Pablo jumped behind a bush and caught his breath. The rest of the Paraguayan Revolutionary Militia had been wiped out, only he remained. He gently patted his stomach, never had diarrhea been such a friend. That didn’t change the fact that the revolt had failed though, it was only a matter of time before the military retook the capital. However, the revolution lived on with him, and here in the safety of the jungle he could redouble his efforts, recruit others, and bring equity to his country. The thought gave him comfort. A comfort that was ripped apart by the sound of a flute, gradually accompanied by other instruments,
“What is going on?” Pablo asked himself as the music got louder and louder. Then, out of nowhere, a group of small, orange-skinned, green-haired people, emerged out of the forest. He must not have noticed their camo. He scanned the forest for any quick escape, only to quickly realize that he was completely surrounded. One of the strange men approached him, holding his bayonet equipped M16 up against Pablo. He started circling Pablo, almost… rhythmically, and then suddenly him and his comrades burst into song:
“Wumpa Thumpa what will you do?
The CIA paid us and the NSA too
Wumpa Thumpa you really have to go
We need to ensure those minerals flow
What would you say to abandoning the red?
What would you say to a shot to the head?
Do you think the Soviets even care about you?
Wumpa Thumpa double the fee
We will make sure the elections aren’t free
Wumpa Thumpa increase the price
And we will put the guerrillas on ice”
Once the musical number was finished the head Wumpa Thumpa unloaded an entire magazine into Pablo. After they each took turns pissing on the corpse the Wumpa Thumpa’s began the march back to their chopper, they had to head back to Cuba, and clean up their mess.