were provided. Looking out the window, Deltoid could easily see the stage where Bill Clinton was giving a speech.
Drawing a shaky breath, Deltoid lifted the huge gun, aimed it, and thought to himself, "GREEEEEEEEEN ACRES IS..."
Then, through an unbelievable coincidence, everything worked out fine.
Far above the planet Earth, two orbiting satellites crashed into each other, and the wreckage fell to Earth. One of the pieces smashed into the wall beside Deltoid. The impact spilled some bottles of ink onto a blank paper and so startled Deltoid that he dropped the gun, which conveniently fell out the window into a trash compactor and was destroyed. Deltoid examined the paper and saw that, incredibly, the ink had fallen in exactly the pattern necessary to imitate the proper legal documents to have a person's name changed. Deltoid saw that the papers legally changed his name to "Jonathan A. Smith." Deltoid left the building, moved to Montana, and became a millionaire farming dental floss. Nobody ever picked on him because of his name again.
Another piece of the wreckage fell in nearby Washington DC and crashed through the roof of Hamstring Q. Formica's office, hitting him on the head. He never had another violent thought.
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
(I'm not sure why that's the moral, except that I couldn't think of anything else.)