After waving goodbye to Jackfruit and Santa, Groves found some rubber bands on the sidewalk and decided to start making a ball out of them. Chuck was into the idea and began canvasing door to door asking for donations. He collected roughly 2,536,498,632,154,783 of them. The three of us then fashioned the ball and Yours Truly was the first to bounce it. Up, up, and up it went. When it came back, it had a note from a guy named Incongruous Johnathan who lives on Pluto and owns a shop that sells mini-disc players. He wanted to know if one of us wanted to buy one.
Well, I'd been wanting a mini-disc player, so I hopped on the rubber band ball and bounced up to Pluto. Boy, was it cold. Incongruous Johnathan gave me a whale of a deal on the player.
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Dilatory Icons of Winter
Our eyes quickly adjusted to this spectacle, and it was plain to see that these were not just your average flying animals, but were indeed the famed flying reindeer of the North Pole-and that they were pulling a sleigh which was inhabited by the Big Man in Red.
Before I personally even had a chance to really fathom what was happening, Jackfruit and all of his comrades began to fly towards the sleigh, as though some kind of vacuum were sucking them up. They landed neatly in Santa’s bag.
Mr. Claus bellowed out his signature Ho Ho Ho and sped away with his new load of green oblong African fruit.
Before I personally even had a chance to really fathom what was happening, Jackfruit and all of his comrades began to fly towards the sleigh, as though some kind of vacuum were sucking them up. They landed neatly in Santa’s bag.
Mr. Claus bellowed out his signature Ho Ho Ho and sped away with his new load of green oblong African fruit.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Hooves Above
There was an awkard moment of silence following this proclomation by Jackfruit. During the quiet time-either Chuck, Groves, or Jackfruit cut the cheese. I couldn’t tell who did it, but I know that it sure as turtle shells wasn’t me. Once the smell had wafted onward-the odd, oblong fruit known as Jack, spoke again.
“My fallen brothers and I are what people here call “Hedge Apples”. In some parts of the world we are even called “Zombie Eggs”. Although these titles are common, they are incorrect. I can assure you that we are neither reddish fruits that grow on trees, nor are we the unfertilized shelled yolks of the undead. In actuality, we are from Africa...
Just then, a sound like that of a retired jewelry salesman imitating a rustly fog horn by way of a jack hammer came from above us. We looked up and saw a sky filled with flying animals.
YOURS TRULY WOULD LIKE TO APOLOGIZE TO JACKFRUIT AND ALL OF HIS FRIENDS FOR MAKING THE COMMON MISTAKE OF REFERRING TO THEM AS HEDGE APPLES. I DIDN'T KNOW ANY BETTER. HONEST.
“My fallen brothers and I are what people here call “Hedge Apples”. In some parts of the world we are even called “Zombie Eggs”. Although these titles are common, they are incorrect. I can assure you that we are neither reddish fruits that grow on trees, nor are we the unfertilized shelled yolks of the undead. In actuality, we are from Africa...
Just then, a sound like that of a retired jewelry salesman imitating a rustly fog horn by way of a jack hammer came from above us. We looked up and saw a sky filled with flying animals.
YOURS TRULY WOULD LIKE TO APOLOGIZE TO JACKFRUIT AND ALL OF HIS FRIENDS FOR MAKING THE COMMON MISTAKE OF REFERRING TO THEM AS HEDGE APPLES. I DIDN'T KNOW ANY BETTER. HONEST.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Jackfruit's Journey
We went outside to look for the Singing Toothpick™ and found that Hedge Apples were falling out of the sky like some mutant green hale. Their corpses looked like those giant green things you put on your hands to make it look as though you have the fists of the incredible hulk, and were much the same color too.
“Oh what shall become of the mulberry family” they all said with their last breaths as they lie dying on the sidewalk and street outside of Mouse’s Cave.
“Jeeepers” said Chuck.
“Whoa” said Groves.
“Crazy” said yours truly.
“The Mulberries will live forever” said a voice that belonged to none of us three and had henceforth never been heard by the Catfish, the Meteor or myself.
We all looked over to see that one among these three foot long, 100 pound pieces of green fruit that looked like an egg with its shell gone soft, was still moving.
“Are you ok” said Groves.
“No, I’m not ok, I’ve just mysteriously fallen from the sky. I am, however, known as Jackfruit and am considerably glad to make your acquaintance” was the Jackfruit’s reply.
“I can relate. Believe me, I can relate.” Said Chuck with a knowing look on his face.
“Yup, I hit pretty hard, and I thought I was a goner until I heard that little toothpick sing. Man, that was the best rendition of “Sister Christian” I’ve ever heard. Why, I think that little Singing Toothpick™ saved my life. “ said the strange fruit known as Jack.
“Oh what shall become of the mulberry family” they all said with their last breaths as they lie dying on the sidewalk and street outside of Mouse’s Cave.
“Jeeepers” said Chuck.
“Whoa” said Groves.
“Crazy” said yours truly.
“The Mulberries will live forever” said a voice that belonged to none of us three and had henceforth never been heard by the Catfish, the Meteor or myself.
We all looked over to see that one among these three foot long, 100 pound pieces of green fruit that looked like an egg with its shell gone soft, was still moving.
“Are you ok” said Groves.
