"Remind me again why we're out here?"

Eddie van Dorn, in a visibly agitated state (and that same snazzy gray suit), is standing in front of a table. Behind the table sits Myron Schwartz, his campaign adviser. Behind Myron, strung between two poles, is a banner reading "MEET EDDIE VAN DORN" in big bold letters and "Local candidate" in slightly smaller type underneath that.

Myron removes his glasses, rubs the bridge of his nose, and sighs. "Eddie, if you really want to make a serious attempt at this... er, 'election,' you have to stump. Get out there, meet the public, and tell them what you're about."

"Oh, I know that much," Eddie nods. "I meant why are we here, specifically?"

Eddie makes a sweeping gesture with his left arm, indicating the U.S. Capitol in the background.

"Ah. That. Well," Myron begins, replacing his glasses, "That would be because, with the Independence Day Rumble occurring a stone's throw away from here, you want to appeal to the people who may have an impact on your performance. I've studied your profession a little bit since you hired me, and it seems that fan support goes a long way toward overall success."

"I still don't get the 'Local candidate' bit, though. I'm not from Washington."

"That's just a little bit of wordsmithing. The position you're 'running' for is going to have its entire constituency localized right within the national mall this weekend. The office is local, but not necessarily the candidate."

"Pretty sneaky. Oh, hey, I almost forgot!" Eddie kneels down and pulls a boom box from underneath the table. "I've decided on my campaign song. What do you think?"

The Extreme Revolutionary pounds the play button for all he's worth, and what spews forth is "Sing" by My Chemical Romance.

"Not a bad choice, considering. Is there any particular reason you chose this, though?"

Eddie nods, seemingly pleased with himself. "Absolutely. See, as much as Bruce Pepin has decided he likes screwing me over left and right, I have taken to heart one thing he's mentioned to me. Perhaps it is time I give myself a more modern slant once in awhile. But boy, did I have to look awfully hard to find a good song from the past few years. There was only one other thing I dug up that even came close to having the same feeling of personal power and triumph in the face of adversity, and damn it, I'm not about to have 'Born This Way' play around me that often."

A curious passerby approaches the table. He passes his eyes over the banner, then over van Dorn himself before starting to ask questions. "So what are you running for?"

"A couple miles or so, once a week. I prefer aerobics when it comes to my cardio work, to be honest."

"I... see." The man takes a half step back before going on. "I meant the office."

"Oh, sorry. Silly ambiguous language. I want to win the Independence Day Rumble, and I'd like to count on your support."

"The Independence Day Rumble?"

Eddie nods. "Yes. It's a big event coming up, being held by the World Wrestling Alliance. The winner receives a World title shot."

"So what makes you think you would be good for that?"

"I'm glad you asked, sir! You see, I should already have a title shot coming to me, but it's stuck in legal limbo for the time being. I'd like to cut through all that red tape and get what I deserve in a way that cannot be denied."

"How..."

"... does this apply to you, you ask?" Eddie says, presumably finishing the man's sentence for him. "Think about it. How many times in your life have you felt screwed by the system, and no matter how hard you tried to fight, you eventually get rolled over by the great bureaucratic bulldozer? Think of me as a representative, or even a pioneer. If I can manage to pull this off, what's stopping the rest of you?"

"Hmm..." This guy is obviously thinking pretty carefully. Or at least pretending to. "You know something? I don't really watch wrestling, but we all feel like we're just cogs in the machine once in awhile. I'd vote for you."

At this, Eddie offers his hand and seals the conversation with a shake. After the potential supporter leaves, Myron smiles appreciatively.

"You did good there, kid. You told the people... or, in this case, person... what they wanted to hear, and you did so very convincingly."

"It helps when you actually believe what you're saying," the recently-thirtysomething athlete muses. "Now this guy may be a bit more of a challenge."

Up walks a man, most likely in his early twenties. Much like the older gentleman before him, he is taken aback by the sudden appearance of the makeshift booth right in front of a federal building. He is also wearing a Spooky Doom t-shirt. In short, he has all the looks of a smark. He almost walks right by the table, but stops when he looks at Eddie.

