It's unlikely he would have been hunted down, panting, exhausted, with fear-filled eyes, a chalk-marked "M" stamped on his shoulder, like Peter Lorre in the Fritz Lang classic "M" (Sorry, won't daydream again while posting).
More the style of Donald Rumsfeld, former Secretary of Defense, would be to stroll out of the breakfast he was attending in Paris, angrily barking to his aides "Arrest me! ... What planet do they think they are on", or some such Rummyesque verbiage.
Charges were filed in France against Dick Cheney's little weekend-warrior buddy, for torture, by the the International Federation for Human Rights along with the Center for Constitutional Rights, the European Center for Constitutional and Human Rights and the French League for Human Rights, criminal charges for "ordering and authorizing torture."
And since he was in Paris, for some type of meeting with Foreign Policy Magazine, they wanted to catch and arrest the little bugger.
So, as we have done so often for the Bush Grindhouse, we provide a song, some chase music for Rumsfeld to skulk out-of-town with.
Stepping out of our element (Jazz), we turn to a proverbial American Hero, Bruce Springsteen, and his classic anthem, "Born To Run" to provide the right vibe.
Anyone that was a teenager in the 1970's, or older, you sing especially loud.
Born the One's
In the day we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway American government
At night we ride through Middle East with suicide machines
Secure in cages out in Abu Ghraib
Chrome wheeled, fuel injected and steppin' all over the law
Bushie this town rips the bones from their back
Its a death trap, its a stuff happens rap
We gotta torture'em while were young
`cause Neocons like us, Bushie we were born the One's
Bushie let me in I wanna be your friend
I want to guard your dreams and visions
Just wrap your legs round these velvet rims
And strap your hands across my engines
Together we could break this rap
Well torture till we drop, Bushie well never go back
Will you torture with me out on the wire
`cause Bushie I'm just a scared and lonely Rummy
But I gotta find out how it feels
I want to know if torture is wild, Bushie, I want to know if torture is real
Beyond Saddam's palace hemi-powered Humvees scream down the boulevard
The Iraqis comb their hair in rear-view mirrors
And the guards try to beat them so hard
Our amusement park rises bold and stark
Prisoners are huddled on the beach, they're not missed
I wanna die with you Bushie on Baghdad streets tonight
In an everlasting kiss
The highways jammed with broken Neocons on a last chance power drive
All the Neocons out on the run tonight
but theres no place left to hide
Together Bushie we'll live with the sadness
I'll love you with all the madness in my soul
Someday Bushie I don't know when
were gonna get to that place
Where we really want to torture
and we'll walk in the sun
But till then Neocons like us
Bushie, we were born the One's
Bonus Rummy Riffs
Listen To A Clip of "Born To Run"
Top Ten Cloves: What Would Be Different If Rumsfeld Was A Dog, But Still Secretary of Defense
Rumsfeld Declares End to Memo 'Blizzard'
Seymour Hersh - The General’s Report: How Antonio Taguba, who investigated the Abu Ghraib scandal, became one of its casualties.
"Hey, I can daydream, can't I?"