CONTROVERSIAL JACK AND THE FALL OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION
                 
                                Part Seven : The Definitive Jack
                                By Spencer Cody

                (Controversial Jack Created by Yves Belanger)

                                        *       *       *

     The room was flooded with horrified facial expressions and
startled gasps. Journalists, reporters, teamsters, and various
associates of the media had just been exposed to an awful
revelation - they were about to become big game in a number of
days. Who knew how many crazy hicks would hunt them down with
large caliber rifles and place their stuffed, surprised looking
heads on a plaque over ratty couches where the whole family would
regularly sit down to drink beer as they watched Jerry Springer?
Maybe they wouldn't have to know. At that moment, the grinning
figure at the head of the blandly colored press hall felt
something unusual. A pang, or a twinge, if you will. This, of
course, was not irregular in the slightest with this character -
such events that could be described as pangs or twinges elapsed
an exorbitant number of times in the individual's mind on any
given day. The actual oddity of this case was what the pang (or
twinge) brought with it. It was a feeling of remorse. For the
first time in years,     Jack Lysias had an actual rational
thought. It initially sent him reeling. Backing away from the
spotlight, he clasped his head with both hands in what appeared
to be excruciating pain, letting out a milk curdling scream.
Formerly apprehensive, the now bewildered audience stared at
their president with looks of utter confusion. After 5 seconds of
writhing in extreme pain, Jack snapped back into his own special
brand of sanity wearing a grin he had seldom displayed before.
Stepping back up to the podium, he began to speak in a jovial,
booming tone that would have made Michael Buffer cry. 

     "Ha ha, fear not good citizens! I was merely joshing!"
     The predictable throng was stunned. 
     "I feel a little flamboyant humor is needed once in a
while," he boldly understated.
     "You know, just to retain our country's morale in these
formal, PC days." He was actually wearing Bermuda shorts at the
time.
     "You called this press conference just as a farce? Just to
waste our time?" Several disenchanted reporters cried out.
Without even a flinch, Jack replied
     "Yep." 
     The crowd exploded with rage. The yelling and shouting and
fires could have shaken almost any authority figure but our hero.

     "Look at the bright side of the issue! You're not actually
going to be hunted or made to wear labels!" A general hum of
agreement spread throughout the room. Hand shaking, Jack grasped
the cool, moist glass of water off the podium and took a large,
nervous swig. Even the faithful VP Mr. Duck could tell something
about his friend was out of touch from his lofty perch. He became
inwardly concerned. Anne was, as well. She was viewing the
conference from a TV in the White/Purple house. She would
normally most definitely have no qualms with her brother's
behavior normalizing. However, it happened so fast she was
alarmed. Jack placed the water glass back down and continued.
     
     "Unfortunately, it also means the cancellation of IRS
hunting season as well," he said with a small chuckle. A few
hands shot up.
     "Yes, you there."
     "Does this announcement mean that all your outlandish
declarations in previous meetings were jokes as well?" In the
brief moment of contemplation Jack was giving this question, he
finally realized something was wrong, and felt a strong wave of
anxiety wash over himself.
     "No comment," he mumbled into a microphone for the first
time ever. Cradling Mr. Duck in his arm, he quickly left the
stage, much to the surprise of the gathered media. 

                         *       *       *

     Later that night, Jack sat alone in a dark, silent
president's bedroom. Even Mr. Duck was not present (he and Anne
were out with signing treaties with 3rd world nations). Jack was
truly worried. He had acted very strangely today. In all his
previous conferences, he had managed to shatter constitutional
rights of people left and right, without persecution, even (no
one was about to waste their time to check)! Jack was delving
deep into his mind to discover the cause of the change. He
eventually fell asleep in a rather uncomfortable position, but
was too absorbed to notice...

[In his youth, there were happy times. A loving family, high
middle-class environment, plenty of friends... He was
exceptionally well behaved and a child genius as well... 90% of
the time. There was the rare occasion in which he would do
something irregular of his character. Random acts of mindless
violence, although very brief. Graffiti, setting fires to
objects, M-80s in school toilets, just to name a few instances.
This was Jack's subconscious self, his Id. It had natural evil
tendencies, for unexplainable reasons. The incidents were very
sporadic so Jack, the Ego, was never really punished badly. Over
the years, his parents separated. This severed most ties with
relatives, so no one could really monitor Jack or Anne. When they
were 16 and 15 respectively, their mother died, and their father
was long gone to a life of professional curling. All their
mother's money was left to them, and they received government
assistance. Due to Jack's intelligence and leadership abilities,
they were not forced to go to an orphanage, or live with their
bingo-playing aunts and uncles. They just lived independently in
the house they were born in. 

