Iverson's Vision Quest Chapter 15

Chapter 15  To read the story from the beginning, click on the cute picture of Iverson to the right of this post. The post won't make much sense if you don't know what came before.


     "This is the hero who saved my life," said Trump, throwing his arms around Thomas like a long-lost brother, while Iverson hid from view in Thomas's pocket.
     "But the terrorists  . . . Where is everyone?" The rest of the National Guardsmen were dumbfounded.
     So, like a dummy, Trump had called out the National Guard, the Blue Angels, the NY SWAT team, etc., etc., for no good reason. How embarrassing! "Gone," he said gesturing into the air and shaking his head.  "When this brave man broke into the room, they knew they had lost, and they blew themselves up. Their remains lie buried somewhere in all this debris." You have to admit it. The guy can act.
     Shortly thereafter, Thomas walked out of the penthouse with Iverson still in his pocket.
     "Shall we grab a brewsky or two?" suggested Thomas.
     "Certainment," (Certainly) said Iverson.
     Several brewskies later, Iverson became quite talkative. "In my family before a boy can truly call himself a man, he must go alone into the woods, there to wait for a vision - a sign that points out his way in the world and the meaning to his existence. But I have failed as a seeker of wisdom. I have seen no vision, and I long in vain for home - for my home - for my Canadian trees. They stand so tall you can climb until your head touches the Heavens. And the Rockies never lose their snowy hats, even on the hottest summer day, and when the sun sets it's as if the sky has exploded with wine and berries. And the birds - the geese and hawks and eagles and songbirds - they're all my friends and I know them and I honk and whistle and chirp to them, and when we ride the breezes together, it's as if the earth is playing catch with us and we are her beanbags.
     "And mon pere, et ma mere," (my mother and father) Here Iverson blew his nose loudly on his shirt sleeve. "My family, my home!"
     Weeping softly, Iverson broke into song. "Oh, Canada, my home and native land."



Still a work of fiction.

Iverson's Vision Quest Chapter 14

Chapter 14
 To read from the beginning, click on the cute picture of Iverson to the right of this post. (This won't make any sense if you don't know what happened before.)

     "Sacre nom de Dieux, " (sacred name of God) breathed Iverson.
     "Oh, you speak Italian," said Thomas.
     Iverson nervously eyed that front wall. 'Peut etre, a diversion,' thought Iverson and succeeded in pouring a pool of blackberry Jell-o just outside of the penthouse.
     The room stilled. Durst settled. As Trump timidly removed his muzzle - I mean his gas mask - Thomas looked at Iverson in wonder and smiled.
     "Enchante," said Iverson, "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."
     "Thomas also bowed. "Would you like some salami and foot cheese," he asked and  pulled a snack out of his pocket. A bond instantly formed between fairy and National Guardsman.
     "Peut etre," said Iverson, stuffing a largish hunk of the salami into his mouth, "we could get away from here and discuss le pax - the peace." And as a gesture of good will, Iverson removed the pointed nose and ears from Trump replacing them with Trump's pre-incident features.
     Sure," said Thomas. "These combat boots are killing my toes."
     Iverson tried to return Trump's hair to what it had been, but his magic wasn't powerful enough, and Trump ended up - to this day as far as I know - with a bad toupee glued to his head.
     Moments later, the front wall collapsed and dozens of Guardsmen poured into the room.

Again - this is a work of fiction.

Iverson's Vision Quest Chapter 13

Chapter 13

To read from the beginning, click on the cute picture of Iverson to the right of this post.

The first object to enter Trump's apartment was the butt of a rifle belonging to private first class Thomas Glimme, followed, shortly thereafter, by Thomas Glimme himself, all one hundred and eighteen pounds of him. Iverson had enough presence to conjure up a Photo-Hut sized boulder which completely blocked the doorway behind private Glimme, keeping the rest of the guard out of the penthouse, at least temporarily. Thomas squinted. Dust and smoke still hung in the air.  Shrapnel, crushed pottery, and pieces of furniture covered the floor. 'Like the morning after a really good party,' thought Thomas, surveying the scene. He looked under the remains of the desk and caught sight of the possum-my DT wearing what appeared to be a muzzle, alternately bellowing and crying next to an enormous butterfly-like creature in camouflage tentatively removing a gas mask from his face.
     Thomas's orders were to shoot to kill anyone not fitting the description Donald Trump, and possum-man certainly didn't. And he figured that Iverson was some weird new biological weapon of mass destruction, but Thomas was also a biologist, and couldn't bring himself to destroy these specimens.
     Meanwhile rifle butts and combat boots were crashing through the front wall of the penthouse."


