B. Luto opened a blackened eye and growled at the phone. His head was pounding and the phone jangling in his ear did nothing to improve his mood. Bailey! Yes Sir! Bailey popped in at double time. I thought I told you to screen my calls! B. Luto shouted as he smashed one of the window screens over the hapless aide's head. This has got to stop! Get me the National Guard! The Air National Guard! Bailey waddled from the room, the screen tightly encircling his arms. Yes sir! Within an hour B. Luto and Bailey were in the air aboard a C-130, heading towards Skull Island. B. Luto was on his cell phone, calling in contingency plans. If he could not knock sense into some heads, he was prepared to call in the Marines. Sir! An Airman stood before him. We are above Skull Island now, Sir! Great. Then bring us down. Sir! We cannot land on Skull Island, Sir! The air strip is too short for us, Sir! You'll have to jump, Sir! He pointed to a row of packs stacked along one wall. Well blow me down! B. Luto stormed, none to happy. But there was naught to do but strap on a parachute and sky dive down to the island. With any luck he'd land on that pipsqueak Popeye and smoosh him good. Come on Bailey, we's got business to attend to! He jumped up and and threw on a pack. Looking back, Bailey seemed terrified at the prospect of jumping. He snarled at him again, Hurry up! Then he squared to the door just as Bailey tried to grab him and shout something into his ear. But with a heave B. Luto jumped, shouting, Geronimo! But... Sir! Bailey shouted after him, That's my laundry bag! B. Luto held out his arms and legs like he'd seen sky divers do on TV a thousand times. The wind whistled through his clothes and he found he actually enjoyed skydiving. He laughed heartily and pulled on the rip cord. The pack broke open and all manner of dirty laundry came tumbling out! He grabbed a shirt as it drifted by and clutched it desperately. Well I's been had! he bellowed. He held the shirt over his head by its tails and sleeves. It billowed out in the wind made by his fall, but did little to slow him. So he huffed and puffed great quantities of air into the shirt above him, to try and break his fall. Somehow, sky diving now seemed to be a lot less fun. -------- RC17

 
~jon
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