Dick and the gang had just finished their git’n'R-DUN GOP rally tour. They were rolling along singing dixie when Dick got a hankerin’ for some duck.

“Over there!” he snarled. The driver of the gas guzzling carbon monster swerved across two lanes of traffic and into the Tennessee thicket. Rummaging through the row of seats behind him, Dick pulled out an AK-47 with a scope.

He relit his cigar and spoke out the side of his mouth like Murdock, “Let’s get us some duck, boys”

Cronie laughter echoed out the now open windows. Woodland creatures darted left and right to avoid the stampeding mass of iron.

“Eh, eh, eh!” quacked Dick, doing his best Danny Devito penguin impression.

The barrel of the gun slid out the open window and he fired a quick round. A human scream emerged from the bush. A sandaled man in flowing blood red robes stumbled out into their path. There were holes in his hands, side, and now the top of his head was missing.

His deeply dark Arabic complexion disturbed Dick.

“Lookee, I got me a terrorist!” he cried with joy.

“Umm…sir,” said a cronie dressed in all black. He whispered into Dick’s ear gravely. Another secret service officer picked up half a crown of thorns. Dick’s eyes filled with wonder.

“How was I supposed to see him! Look, he’s black!” He looked around for support. Forced smiles surrounded him.

The mortally wounded man laid now in a pool of his own blood. Gurgling sounds came from his mouth.

Dick walked closer, still smoking his cigar — holding the smoking gun. He bent down to listen closely.

“Is this what you call a faith based program, Richard?” asked the man.

“Lousy bleeding-heart liberal.” sneered Dick. He finished off the dying man with a bullet to the chest.

“Throw him in the trunk, boys.” he said. “This is our cash cow.”

The men in black nodded.