"Oh shit! You're THAT Eddie van Dorn?"

"Are there any others I should know about?"

"No way, man! I'm a big fan."

"Hey, thanks!" Eddie beams. "What's your name, young voter?"

"Drake Cashman, but my friends just call me Money."

"Considering where you seem to live, I'm surprised they don't call you D.C."

"And if they enjoy unkicked testicles, they never will. I hate cutesy, cliche crap like that," Drake grouses.

"Well, Drake," Eddie says, placing a hand on the lad's shoulder, "I trust I can count on your support in the IDR in a few days, since you're such a big fan and everything."

"Oh, no can do, dude." Drake calmly removes Eddie's hand from his person. "See, I've already got a couple horses in that match. It's a long shot, but I'd personally love to see Showtime win. And if not him, well..." He gestures toward his t-shirt.

Eddie van Dorn looks slightly perturbed, but recovers quickly. "That's understandable. We all have our favorites. Personally, I can't get enough of Showtime, either. But that doesn't mean I'm just going to sit idly by and let someone else take what was rightfully mine to begin with. You see, Drake, we all have things that we fight for, whether they be physical or ephemeral. Fame, glory, honor, fun and, yes, even cold hard cash. When we find that thing, we cling to it. Me? I fight for retribution. Have you ever had anything taken away from you, Drake?"

"Yeah. My scholarship."

"And did you just roll over and let it happen?"

"Hell no! I fought that tooth and nail for months! I still say they couldn't prove that weed was mine."

"It's a shame I'm only running for Rumble winner, because I do support legalization." Eddie coughs slightly, then shrugs. "But that's not important right now. What is important is that I still have the chance to get back what was taken from me. So in light of that, can I count on your support?"

Drake looks lost in thought. "Tell you what. If Showtime doesn't win, and you're not the guy that eliminates him, I'll back you."

"I can settle for that. Enjoy the rest of your day, citizen."

Myron stands up and walks around to the front side of the table. "You're quite a bit better at this than I thought. You have a real gift for reading people. Tell me, what do you think of following in the footsteps of a few other people in your business and getting into real politics after you retire? You are thirty now, you could be a senator."

"Ah, I don't know..." Eddie begins dismissively, "That whole senate thing isn't my scene. Representative, maybe."

"I don't think so," states a nearby voice. A bald, grey-haired man in glasses walks down the steps of the Capitol, approachingSchwartz and van Dorn, none too pleased with their stumping.

"Do I know you?" Eddie queries.

"If you have any interest in the world around you, you should."

"Ah. That would be no, then."

The older man starts to turn a little red in the face. "I am Steven Pearce, the U.S. representative from New Mexico's 2nd district."

Dead silence.

"The district that Truth or Consequences is in?"

"Oh! I think I may have voted for you at some point, but I wasn't really paying attention. Sometimes I think that's how a lot of people get elected."

Pearce shakes his head. "I'm going to cut to the chase here. We'd like you to pack up your things and go. You're impeding progress."

"Actually, I'm impeding Congress, which is quite the opposite."

"What?" Steven sputters.

"But I'll tell you what, sir..." Eddie says flatly. "If I can get the support of you and your fellow Congressmen and women, I will have committed a huge coup and maybe, just maybe, have everything I need to perform adequately in my coming match. Which means I'll be able to call it quits for the day. And besides, I know you politicians always like to cater to special interest groups, and no one's more interesting or more special than me!"

"Fine. If it will get you to stop blocking the Capitol steps, we'll pay you that lip service. Now please vacate the premises."

The Congressman turns on his heels and stalks his way back into the building. Once he's gone, Myron turns to Eddie.

"So what do we do now?"

Eddie pauses for a few moments.

"Myron... this is the 21st Century. What we do now is take our message to the internet. To the cyber cafe!"

The Extreme Revolutionary points dramatically off into the distance. He remains in this pose for quite some time before realizing they still need to clean up the area. The candidate and his adviser get busy gathering up the table, poles, banner and radio before walking off down the pike.