“No, I’m not ok, I’ve just mysteriously fallen from the sky. I am, however, known as Jackfruit and am considerably glad to make your acquaintance” was the Jackfruit’s reply.
“I can relate. Believe me, I can relate.” Said Chuck with a knowing look on his face.
“Yup, I hit pretty hard, and I thought I was a goner until I heard that little toothpick sing. Man, that was the best rendition of “Sister Christian” I’ve ever heard. Why, I think that little Singing Toothpick™ saved my life. “ said the strange fruit known as Jack.
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Sonic Tooth
Chuck, looking quite satisfied with his dental hygiene, placed the Singing Toothpick™ on the bar.
“So, you think you can sing any song I can name?” Asked Groves.
“Indeed” said the Toothpick.
“How about ‘Sonic Reducer’” said Groves.
The toothpick reared back and belted out such a great version of this punk classic that my hair spiked itself. Groves leapt from his aquarium, and then he,Chuck and yours truly began slam dancing.
After this, and at Chuck’s request, the Toothpick brought it down a notch with a right on version of “Tiny Bubbles”.
Although we’d just awakened, all three of us were lulled back to sleep. 256 days later, we woke up again to find the singing toothpick gone.
“So, you think you can sing any song I can name?” Asked Groves.
“Indeed” said the Toothpick.
“How about ‘Sonic Reducer’” said Groves.
The toothpick reared back and belted out such a great version of this punk classic that my hair spiked itself. Groves leapt from his aquarium, and then he,Chuck and yours truly began slam dancing.
After this, and at Chuck’s request, the Toothpick brought it down a notch with a right on version of “Tiny Bubbles”.
Although we’d just awakened, all three of us were lulled back to sleep. 256 days later, we woke up again to find the singing toothpick gone.
Monday, December 13, 2004
This Most Gifted Splinter
I awoke the next morning a bit later than usual, and simultaneously saw/heard that Chuck had discovered the Singing Toothpick™ I’d invented (see Flutter and Squeak) .
“So, what do you think of my latest invention?” I asked.
“It’s more killer than a Rhino on an anthill” responded Chuck. He then raised this most gifted splinter to his mouth and the sounds of Flashdance (What a Feeling) echoed inside his mouth as the remains of his last meal were scraped away from his rocky enamel.
“What’s all the racket?” Said Groves as he peered above the meniscus of the giant aquarium that housed him.
Chuck began to reply, but before the words could leave his mouth, the toothpick ceased its singing and said:
“I, sir, am a singing toothpick. I can sing any tune that you can name, and I can also free the most stubborn of food particles from your teeth.”
A wave of pride that could destroy all of Hawaii were it an actual wave in the ocean swept over me.
“That’s muh boy” I said.
“So, what do you think of my latest invention?” I asked.
“It’s more killer than a Rhino on an anthill” responded Chuck. He then raised this most gifted splinter to his mouth and the sounds of Flashdance (What a Feeling) echoed inside his mouth as the remains of his last meal were scraped away from his rocky enamel.
“What’s all the racket?” Said Groves as he peered above the meniscus of the giant aquarium that housed him.
Chuck began to reply, but before the words could leave his mouth, the toothpick ceased its singing and said:
“I, sir, am a singing toothpick. I can sing any tune that you can name, and I can also free the most stubborn of food particles from your teeth.”
A wave of pride that could destroy all of Hawaii were it an actual wave in the ocean swept over me.
“That’s muh boy” I said.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
A Silent Star's Sing-A-Long
“It’s good to see you smiling” said Groves.
The world went black, words appeared, you know the routine;
“I always smile when I think about the kooky hyjinx of Tootie, Blair, Joe, and Natalie”.
“And don’t forget Ms. Garrett” chimed in Mr. Mouse.
Nosferatu’s words again dominated the room and said;
“You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the facts of life....the facts of life...
Right on cue, Mr. Mouse chirped;
“When the boys you used to hate, you date, it’s time that you investigate
the facts of life, the facts of life...
Something stirred inside, and before I knew it, all of us were singing as though angels had prompted us;
“When the world never seems, to be living up to your dreams. Suddenly you’re finding out the facts of life are all about you......
I broke down in tears under the weight of the moment-and these sobs of joy, like sirens, lured me to sleep.
The world went black, words appeared, you know the routine;
“I always smile when I think about the kooky hyjinx of Tootie, Blair, Joe, and Natalie”.
“And don’t forget Ms. Garrett” chimed in Mr. Mouse.
Nosferatu’s words again dominated the room and said;
“You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the facts of life....the facts of life...
Right on cue, Mr. Mouse chirped;
“When the boys you used to hate, you date, it’s time that you investigate
the facts of life, the facts of life...
Something stirred inside, and before I knew it, all of us were singing as though angels had prompted us;
“When the world never seems, to be living up to your dreams. Suddenly you’re finding out the facts of life are all about you......
I broke down in tears under the weight of the moment-and these sobs of joy, like sirens, lured me to sleep.
Saturday, December 11, 2004
The Americanization Of Miko
Nosferatu looked at each of us, then to the floor. He took a deep breath and then began crying uncontrolably.
“Loosen up” said Chuck.
“Relax” said yours truly
“Don’t do it” said Mr. Mouse.
“Mellow out” said Groves.
