Ms Jenny was worried. Her damsel in distress performance hadn’t caught the attention of the right crowd. “Pretty Woman” wasn’t about her and Roy Orbison was long gone. She had no heir to the throne and the only suitor around was the Duke of Mare Terrible. A most unpleasant man. He had sworn to marry Ms Jenny regardless of her opinion of the subject.
She put on “Pretty Woman” for the fifth time that evening. In her imagination she was strolling down the sidewalk in a dashing dress while the “right” crowd was head over heels in love with her. Suddenly the dream was broken because Belly-Ann entered on the scene. It took her a few seconds to roundup Ms Jenny’s admirers and off they went. Ms Jenny pitched a fit a stormed out of the room to stir up some controversy in the strategy room. Why haven’t we invaded any countries this year? she demanded. The generals cleared their tobacco ridden voices. My lady, your last little war forced us into a humiliating peace treaty with the Mosestarian regime. Our Constitution is now denying us any aggression against our neighboring countries. So we have become a country of peace loving pot smoking hippies? Well, what about our industry. Taken over by the Chinese, one teapot shaped colonel informed.
Ms Jenny turned around so abruptly that her stilettos made two marks in the floor before she made her way out of the room as fast as her shoes allowed her to.
She was fuming behind her desk made of mahogany from some jungle in South America. She tried calling Captain America, both of them, but neither of them could any longer remember her, nor could they remember being Captain America. And Henry Kissinger was dead. She was brought back to reality by the ringing of the phone. She offered a weak hello. This is Henry Kissinger, the voice said. Nice try, but he’s dead, Ms Jenny said sarcastically. But I won’t lie down, the voice went on.