The next year, Jack began going to the local college and was
doing very well. Anne was cruising through High School, too.
Everything was perfectly fine, until that day of Jack's accident.
He was joyriding his motorcycle around town. While speeding
through an intersection, a woman suddenly appeared in his path.
He swerved to avoid collision just in time, but fell off of his
bike and slammed his head on the ground. He was rushed to the
hospital where he stayed in a coma for seven days, with a worried
Anne by his side. Then one lunchtime, he instantly reanimated and
was in what appeared to be in a hysterical mood. Instead of
having severe brain damage as the doctor thought he would, a
phenomenon occurred. His Ego actually switched places with his
illogical Id, which then became his primary state of mind. He had
no clear memory of any events before the crash, but was able to
relate with important figures to him and personal information. No
psychiatrist could figure out his special case, it had not been
previously encountered. He had to discontinue going to college,
and Anne had to take care of him for some amount of time. He
eventually got jobs (with help from 'disability' programs) which
allowed him to support Anne and himself. This tragic story sums
up most of what happened before he met Mr. Duck.]

Jack awoke with a start. Wiping the saliva dripping from his
mouth, he finally realized what took place at the news
conference. What was left of his logical mind was advising him
not to continue with the earlier conference, for his position
would be compromised. The pain was caused by the Ego breaking out
of its long period of dormancy. It was all clear now! To prevent
the thinking from happening again, he had to stuff his Ego into
the little box at the back of his mind! His Id would then reign
supreme as it should, being the dominant personality. Coming to
this startling realization, Jack sprung off of his king size
vibrating waterbed (with duck sheets).

"I am the true Controversial Jack! No one can rival my
controversial power, for it is infinite!!!" He proclaimed this
loudly, receiving a great deal of satisfaction. And a really
weird look from the cleaning lady, but he was feeling too great
to notice. 
"It's time to pick up where I left off," he said to himself as he
rushed out of the room.

                         *       *       *

Jack was sternly sitting at his desk with a burning determination
within himself. He would maintain and even improve his
controversial aura by thinking of even bigger and better
controversial things to do. He was stumped. He sat staring at a
gold plated pen on his desk. Hoping to formulate a plan of action
from it, he attempted to bend the pen with his mind. Much to his
surprise, he did after a few seconds of staring at it with really
squinted eyes. 
     "Dammit! I should have used plastic," he yelled out as he
picked up the broken gold pieces and deposited them in the trash.
Small potatoes, he thought, forgetting his abundant mental energy
in the process. Just then Ms. Jane swayed his way into the
office.
     "How are you doing, Jane?" He called out.
     "Oh, pretty good," he said as he wobbled in his beige pumps.
     "What have you been up to lately? Any tomfoolery that I
could steal ideas from?" 
     "Well, I have been going to singles bars lately, waiting for
men to hit on me. They usually take me back to their homes where
I knock them out with a tire iron and steal their possessions.
Worked three times this month, already!" 
     Jack stroked his beardless chin as he thought about this.
     "Yes...That is rather controversial...But a little too
complex to execute easily. Argh! I was so close to something
big." Ms. Jane interrupted.
     "Oh yes, I came to tell you that we have a problem. A
prosecutor named Kenneth Starr is out to get you. He thinks that
there's something going on between the two of us, sexually!" Jack
didn't hear that part, he was already doubled over in laughter,
tears streaming from his eyes.
     "Wahahahahhahaaha!! Kenneth! What's the frequency Kenneth!?
Hee hee hee..."
     "Yeah, it is a stupid name," Ms. Jane continued. 
"But like it or not, this case is serious. Look at these
allegations he's made against you." He handed Jack a ten-page
report, which Jack promptly handed to Mr. Shredder who completed
his job dutifully.
"You have a point Ms. Jane...Return to your work and I'll think
over the issue myself." Ms. Jane strutted out of the oval office,
closing the door on his way out. The president sat quietly. 
"Kenneth Starr, eh? We'll see about that." He picked up the
receiver of his presidential phone and dialed a super-secret
four-digit number. He waited for an answer.
"*Click* Yeah?"
"Hello, A-Team?..."

                         *       *       *

Debatable Joe sat on his cot in a Washington D.C 'Best Western'.
He was pondering life, the universe and everything. But mostly
how to punish Jack for what he had done to him in the past. They
were in High School together (before Jack leapt ahead to
college), as friends. 

[One night at Joe's house, when his parents were out, he and Jack
were sitting the living room. Jack was playing a 'Colecovision'
as Joe was ordering Chinese. He must have dialed a wrong number
or something, because the sweet voice on the other end asked him
if there was anything in the world he desired. Joe, being
confused by this strange new Chinese restaurant's reception, said
he couldn't understand what the woman was saying. Suddenly, she
(who was apparently a goddess) teleported to the house to grant
Joe's one wish. Recovering from the shock, he was about to
request she become his permanent girlfriend, just as Jack chimed
in a query for McDonalds' food. Joe reminded him that it was
indeed his own wish. Jack began to question Joe's moral regard,
if he was he going to use this girl just to fulfill his wildest
fantasies. Caught by complete surprise, Joe was coaxed into
saying no under Jack's persuasion. The wish was granted in the
form of 'happy meals' (what a waste), and the goddess instantly
disappeared...]