The world went black again, and we read these words;
“How can I expect you to understand the pain that I feel”
“Now listen bub” said Mr. Mouse. “You think being a vampire is tough, try being a mouse. ‘Would you like some cheese? Mr. Mouse? Why are elephants scared of you Mr. Mouse?’ Sometimes just thinking about the dumb things some morons will say is enough to make my floating ribs hurt.”
Nosferatu stopped crying, looked up, the world went black, and we saw these words;
“You mean a sort of achy feeling? Right near the sternum?”
“Yeah.” said Mr. Mouse “Exactly. And the only thing that’ll relieve the pain is to watch “Facts of Life” reruns.
“You like that show?” said the white words on the black screen that appeared whenever Nosferatu opened his mouth.
“Are ceilometers self-contained, ground-based, active, remote-sensing devices designed to measure cloud-base height at up to three levels and also potential backscatter signals by aerosols?” replied Mr. Mouse.
This time, the words were larger than sousaphones and simpler than salt;
“Yes. Ceilometers ARE self-contained, ground-based, active, remote-sensing devices designed to measure cloud-base height at up to three levels and also potential backscatter signals by aerosols.”
Thunder clapped outside as Nosferatu smiled.
“Loosen up” said Chuck.
“Relax” said yours truly
“Don’t do it” said Mr. Mouse.
“Mellow out” said Groves.
The world went black again, and we read these words;
“How can I expect you to understand the pain that I feel”
“Now listen bub” said Mr. Mouse. “You think being a vampire is tough, try being a mouse. ‘Would you like some cheese? Mr. Mouse? Why are elephants scared of you Mr. Mouse?’ Sometimes just thinking about the dumb things some morons will say is enough to make my floating ribs hurt.”
Nosferatu stopped crying, looked up, the world went black, and we saw these words;
“You mean a sort of achy feeling? Right near the sternum?”
“Yeah.” said Mr. Mouse “Exactly. And the only thing that’ll relieve the pain is to watch “Facts of Life” reruns.
“You like that show?” said the white words on the black screen that appeared whenever Nosferatu opened his mouth.
“Are ceilometers self-contained, ground-based, active, remote-sensing devices designed to measure cloud-base height at up to three levels and also potential backscatter signals by aerosols?” replied Mr. Mouse.
This time, the words were larger than sousaphones and simpler than salt;
“Yes. Ceilometers ARE self-contained, ground-based, active, remote-sensing devices designed to measure cloud-base height at up to three levels and also potential backscatter signals by aerosols.”
Thunder clapped outside as Nosferatu smiled.
Friday, December 10, 2004
A Legend Befriended
“You really shouldn’t mess with that stuff” said Mr. Mouse to Nosferatu.
“Users are losers” said Groves.
“And at your age, your old heart just can’t take it” added Chuck.
“Let this be a lesson to you.” said yours truly.
The world went black and these words appeared;
“I know. I know it’s bad. But I used to be able to stay up all night. I would carouse, chase virgins, and feast!!!! But now, I just can’t make it past four o’clock. I’m not as young as I used to be”
“Well then” said Groves “You need to accept where you are in life. Drugs are not the answer”.
Again, we experienced total blackness, and these words;
“But it’s not easy being a vampire. All those negative stereotypes that are so outdated. ‘Can you turn into a bat Mr. Orlok? Do you howl at the moon?’ Fools. Closed minded idiots. Sure, I did some things back in the eighteenth century that I’m not too proud of. But those were different times. I’m a completely different person now. I like playing Tetris, making Prank Phone Calls, grooving to Ambient Dance Music. But does anyone know that? No. They shy from me because they are afraid I’ll suck their blood and turn them into immortal beings sworn to all things evil. All I want are friends that will accept me for who I am, and see beyond age old prejudices such as these”
“Well, you can count on us” said Groves.
“Yeah” said I.
“Darn Tootin’ “ said Mr. Mouse.
Chuck, who was still lying on the ground next to the wall at which he had been flung only moments earlier by Count Orlock, looked hesitantly at all of us.
“Awwwww, what the heck.” He said with a rocky smile.
“Users are losers” said Groves.
“And at your age, your old heart just can’t take it” added Chuck.
“Let this be a lesson to you.” said yours truly.
The world went black and these words appeared;
“I know. I know it’s bad. But I used to be able to stay up all night. I would carouse, chase virgins, and feast!!!! But now, I just can’t make it past four o’clock. I’m not as young as I used to be”
“Well then” said Groves “You need to accept where you are in life. Drugs are not the answer”.
Again, we experienced total blackness, and these words;
“But it’s not easy being a vampire. All those negative stereotypes that are so outdated. ‘Can you turn into a bat Mr. Orlok? Do you howl at the moon?’ Fools. Closed minded idiots. Sure, I did some things back in the eighteenth century that I’m not too proud of. But those were different times. I’m a completely different person now. I like playing Tetris, making Prank Phone Calls, grooving to Ambient Dance Music. But does anyone know that? No. They shy from me because they are afraid I’ll suck their blood and turn them into immortal beings sworn to all things evil. All I want are friends that will accept me for who I am, and see beyond age old prejudices such as these”
“Well, you can count on us” said Groves.
“Yeah” said I.
“Darn Tootin’ “ said Mr. Mouse.
