“Gil,” said Phil, approaching the militant crowd of philosophers and poets, “what are you doing?”
“Honestly,” said Gil, looking at the two-by-four he was carrying, “I don’t even know anymore, man.”
“Quetzalcoatl, like, he told us to kill you, man,” said Lil.
“Well, actually,” clarified Hil, scratching her head with the tire iron she was holding, “he told us that he already killed you and that we were supposed to kill him,” she pointed the tire iron at William H. Taft XLII, “and his friends.”
“Or else he’d kill us,” added Jill.
“It was just bad juju all around, man,” said Gil.
The writers and stoners and assorted other nouns standing behind the conversing members appeared to just be milling around, staring at their feet or otherwise looking confused and sad.
A few had taken the halt in marching to mean it was time to sit down and stare off into space. A few others had been doing that even before the group had stopped walking.
“Seriously?” said William H. Taft XLII, looking over the crowd. “This was your philosopher army?”
“Yep,” said Phil.
“I can’t believe you guys actually took over half the country,” said the president. “Honestly. How’d he get you guys out of your parents’ basements?”
“My mom doesn’t get around so well, man,” said Gil, a downhearted look on his face.
“Yeah,” said Lil, putting an arm around Gil, “That’s a little harsh, man.”
“We were just trying to do some good,” said Jill.
“It’s not our fault we picked a dormant Aztec god as our spiritual leader,” added Jack.
“Actually, it kind of is,” countered William H. Taft XLII.
“Well, yeah, OK,” said Hil. “But he seemed less evil earlier.”
“In our defense,” added Phil, “he was a pretty good liar.”
“Alright, well,” said William H. Taft XLII, “if you promise to drop your weapons and not kill me and my friends, I’ll apologize.”
The members at the forefront of the group acquiesced immediately, while the remainder only did so when the offer was passed back to them. Eventually, the entire philosopher army dropped its weapons, a slow-moving wave of clanks and thuds and sighs of relief.
Also, they did not kill William H. Taft XLII or his friends.
“OK, then,” said the president. “I’m sorry. I guess.”
“It’s alright, man,” said Gil.
“Yeah, it’s OK, man,” said Lil. “We forgive you.”
She took a step closer to the president, opening her arms and saying, “C’mon, let’s hug it out.”
“Do we have to?” said William H. Taft XLII.
Lil hugged him ferociously.
“See,” she said, squeezing the fat man, “doesn’t that feel good?”
“I feel so dirty.”