Note: More than a year overdue, my apologies.

"Shopping.... Shopping.... Yes...."

Sideshow Pip strolled down the random Manhattan Avenue whistling well... the author isn't sure what exactly he's whistling. Probably a mix of some 19th Century Russian Composer and..... 50 Cent? Yeesh, have some taste Pip. Pip's feet skipped off of the pavement as he twirled around with a few large plastic shopping bags in his hands. Dumb move, because the British man bumped face first into a very, very, very large man, who, despite the rather affluent surroundings, was wearing a wife beater and a pair of ripped jeans. Clutched in the large man's fist was a bottle of vodka, half consumed.

"Oh.... damn...." thought Pip. Pip didn't have time to think about anything else really, because the very, very, very large man smashed him across the head with his vodka bottle screaming,

"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING YOU EUROTRASH F***ER!"

Pip reeled back under the blow. In a flash, he withdrew a huge butcher's knife from his greatcoat (which he was wearing, despite the fact that it was May), and jammed it right into the large man's abodmen, sinking the weapon up to its hilt. This didn't work, because of the deep layers of fat around the man's abdomen. In response Pip recieved a blow to the face which literally sent him flying. Pip slammed into the nearest wall.

"Bloody 'ell mate..." spat Pip as he staggered to his feet. A small crowd of rubberneckers had already gathered around the fight. After all, they were raised on TV violence and as such, loved real violence even more.

The large man lunged again. Pip simply sidestepped him this time, withdrawing the knife still stuck in his opponent's abdomen. Before the man could turn around, Pip jammed the knife into the back of his neck. There was a thudding sound as the man's limp body hit the floor.

Pip wiped off the blood on the man's jeans and picked up the bags he dropped. Unfortunately for him, the police chose to arrive just at that time. Four squad cars of them to be exact.

"Down on the ground, NOW!" shouted an officer as he pointed his M4 carbine at Pip. American policemen were getting rather aggressive recently, especially with all these random terrorist threats. The policeman got Pip firmly within his sights, while three other policemen approached Pip.

"Hands on the back of your head!"

Pip immediately obeyed the command. Two policemen moved up to place handcuffs on him.

"You're gettin' a bit too close 'ere..." Pip could already feel the icy cold cuffs touching his wrist when he acted. He slapped the officer's hands to the side, knocking away the handcuffs, and exposing his gun, which Pip drew from its holster in a heartbeat. The officer to the other side of Pip fired, hitting the officer whose weapon Pip had stolen in the chest. Pip responded by shooting the firing officer between the eyes, then shooting the third officer in the throat.

The officer with the carbine popped off a few rounds in Pip's general direction, with one of the 5.56mm bullets tearing through his greatcoat.

"ARGH! You rat bastard! That's pure child labor sheared wool!" yelled Pip as he shot the policeman in the head twice.

Seeing that the coast was clear for now, Pip ran into the carbineer's car, grabbed the dead policeman's weapons and floored it. The squad car shot off, leaving the crowd dazed, and the mass media with one more piece of "action news" to report.

~*~*~~

"WHAT THE F**K?!!!" the President threw a priceless glass vase in the general direction of his Bad News Reporting Guy. The Bad News Reporting guy ducked the vase. Bad News Reporting Guys always had to be good at ducking or dodging, otherwise, they wouldn't survive for long. President Offenheimer's reaction was mild compared to what Reagan did with his Bad News Reporting Guys (throw golf clubs at them), Clinton (try to toss them into spiked pits), or the Bushes (shoot at them).

"Yes... it's true. Sideshow Pip was spotted in America... He killed four policemen in New York City and got away. Our intelligence has no idea where he is.... Please don't throw anything else..."

"I won't throw anything else...." The President pulled a .357 Magnum from his desk and pulled the trigger, the BNRG dodged the bullet.

"Well... anyway... I'll be off now..." the BNRG ran out of the Oval Office as fast as his pudgy, middle-aged legs could carry him.

The President brushed a few strands of his long blond hair out of his face and picked up the phone on his desk.

"Call up the head of Homeland Security.... What do you mean he's in the Caymans.... JUST F**KING FIND HIM..."

The President sighed. He needed a beer. Badly. But, getting drunk on the job, no matter how badly needed, is usually seen as inappropriate, especially by tourists inside the White House.

Of course, the foreigners think we're drunk bible thumping homophobes already, how else can America damage its image?

Something inside President Offenheimer's head told him that he never should have asked that question....