Chuck, who was still lying on the ground next to the wall at which he had been flung only moments earlier by Count Orlock, looked hesitantly at all of us.
“Awwwww, what the heck.” He said with a rocky smile.
Monday, December 06, 2004
Chuck and Orlock's Dance of Daunt
“Hey, none of that in my bar/home” said Mr. Mouse as Nosferatu sniffed away at his white powder.
Groves leapt up and out of his aquarium, landing to the right of Nosferatu. Chuck rolled over and flanked him on the left.
“I’m sorry sir, but we’ll have to ask you to leave” said Chuck.
Nosferatu hissed as he turned and lifted Chuck above his head. He growled and prepared to propel the meteor against the wall of the cave. As his arms began to move forward to make the throw- the ancient, hairless, man stopped. His eyes grew large with surprise as he dropped Chuck and clutched his chest.
Mr. Mouse lept from behind the bar and performed Reiki on the decrepit old body of Nosferatu. Soon he was better and sat in a stunned state on the floor of the cave.
Groves leapt up and out of his aquarium, landing to the right of Nosferatu. Chuck rolled over and flanked him on the left.
“I’m sorry sir, but we’ll have to ask you to leave” said Chuck.
Nosferatu hissed as he turned and lifted Chuck above his head. He growled and prepared to propel the meteor against the wall of the cave. As his arms began to move forward to make the throw- the ancient, hairless, man stopped. His eyes grew large with surprise as he dropped Chuck and clutched his chest.
Mr. Mouse lept from behind the bar and performed Reiki on the decrepit old body of Nosferatu. Soon he was better and sat in a stunned state on the floor of the cave.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
The Fanged Snowman
We all looked at Nosferatu, and Mr. Mouse said;
“Hey. Mr. Orlok. Good to see you again, but I’m afraid we’re closed”.
Nosferatu lifted his hand, and the whole world around all of us turned into a black screen which displayed these words;
“I realize that it's late. But surely you wouldn’t deny a new friend a drink or two.”
After a few moments the screen disappeared and Mouse said;
“I’m sorry. It’s after two. I can’t serve any more alcohol.”
Again, the world went black and we saw these words;
“Laws. Rules. What are they good for? If you will not permit me but one of your Monty Python Holy Ails, I shall have to take matters into my own accord.”
When the black screen disappeared, we saw that Nosferatu was bent over the bar, inhaling white powder.
“Hey. Mr. Orlok. Good to see you again, but I’m afraid we’re closed”.
Nosferatu lifted his hand, and the whole world around all of us turned into a black screen which displayed these words;
“I realize that it's late. But surely you wouldn’t deny a new friend a drink or two.”
After a few moments the screen disappeared and Mouse said;
“I’m sorry. It’s after two. I can’t serve any more alcohol.”
Again, the world went black and we saw these words;
“Laws. Rules. What are they good for? If you will not permit me but one of your Monty Python Holy Ails, I shall have to take matters into my own accord.”
When the black screen disappeared, we saw that Nosferatu was bent over the bar, inhaling white powder.
Monday, September 06, 2004
Flutter and Squeak
We didn’t get much sleep last night , but still, yours truly got up this morning as soon as the rooster rang the doorbell to the cave. I spent most of the morning working out a patent for my Singing Toothpick™. I spent the afternoon trying to sell a few big corporations on the idea, (and I will say that I got a few nibbles! Yes indeed I did! You’ll probably personally OWN your very own Singing Toothpick™ by the end of the week.) I spent the evening mastering the art of Tunisian Plastic Sphere Printing.
When I got back to the Cave-Groves and Chuck were doing magic tricks. They made an elevator appear that would take people to Fergus Falls, Minnesota. They turned a 16-pc. Garden Tool Set (with Case) into a DeLonghi Digital Convection Toaster Oven.
Later, a group of sabrewing hummingbirds came in and hosted a tongue twister contest, which Chuck won!!!! They gave him an all expense paid ten second vacation to the United States Library of Congress in Washington D.C. When he got back, things were winding down. The hummingbirds soon bid us a fond farewell and told us to email them if and when our band played again.
When the last hummingbird had gone, Mr. Mouse said;
“Ah well, guess I’d better close up.”
But then we heard a spectral squeal projecting from the end of the bar. We all looked over and saw the black clad, skin headed figure of Nosferatu settling down onto a stool and nestling the bar as if it were a kitten.
Funny, but I don’t remember him coming in.
When I got back to the Cave-Groves and Chuck were doing magic tricks. They made an elevator appear that would take people to Fergus Falls, Minnesota. They turned a 16-pc. Garden Tool Set (with Case) into a DeLonghi Digital Convection Toaster Oven.
Later, a group of sabrewing hummingbirds came in and hosted a tongue twister contest, which Chuck won!!!! They gave him an all expense paid ten second vacation to the United States Library of Congress in Washington D.C. When he got back, things were winding down. The hummingbirds soon bid us a fond farewell and told us to email them if and when our band played again.
When the last hummingbird had gone, Mr. Mouse said;
“Ah well, guess I’d better close up.”
But then we heard a spectral squeal projecting from the end of the bar. We all looked over and saw the black clad, skin headed figure of Nosferatu settling down onto a stool and nestling the bar as if it were a kitten.
