A blast of plutonic plasma radiates from the jaws of the massive red dragon, spewing death down to the tiny denizens of the city below. Clamping its maw, it sneers and stomps down onto a city bus with its right leg, flattening it with ease.
The dragon looks up.
"Dino, you're supposed to stomp that bus with your _left_ foot...the camera is set up to catch the shot that way," a voice in the distance says.
The dragon reaches up, pulls up at its neck, and it separates with a slight hiss, revealing a contrasting blue-green parasaur head beneath. "Sorry, Max...I just got caught up in the mood," Dino says.
The voice off-scene chuckles. "That's okay, Dino. Why don't you take five while we set it up again?"
Dino smiles and nods, grasping the long red dragon neck under his arm, stepping carefully off the miniature city set and flopping down in a director's chair. A lynx walks by and hands him a towel. "Thanks," Dino replies as he places the dragon head on the floor by his side, mopping his crest. He then looks up at the camera that's been following him.
"Hi. I'm not a dragon, but I play one on TV. And while I've got a few minutes on my claws here, let me take this opportunity to talk to you about a rather serious matter."
He shifts in his seat, and faces a different camera, shifting the viewpoint. "It's called the CDA. The Communications Decency Act. It was written by a bunch of guys who didn't know about me. You see, there are a lot of poor, mentally deficient people in Washington."
Dino's scene fades to images of various politicians in the Senate, the House, and ending with a few of the President. "It's people just like this...the very people who govern us...who are starving for intelligence. I know it's easy for you to just change the channel, but I know I can't. When I see deplorable scenes like these, it makes my heart run cold."
Dino reappears, still sitting in the studio. "But here's the worst part of all. This doesn't have to happen. We don't have to sit by, helpless, while grown men yearn for just a small scrap of intellect."
"For just two cents a day, the same price as a bubble gum ball, you can prevent scenes like this. By making your tax-deductible contributions to the Draconic Society for the Devouring of Politicians, we can eliminate this terrible situation, forever. Just think. Two cents a day...that's all it takes."
Dino fades out, and a scene of Bill Clinton and Al Gore reappear, videoconferencing with Lily Tomlin over the Internet. "And we can put an end to the horror that occurs in Washington, every day."
Dino reappears, standing beside his chair, holding his dragon head before him. "What will your two cents buy?" Swirling images of what Dino speaks of appear all around him. "You'll get personal letters from the dragons you're funding...who they've eaten...and what's more, you'll get the satisfaction of knowing you helped put a terrible disease known as mental poverty out of business."
Dino sighs a bit, donning the dragon head again. "Because it's our world. Let's keep it politician free." Smiling, he steps back onto the city set, as a voice yells "Action!"
As the red dragon flattens the city, an 800-number appears at the bottom of the screen. A deep announcer voice says, "To learn more about the DSDP that Dino spoke about, call 1-800-EAT-GORE. You'll get a full-color brochure of dragons that people just like you can sponsor. That number again--" *click*