     Debatable Joe thought about this everyday. His 'friend' shot
down his one-and-only chance at eternal happiness. Before he went
insane. The damage Jack has the ability to cause is immeasurable.
It was all by Joe's planning that allowed his former acquaintance
to become the president, through careful rigging of the election.
It was all to completely shatter his image by later causing a sex
scandal of gigantic proportions. The only problem now was that
Jack was still president with an approval rating above 30%, and
he and Kenneth Starr hadn't been seeing completely eye to eye.
What could he do?...

                         *       *       *

     "Well, I'm glad to see you've beaten your cancer, Mr. T!"
Jack said.
     "Shu'up, foo! No damn cancer takes down Mr. T! Fo'get the
jibba jabba an' cut to tha chase!"
     "I have an 'assassination' mission for you. I want you to
kill this man and dispose of his body." Jack handed Mr. T a
picture he had received from Ms. Jane.
     "His name is Kenneth Starr, and he's a government
prosecutor. He's trying to get me out of the office, and we both
know that isn't happening."
     "Where can I find this suckah?"
     "He resides around the middle-class of the city, in no
definite location. He should be relatively easy to locate,
however." Mr. T tore up the picture.
     "Wha' in it fo' me, foo?"
     "I propose a sum of $500 000 be paid to you and all the milk
you can drink as well. I also have a future job for you to do
when you complete this one."
     "Souns' good. When ya wan' me ta start?"
     "Now is good. Depart at will, Mr. T!" Mr. T left. His
booming footsteps could be heard all the way to the White/Purple
house door. Jack mentally reverted from 'serious business speak'
to his default mode. 
     "He is helluva tough, alright," he mumbled to himself.

                         *       *       *

     Ken Starr exited a Starbucks and kept a swift walking pace
down the street. He was thinking of even more potential cases to
embark on. Anything could be a target for his critical eye. Even
the scalding coffee he was holding. If you've ever wondered why
Starr is such a bastard, consider this: anyone named Kenneth has
the right to at least some personal angst. I mean, c'mon, what
the hell were his parents thinking?! Were they deranged? Anyway,
he was too caught up in his thoughts to realize a Black custom
van with a red racing stripe speedily approached the curb behind
him. He only turned around as a very large and muscular black man
with a 'demi-mohawk' began to thunder after him. He was
immediately grabbed and shoved into a dank alley without
explanation.
     "What is the meaning of this!?"
     "You Ken Starr?"
     "I am, and I'm going charge you with high assault and
battery!
     "Shu'up foo," Mr. T yelled as he headbutted the weak man in
the face. Blood was instantly streaming down his face.
     "Ughhhhhhhhhhh..."
     "It ovah fo' you, suckah!" Mr. T then punched him in the
chest with great strength. He collapsed on the ground very
limply. Prosecutor Starr was dead (hurrah). Just then, a brightly
colored, very badly animated cartoonish figure hobbled into the
alley.
     "Oh my god, he killed Kenny!" It loudly exclaimed. Mr. T
quickly appeared nearby and punched it out.
     "Shu'up, foo!"

                         *       *       *

     "Mr. T, you've done your job even more effectively than I
dreamed! You sure are helluva tough! Here, have some milk," Jack
offered. He accepted and heartily chugged it down.
     "Damn, suckah, that some cold milk! You got my money?" Jack
placed a brown attaché case on the desk.
     "All $500 000 accounted for. Your next job will be to gather
some elite forces and take down the other thorns in my side: the
'cult of Armageddon' and the 'Illuminati'. Your reward will be
significantly more elaborate this time. I'm thinking a 'Mr. T
monument' near the Washington one, actually. In the mean time, go
fix up your van something nice!"
     "Souns' good, foo. I'll see you t'morrow." Mr. T stomped out
of the room. 
     "Helluva tough," Jack repeated to himself. He called into
the intercom.
     "Ms. Jane, any news?"
     "Yes, Mr. Duck and Anne have returned from Uganda. Anything
else?"
     "Nope. Just checking. Thanks." He switched the device off.
There was an unsettling pause.
     "That's it!! I have a completely controversial idea!" He
grabbed his presidential stationary and rapidly scribbled down
notes. There was going to be something interesting coming this
Christmas...

                         *       *       *

     At the front gate of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, a lone figure
braved the ongoing storm around her. The rain was really coming
down hard. Lightning struck across the sky. 
     "Jack..." The mysterious woman gasped. Lightning flashed
once again, revealing the identity of this lost soul.
     "I've finally arrived..." The slowly rotating head of Imelda
Marcos finally moved into view.

                         *       *       *

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