Funny, but I don’t remember him coming in.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Interlude in Black
As the last of the Mounties disappeared into the fax machine- Chuck, Groves, Mr. Mouse and yours truly all looked at each other and said goodnight.
Mr. Mouse went off to his bedroom as did Groves to his aquarium. Chuck opted to sleep outside.
I found a remote corner and performed a set of movements that a hermit crab from Jupiter once taught me. The result of this dance is that one shrinks to a very small size-which I did in order to fit into an empty raisin box-becuase there’s something about raisin boxes that makes me have really good dreams-this time out I dreamed that I was given the task of teaching Rin Tin Tin the Hustle.
Unbeknownst to all of us- there was another inhabitant in the cave.
Deep down in the darkest recess of the subterranean tunnel, Nosferatu was closing the lid to his coffin.
Mr. Mouse went off to his bedroom as did Groves to his aquarium. Chuck opted to sleep outside.
I found a remote corner and performed a set of movements that a hermit crab from Jupiter once taught me. The result of this dance is that one shrinks to a very small size-which I did in order to fit into an empty raisin box-becuase there’s something about raisin boxes that makes me have really good dreams-this time out I dreamed that I was given the task of teaching Rin Tin Tin the Hustle.
Unbeknownst to all of us- there was another inhabitant in the cave.
Deep down in the darkest recess of the subterranean tunnel, Nosferatu was closing the lid to his coffin.
Monday, August 02, 2004
The Cyber Cavalry's Venture down the Islets of Langerhans
The Canadian Mounties appeared to be only mildly stunned by their odd transension through space and matter. They all looked at eachother, did a little tap step with their boots, and said in perfect unison; “Lord ‘tunderin’ Jesus. What’s the problem eh?”
“We’ll explain on the way” said Burgoo King Jr.
The mounties did what they do best- mount. In slightly less than three seconds, all of the red clad do gooders had jumped on the horses and made it nearly a quarter of a mile in the direction of the railroad tressle. Mr. Mouse, Groves, Chuck, Nosferatu, and yours truly all did the robot and threw confetti made from recycled hats like the one little debbie used to wear as a send off.
For the next 56.8 minutes, I endured the aches that came to my furcula, glenoid, and islets of langerhans; while Chuck and Groves moaned; Mr. Mouse fretted; the University of Vermont Equestrian Team snored- and Nosferatu drank. At the end of the 56.8 minutes the Mounties and Horses returned.
“We’ve got some good news and some bad news eh” said the Captain of the Mounties.
“Do continue” Said Chuck.
“Well, we like, got the pictures. So ya woont be hurtin’ anymore eh. They aint much ta look at after gettin’ run over by the trains, but we got ‘em”
“So, what’s the bad news ?” asked Groves.
“Oh, well, we like, got the pictures, but we didn’t get a ‘drat’ or a ‘curses’ or a ‘foiled again’ from any of the folks that tied the pictures to the track, eh”
“So, does this mean we can expect more trouble from Thrum-Cap, Coil, and Admantine in the future?” I asked.
“’Fraid sooo” said the Mounty Captain.
“Oh well” said Groves “At least my nasal barbels and adipose fins don’t hurt anymore”
So, we gave each of the mountys a wheat penny, a North Carolina quarter, and watched as they skipped into the fax machine-then took off to the Great White North.
We then turned our attention to the University of Vermont Equestrian team and their high-tech horses. To each member of the team, we gave an electric pogo stick-and to each horse we gave a package of Passion Fruit Waffle flavored tick tacks and a Theremin. It was the least we could do for these four legged wonderbeings -who had managed to solve our latest problem through their knowledge of sophisticated communication techniques.
“We’ll explain on the way” said Burgoo King Jr.
The mounties did what they do best- mount. In slightly less than three seconds, all of the red clad do gooders had jumped on the horses and made it nearly a quarter of a mile in the direction of the railroad tressle. Mr. Mouse, Groves, Chuck, Nosferatu, and yours truly all did the robot and threw confetti made from recycled hats like the one little debbie used to wear as a send off.
For the next 56.8 minutes, I endured the aches that came to my furcula, glenoid, and islets of langerhans; while Chuck and Groves moaned; Mr. Mouse fretted; the University of Vermont Equestrian Team snored- and Nosferatu drank. At the end of the 56.8 minutes the Mounties and Horses returned.
“We’ve got some good news and some bad news eh” said the Captain of the Mounties.
“Do continue” Said Chuck.
“Well, we like, got the pictures. So ya woont be hurtin’ anymore eh. They aint much ta look at after gettin’ run over by the trains, but we got ‘em”
“So, what’s the bad news ?” asked Groves.
“Oh, well, we like, got the pictures, but we didn’t get a ‘drat’ or a ‘curses’ or a ‘foiled again’ from any of the folks that tied the pictures to the track, eh”
“So, does this mean we can expect more trouble from Thrum-Cap, Coil, and Admantine in the future?” I asked.
“’Fraid sooo” said the Mounty Captain.
“Oh well” said Groves “At least my nasal barbels and adipose fins don’t hurt anymore”
So, we gave each of the mountys a wheat penny, a North Carolina quarter, and watched as they skipped into the fax machine-then took off to the Great White North.
