Caper and Careen my little Machine

By the time the horses had connected their laptop to Mr. Mouse’s modem and set up their fax machine, most of the audience had left, with the exception of Nosferatu, who just couldn’t get enough of the Monty Python Holy Ail that Mr. Mouse served up ice cold. The University of Vermont Equestrian team had all fallen asleep on the floor of the cave, while Groves, Chuck and I endured the pain produced whenever our photographs were trampled by the trains, which made their way over distant tracks, completely unaware that they were being used by three dirty dogs named Thrum-Cap, Coil, and Admantine to foil what was to be the very first Evil Wiener gig.

“Eureka!!!” Said Burgoo King Jr, the thoroughbred horse who was in the midst of masterminding a plan to relieve us from the agonizing burden produced whenever a train ran over our pictures.

“Arcata!!!” said Dust Commander III, who had just I.M.ed his cousin in Whitehorse.

“Do we have contact?” Asked Burgoo King Jr.

“We have contact.” said Dust Commander III

“Commence with Operation Tele-Dudley in X minus 3,2,1.....

Just then, the fax machine leapt into the air, did a somersault, and landed on the floor. In a squeaky, robotic, voice the fax machine screamed “Cowabunga”, then proceeded to shake its lower backside-what essentially amounted to its booty. Salmon colored sparks began to fly from the top of the machine as it shook, wiggled, shuffled and spun. A brume of chartreuse smoke shot from a slot in the spinning machine. It enveloped the entire room and smelled like two mangos making love. When the fog had cleared a Canadian Mounty in full regalia stood before us. This process repeated itself 8 more times.