As the president cartwheeled out of the way of the incoming rocket, Stubbs, the soul residing within the projectile, thought back on his pathetic life. Stubbs had never been much of a thinker. Not much of anything really. He had dropped out of kindergarden, didn´t know how to read or write, or even how to count properly. Kind of a retard, really. Worked all his life at the local peanut factory. Sixty fucking years. Early on, he discovered how satisfying peanut butter felt when rubbed on his genitalia. For the entirety of his employment, he ejaculated into the factory mixer. Until he died of a heart attack, and plunged into it himself, adding his corpse to the ingredients of Nutty´s crazy peanutbutter mix! Here he was, at the tip of a rocket, speeding at a velocity that would bring Gandhi to shame, if Gandhi had ever had anything to do with shit that involved high-speed movement. Normally, Fuchsia´s rockets detonated themselves whenever they got within the kill radius of their targets, but not Stubbs. Stubbs was retarded, and kept on flying. Where was he going? No one knows, but some say that in between the muffled schreeching of the rocket´s screaming, his lust for Nutty´s peanutbutter was announced yet again! 

As the president, yet again, started talking. Fuchsia took aim, making sure to hit his mark perfectly this time. What would Andrew do? Shoot fireworks at him? Charge him? He didn´t care, whatever happened, a well placed rocket would stop it. "Freedom go-.." Andrew Jackson shouted, and Fuchsia immediatly pulled the trigger, hurling a rocket perfectly towards his hand, just as a bird popped out of it, exploding the bird into bits of flesh, bone, feathers and blood, dangerously close to Andrew Jackson himself. Likely dealing quite some damage to him as well. 

"WHEN YOU WANNA SHOOT, SHOOT, DON´T TALK!" the Hellzooka shouted.

Not a word came out of Fuchsia´s mouth.