Alarms blared across the city of Springfield.

"The Jamaicans are coming!" screamed a little girl, moments before being run over by a mob of vagrant zombies storming through the streets.

Leaving a swath of destruction in their wake, the Jamaicans headed towards the local pet store, where expensive-looking doggies in the window looked out at them cheerfully, hoping they were about to be adopted.

---

The message arrived in the form of a pack of chewing gum on the dashboard of my Audi. I knew right away it was from the Boss. Careful examination of the side of the package revealed a tiny button which, once depressed, revealed a hologram.

"Your mission, if you choose to accept it: capture all of the puppies in Springfield Ohio and deliver them to the DNC Headquarters, before the Republicans can stop you. For further details, contact these two guys." A hologram of two faces popped up, and a phone number. "This message will self-destruct in 5 seconds," it finished. I popped one of the pieces of chewing gum into my mouth, and waited.

***

Haitians were all over Springfield, I noticed, while I drove carefully on the main roads through the town to avoid unwelcome confrontations. While calling up my contacts to prepare for the Petco heists, I made a mental note to reach out to the local newspapers.

My burner phone was ringing -- an unknown number. I flipped it open.

"Kamala Harris," declared a voice at the other end. "Have you finished the job yet?"

"Good evening, Madam Vice President," I said formally. "We've just started --"

"I need the job done TONIGHT," she stated emphatically. "I haven't had fresh puppy flesh in an entire week. There are literally thousands of them in the city. Get them for me now."

"I'm on it," I assured her. "Don't you think this will attract attention though? So many of them at once?"

"Get JD Vance to blame the Haitians," she yelled. "They're the perfect scapegoat. Why do you think I let them all in?" The call ended abruptly.

***

I inspected the motley crew. A tall skinny Cockney bloke with a long nose. His short, pudgy, blundering accomplice. "That's it?" I asked. "Kamala hired just the two of you?"

"That's technically correct," Horace replied, in a thick London accent. He was the tall skinny one. "But there may be some extra help. We've got the pet stores covered. You'll have to figure how to attract the rest of them to the empty lot in town."

"I've got an idea for that," suggested his companion. "Have you ever heard of the Pied Piper of Hamelin?"

"What a load of hogwash, Horace," Jasper mocked him.

"Let's give it a try," I countered. "I used to play the skinflute back in high school. The dogs will love it."

"I don't know if dogs like the flute," Horace persisted. "Why don't you try hiring a basic white girl to sing for them?"

"Like Taylor Swift?" Jasper suggested in a mocking voice. "Yeah, let me just call her up for you."

"Dude, that's a great idea!" I shouted. "Her Bengals boyfriend plays foozball just an hour away from Springfield. We can totally get her. I have Travis on speed dial."

***

Two hours later, a plan was beginning to form.

Horace and Jasper would break into the pet stores and unlock all the doors.

Edward Snowden would be flying a Russian drone around town with a jammer that would turn off all the invisible fences and shock collars in the yards around town.

Hunter Biden would create some sort of diversion for the humans.

And we'd put Taylor on a loudspeaker to get all the dogs to come to the waiting vans, where we would load them up and then drive them to the local DNC headquarters for "processing".

Petco had closed for the evening, the sun had set, and I was sitting back in the Audi after a busy afternoon arranging the heist. The full moon was just starting to poke its head over the horizon when my phone started ringing again. I ignored it, but it kept ringing.

"We've got a serious problem!" Jasper was shouting on the other end of the line, over a huge pandemonium of squeals and panicked woofs. "The dogs HATE Taylor Swift!"

END OF PART 1