We then turned our attention to the University of Vermont Equestrian team and their high-tech horses. To each member of the team, we gave an electric pogo stick-and to each horse we gave a package of Passion Fruit Waffle flavored tick tacks and a Theremin. It was the least we could do for these four legged wonderbeings -who had managed to solve our latest problem through their knowledge of sophisticated communication techniques.
Saturday, July 31, 2004
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.
“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.
Horse Sense
It was no use trying to continue. Every time I started to strum my guitar, my astragalocalcaneum would jolt, and I would fall down. Chuck howled as the crystal structure of his minerals constricted. Groves caterwauled as only a catfish can. We all looked bemoaningly at the balloons filled with watermelon seeds that we had prepared for our grand finale- knowing that this grand finale would never come. I cried like a ladylux ergonomically designed soft touch dual spray faucet with fingertip controls.
The audience stared at us as we contorted under the burden of the trains that were running over our photographs, which had been tied to the tracks by Adamantine, Thrum-Cap, and Coil-the three brutish rock club owners who would/will stop at nothing to undermine the career of Evil Wiener.
Mr. Mouse, the owner of the cave in which we played, turned to the Indian Flying Fox who had delivered the news of Thrum-Cap, Coil, and Adamantine’s latest dastardly deed.
“Is there nothing we can do to help bring an end to this tragedy?” asked Mr. Mouse.
“Probably not in time for them to finish their gig” said the Indian Flying Fox.
“Dogone it.” said a Peahen who was sitting at the bar, “I really wanted to get my Rock on”.
“Oh well. I guess we’d better head back to Vermont” said the captain of the University of Vermont Equestrian Team.
Just then, one of the equestrian team’s horses piped up; “Wait a second. I think I know how we can help.”
We all looked at the horse, and then to the Captain of the Equestrian team, who said; “Burgoo King Jr. here is one of our best horses, if he says he can help, then we should hear him out.”
Burgoo King Jr. didn’t wait for any response, but instead turned to another horse and said; “Dust Commander III, is your cousin still up in Whitehorse?”
“Yup” said Dust Commander III.
“And Kauai Queen, do you have your laptop on you?” said Burgoo King Jr.
“Yup” said Kauai Queen, pulling a G-4 power book out of her saddlebag.
“Mr. Mouse. What kind of internet connection do you have?” asked Burgoo King Jr.
“DSL Light” responded Mr. Mouse.
The horses all whinnied in disapproval.
“Hey, Man. I live in a cave!!! Whattaya expect?” said Mr. Mouse.
“Don’t fret lil’ pal” said Burgoo King Jr. “We’ll make due. Do you have faxing capabilities?”
Mr. Mouse shook his head from side to side in a sheepish manner.
“No worries, Lucky Dancer, are you packin’?” Another horse, whose mane had been trimmed in a manner that resembled a mohawk, winked as he whipped out a very sophisticated looking fax machine.
We all looked at each other, wondering what the horses had up their saddle bags.
The audience stared at us as we contorted under the burden of the trains that were running over our photographs, which had been tied to the tracks by Adamantine, Thrum-Cap, and Coil-the three brutish rock club owners who would/will stop at nothing to undermine the career of Evil Wiener.
Mr. Mouse, the owner of the cave in which we played, turned to the Indian Flying Fox who had delivered the news of Thrum-Cap, Coil, and Adamantine’s latest dastardly deed.
“Is there nothing we can do to help bring an end to this tragedy?” asked Mr. Mouse.
“Probably not in time for them to finish their gig” said the Indian Flying Fox.
“Dogone it.” said a Peahen who was sitting at the bar, “I really wanted to get my Rock on”.
“Oh well. I guess we’d better head back to Vermont” said the captain of the University of Vermont Equestrian Team.
Just then, one of the equestrian team’s horses piped up; “Wait a second. I think I know how we can help.”
We all looked at the horse, and then to the Captain of the Equestrian team, who said; “Burgoo King Jr. here is one of our best horses, if he says he can help, then we should hear him out.”
Burgoo King Jr. didn’t wait for any response, but instead turned to another horse and said; “Dust Commander III, is your cousin still up in Whitehorse?”
“Yup” said Dust Commander III.
“And Kauai Queen, do you have your laptop on you?” said Burgoo King Jr.
“Yup” said Kauai Queen, pulling a G-4 power book out of her saddlebag.
“Mr. Mouse. What kind of internet connection do you have?” asked Burgoo King Jr.
“DSL Light” responded Mr. Mouse.
The horses all whinnied in disapproval.
“Hey, Man. I live in a cave!!! Whattaya expect?” said Mr. Mouse.
“Don’t fret lil’ pal” said Burgoo King Jr. “We’ll make due. Do you have faxing capabilities?”
Mr. Mouse shook his head from side to side in a sheepish manner.
“No worries, Lucky Dancer, are you packin’?” Another horse, whose mane had been trimmed in a manner that resembled a mohawk, winked as he whipped out a very sophisticated looking fax machine.
We all looked at each other, wondering what the horses had up their saddle bags.