This is a work of fiction.
Also, Chapter 12 has a huge oops in it. I repeated a couple of paragraphs. If you're confused, I've fixed it, and you can read it correctly (I hope.)

Iverson's Vision Quest - Chapter 12

Chapter 12  To read the beginning, click on the cute picture of Iverson (the fairy) to the right of this post.


The ten minutes passed in a twinkling.
     "Commence firing," ordered Burk. Leading the attack, he lobbed a couple of smoke bombs through a window into the room.  Trump scrambled under his desk. A round of sub-machine gun fire followed. Trump's cherished sculptures crashed to the floor in bits. Paintings fell. One of the bullets hit the rim of the chalice knocking it over and freeing Iverson. His wings were crumpled, his back was scrunched, and his pointy hat was now pointy in several new angles, but he was fundamentally okay. Then he took a breath and his lungs protested, with squeaky spasms of gasping and coughing against the cloud of toxic gas, and his eyes burned as if scratched by hawk talons. The magic spell he needed was new and strange to Iverson, but he was able to manufacture a mini gas mask to protect his eyes and lungs from the stinging, choking smoke.
    "Sacre nom de Dieu," ("sacred name of God") said Iverson to himself, surveying the disaster scene. Trump's bed, desk, dresser, and TV had been hit. Sparks from the dying television threatened to send the living room up in smoke. Trump was hugging the floor of his penthouse crying and trying to breathe. It had started as a joke - just a harmless prank. How had everything gotten so out of hand? Iverson felt a sudden unexpected pang of guilt for his part in causing the invasion, and he tried to make a gas mask for the Donald to wear until the peppery gas cleared away.
     Then he remembered the rain dance his adopted grandfather had taught him. "Hey, wey, ey, ey, hey, wey, ey, ey," he chanted while waving his arms in the air high over his head and hopping on one foot - three hops on his lift foot and six hops on the right. A light mist began to collect over Iverson's head which grew into a drizzling rain that filled the penthouse and began to knock the tear gas out of the air.
     And while the helicopters continued to shell the Donald's suite from the air, foot soldiers from the National Guard began swarming into Trump Tower from the street. Concerned that the elevators could be booby trapped, the troops climbed the emergency staircase up to Trump's apartment. Periodically, they noticed what could be suspicious activity, and shot off a round of fire just in case.




 



This is a work of fiction (in case you were wondering).
     

Iverson's Vision Quest - Chapter 11

Chapter 11 - Click on the cute picture of the fairy Iverson to the right of this post to read the beginning of the story.

And so began the ill-fated invasion of Trump Tower.

Helicopter pilot Leo Burk was first to report in. "No sign of Trump," he said, "I see only one terrorist - a strange man - Caucasian average height and build - with pronounced ears and nose, and a truly terrible toupee. Other terrorists are probably somewhere inside hiding. I'm now commencing hostage negotiations."
     And with that Burk brought the bull horn to his face. "Ahoy, terrorist," he said, "you are completely surrounded. Resistance is futile." (He'd always wanted to say that.) "Place your weapons on the table slowly and walk over to the window. Keep your hands in plain sight at all times."
     It took Donald Trump several minutes to realize that the man was talking to him. "I'm no terrorist, you Dunderhead," he said.
     "What have you done with Trump?" asked Burk.
     "I AM Trump," said DT and he started to explain that the terrorist in question had been sitting on his left ear, and was now buzzing around inside of a chalice on top of his computer, but realized that if he went that route someone might think he was crazy.
     "How many of you are there?"
     "All a mistake," whimpered Trump suddenly frightened by all the helicopters. "No threat to national security." Maybe he HAD overreacted.
     "That's what they all say," said Burk. Why should I believe you, you sicko terrorist bastard?"
     "But I'm the one who called you."
    "If you think you're Donald Trump, you're eve more twisted, sick and misguided than I first gave you credit for. I'll give you ten minutes - five minutes to release DT and five minutes for you and your friends to give yourselves up - or else me and my pals here, well, we'll just teach you what it means to mess with the good old U. S. of A."



This is a work of fiction.  (No Duh!)