As Don sits studiously writing the next portion of his future historical biography, he is engulfed by a sulfurous, but oddly pleasant in a musky manly-man sort of way, cloud. As the cloud clears he finds himself in a dark and musty cavern. Standing over him is a monstrous form, complete with shiny horns and spikey tail.

Jim: Hey, Don. How's it hanging?

Don: WTF?

Jim: You didn't actually just spell out "W-T-F", did you? That is so...so...

Don: Trite? Generation-X? Geeky?

Jim: That last one.

Don: Yeah, sorry. So, what the fuck?

Jim: What do you mean? The cloud? My office? My shiny horns and spikey tail?

Don: All of it.

Jim: Huevos rancheros for breakfast, rent control, and no need for a disguise since you outed me.

Don: What? You mean that you seriously are a demonic evil beast?

Jim: I prefer "Goodly Impaired Entity".

Don: So what do you want with me? Are you going to devour my immortal soul or something?

Jim: No, no. Much better than that. I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse.

Don: Why not?

Jim: Because I'll devour your immortal soul.

Don: But I actually can refuse. The ramification might be that you will devour my immortal soul but that doesn't change the fact that I can, in fact, refuse your offer.

Jim: Are you going to be this difficult for the whole sketch? Because we're like, 20 lines into it and haven't gotten anywhere yet. We could get into serious reader fall-off here.

Don: So what? My links are at the top of the post. Everybody who's going to click to my site already did.

Jim: Yeah, but Helen's links come in later and if you short her she's going to be pissed at you.

Don: Damn your eyes! Okay, you've got me. What's this deal that I "can't" refuse?

Jim: Can't you guess? It's in the damned post title.

Don: You're writing it in Notepad, Jim. Right now it's not a post at all.

Jim: Oh, right. All your past future history stuff has my timestream sense totally whacked. Anyway, I want to make you our next President. Watkins in '04! How does that sound?

Don: Like something I'd find on your blog. That isn't even remotely possible.

Jim: Why not?

Don: I'm not old enough.

Jim: Forgery is my specialty.

Don: I can't compete with Bush for the Republican nomination.

Jim: We're going Dem.

Don: No campaign funds.

Jim: We'll start with a tip jar, move on to Dean tactics and then sell out to special interests groups.

Don: I don't want to be President.

Jim: Not my concern.

Don: Why do you want me for President anyway? It's not like I would help you to advance your evil schemes.

Jim: Sure you will. You're easily distracted so I shouldn't have a problem being the power behind the throne, so to speak.

Don: I am not easily distracted! I'm actually quite proud of my ability to concentrate.

Jim: Hey! Look at that bright shiny thing!

Don: What? Where? Where is it? What shiny thing?

Jim: As I was saying, Watkins in '04. What do you think about that?

Don: Well, what's in it for me?

Jim: Besides me not devouring your immortal soul?

Don: Yeah, besides that.

Jim: Well, once you become President, you'll get to have sex with Helen.

Don: Oh, man. Don't tell me that she's one of your evil minions?

Jim: Evil minion? No, more like a co-equal partner slash friendly adversary. It gets complicated when you're in a demonic relationship.

Don: Then how can you guarantee that I'll get to have sex with her?

Jim: Because you'll be President, man! Don't you read the papers? Having sex with the women of your choice has been a Presidential perk since Taft was in office. Every sitting President has engaged in a bit of hanky panky. Why do you think there's a bedroom off of the Oval Office?

Don: Hah! Caught you in a lie. Bush hasn't done anything of the sort.

Jim: Oh, really? You know how Bush gives the people he works with those cute little nicknames?

Don: Yeah.

Jim: Ever wonder why Condy's nickname is "Brown Sugar"?

Don: Oh.

Jim: Yeah. Oh, indeed. So what do you say? Do we have a deal?

Don: Can I have some time to think about it?

Jim: No.

Don: Okay. I'm in.

Jim: Great. I'll be in touch.

The sulfrous cloud forms around Don once again.

Jim: Excuse me. Damn Mexican food.