Friday, July 30, 2004
Ma Po Popliteal
By the time Captain Lepus had made his way to the bar- a self propelled bicycle, a generation gap, and another mouse had ambled into the Cave. By the time we were ready to play, the place was full of all kinds of folks;
Nosferatu was chatting with Maureen McCormick. The Thompson twins were playing rock, paper, scissors against the University of Vermont Equestrian Team, whose horses were drinking Blue Sky All Natural Soda and flirting with a group of peahens. Fred and George Wesley were playing pinball. Benji was making eyes at Stitch.
Even with all the commotion in the room, I noticed the funnel cake with green eyes that I’d last seen next to the mystical rock quarry from which I got my guitar. She was standing in the back making a marionette do an East Coast Swing dance.
Three of my teeth fell out, which is a sure sign that I’m nervous. But I used silly putty to stick them back in place and said;
“Hi everybody, we’re Evil Wiener”
We launched into our set, and Chuck’s drums sounded like a gigantic cotton candy machine with cool pictures of kangaroos playing soccer on it. Groves’ bass controlled the weather, and even though it was nearly eleven pm, he made the sun shine in the Cave. We were seriously skating over the frozen sea of effulgence, and everyone there knew it. Then, suddenly, the bass stopped and the sun ceased to shine.
“Ouch” Said Groves.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s my trigeminal nerve foramen, it hurts like crazy, and AAAAAAAAAAGH!!! Now my Suspensorium-V. Heeeeeeeeelp!!!!!
Just as I was wondering what to do, I felt an aciculate pain in my xiphoid process, and another in my patella.
I hollered out and then realized that Chuck, too , had joined Groves and myself in this most agonizing endeavor.
Just then an Indian Flying Fox swooped into the cave, landed on the bar and said;
“Thrum-cap, Coil, and Adamantine have taken the Evil Wiener pictures and tied them to the railroad tracks. So now, whenever a train comes along, Chuck, Groves, or Billy are going to be in for some serious discomfort”
The crowd let out a mutual gasp, as my popliteal vein throbbed mercilessly under the weight of a distant train.
Nosferatu was chatting with Maureen McCormick. The Thompson twins were playing rock, paper, scissors against the University of Vermont Equestrian Team, whose horses were drinking Blue Sky All Natural Soda and flirting with a group of peahens. Fred and George Wesley were playing pinball. Benji was making eyes at Stitch.
Even with all the commotion in the room, I noticed the funnel cake with green eyes that I’d last seen next to the mystical rock quarry from which I got my guitar. She was standing in the back making a marionette do an East Coast Swing dance.
Three of my teeth fell out, which is a sure sign that I’m nervous. But I used silly putty to stick them back in place and said;
“Hi everybody, we’re Evil Wiener”
We launched into our set, and Chuck’s drums sounded like a gigantic cotton candy machine with cool pictures of kangaroos playing soccer on it. Groves’ bass controlled the weather, and even though it was nearly eleven pm, he made the sun shine in the Cave. We were seriously skating over the frozen sea of effulgence, and everyone there knew it. Then, suddenly, the bass stopped and the sun ceased to shine.
“Ouch” Said Groves.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s my trigeminal nerve foramen, it hurts like crazy, and AAAAAAAAAAGH!!! Now my Suspensorium-V. Heeeeeeeeelp!!!!!
Just as I was wondering what to do, I felt an aciculate pain in my xiphoid process, and another in my patella.
I hollered out and then realized that Chuck, too , had joined Groves and myself in this most agonizing endeavor.
Just then an Indian Flying Fox swooped into the cave, landed on the bar and said;
“Thrum-cap, Coil, and Adamantine have taken the Evil Wiener pictures and tied them to the railroad tracks. So now, whenever a train comes along, Chuck, Groves, or Billy are going to be in for some serious discomfort”
The crowd let out a mutual gasp, as my popliteal vein throbbed mercilessly under the weight of a distant train.
Foil the Foilers
Groves, Chuck, Mr. Mouse, and yours truly, Billy Sugarfix- put up 5,845,396 photographs to advertise our show at Mr. Mouse’s cave. When we got done we were tireder than narcoleptic box turtles.
We went to the cave, where Groves, the six foot plus bass playing catfish took a nice nap in the giant aquarium that used to house Mr. Mouse’s pet electric eel.
Chuck, the meteorite who fell to earth to play drums in Evil Wiener (our power-pop alternative indy post punk marathon of a band), and I filled balloons with water melon seeds to prepare for the show. We had filled up 4,857,685 balloons when three men wearing black cloaks, stove pipe hats, and sporting handle bar mustaches entered the bar. They approached the bar, confronted Mr. Mouse and said;
“You must pay the rent” The voices revealed to us that these three men were none other than Thrum-Cap, Coil, and Adamantine.
“No fuzz off my peaches” said Mr. Mouse as he handed them a Cream Colored Bali Hai Duvet lavished with lace. He paused for a moment then produced a copy of the lease, which stated that Mr. Mouse was obligated to provide one (1) Cream Colored Bali Hai Duvet lavished with lace per month in order to inhabit the premises.
The three dastardly villains winced, but then Adamantine reached into his cloak and produced the 5,845,396 photos we had posted to advertise our show.
“Ha Ha Take This!!” Said Adamantine.
“No one will come to your show. They have no way of knowing about it” Said Thrum-Cap.
“I got my hair cut by a grasshopper and boy are my arms tired” Said Coil.
We all looked at each other in desperation. What could we say? Finally we’d gotten a gig, and this trio of callous caitiffs had bollixed our chances of getting an audience.
I was just about to say “Gee-Whiz” and burst into tears when I heard a buzzing, swishing, spinning sound coming from outside. We all ran out of the Cave where we were stunned by the sight of a rocket that looked just like a giant carrot. As it was landing, a voice boomed from some speakers in the ship saying;
“Ladies and Gentlemen, does and hares, do not be alarmed. The flying carrot that you see before you is none other than the revered Beta-Kerotene, as piloted by the fabulous Captain Lepus...”
The doors to the rocket ship then swung open and eighty three different colors of smoke shot out of it until finally there appeared a silver clad rabbit with goggles and a cell phone.
I didn’t mean to eve’s drop, but I heard him speaking into the phone and saying;
“Peter, baby, my main man, whattaya mean where am I? I’m at the Evil Wiener show. Isn’t everybody?”
Mr. Mouse, Chuck, Groves, and myself all looked at each other in disbelief. Thrum-cap, Coil, and Adamantine were not happy. Not at all.
The sleek rabbit from outer space hopped up to me and said;
“Mr. Sugarfix, I presume”
“Why, yes sir” I replied.
“Captain Lepus, intergalactic star hopper, at your service”
“But...but... how’d you know about the show? Thrum-cap, Coil, and Adamantine took down all of our photo advertisements.”
“Billy, baby, I read your blog on the internet.” said Captain Lepus.
I knew that this thing was worth doing.
We went to the cave, where Groves, the six foot plus bass playing catfish took a nice nap in the giant aquarium that used to house Mr. Mouse’s pet electric eel.
Chuck, the meteorite who fell to earth to play drums in Evil Wiener (our power-pop alternative indy post punk marathon of a band), and I filled balloons with water melon seeds to prepare for the show. We had filled up 4,857,685 balloons when three men wearing black cloaks, stove pipe hats, and sporting handle bar mustaches entered the bar. They approached the bar, confronted Mr. Mouse and said;
“You must pay the rent” The voices revealed to us that these three men were none other than Thrum-Cap, Coil, and Adamantine.
“No fuzz off my peaches” said Mr. Mouse as he handed them a Cream Colored Bali Hai Duvet lavished with lace. He paused for a moment then produced a copy of the lease, which stated that Mr. Mouse was obligated to provide one (1) Cream Colored Bali Hai Duvet lavished with lace per month in order to inhabit the premises.
The three dastardly villains winced, but then Adamantine reached into his cloak and produced the 5,845,396 photos we had posted to advertise our show.
“Ha Ha Take This!!” Said Adamantine.
“No one will come to your show. They have no way of knowing about it” Said Thrum-Cap.
“I got my hair cut by a grasshopper and boy are my arms tired” Said Coil.
We all looked at each other in desperation. What could we say? Finally we’d gotten a gig, and this trio of callous caitiffs had bollixed our chances of getting an audience.
I was just about to say “Gee-Whiz” and burst into tears when I heard a buzzing, swishing, spinning sound coming from outside. We all ran out of the Cave where we were stunned by the sight of a rocket that looked just like a giant carrot. As it was landing, a voice boomed from some speakers in the ship saying;
“Ladies and Gentlemen, does and hares, do not be alarmed. The flying carrot that you see before you is none other than the revered Beta-Kerotene, as piloted by the fabulous Captain Lepus...”
The doors to the rocket ship then swung open and eighty three different colors of smoke shot out of it until finally there appeared a silver clad rabbit with goggles and a cell phone.
I didn’t mean to eve’s drop, but I heard him speaking into the phone and saying;
“Peter, baby, my main man, whattaya mean where am I? I’m at the Evil Wiener show. Isn’t everybody?”
Mr. Mouse, Chuck, Groves, and myself all looked at each other in disbelief. Thrum-cap, Coil, and Adamantine were not happy. Not at all.
The sleek rabbit from outer space hopped up to me and said;
“Mr. Sugarfix, I presume”
“Why, yes sir” I replied.
“Captain Lepus, intergalactic star hopper, at your service”
“But...but... how’d you know about the show? Thrum-cap, Coil, and Adamantine took down all of our photo advertisements.”
“Billy, baby, I read your blog on the internet.” said Captain Lepus.
I knew that this thing was worth doing.
Saturday, July 03, 2004
The Noble Rodent's Vision
“Bo Jo(u)” said Chuck, as he rolled up to the curb.
“Hail” said Groves, as he took a long slog from a bottle of quarry water.
“Acknowledgments all around” I said “I’d like to introduce you to my new friend, Mr. Mouse.”
Mr. Mouse jumped up onto the sidewalk and did four backflips. He then spun around, dropped to the ground, did the worm for eighteen and a half minutes, turned a sommersault, came out of it and spun on his head, walked on his hands for another eighteen and a half minutes, turned invisible, reappeared on the other side of the street, bounced back across on his tail, and said;
“Mr. Mouse is my sobriquet
I live downtown in a bona fide cave”
“Wowsers” said Groves.
“How did you know to stop at exactly eighteen and a half minutes?” asked Chuck.
“Chuck, baby, this isn’t about me. This is about Evil Wiener, my cave, big party. I got more connections than the internet. I’m seein’ stars. Three of ‘em. Whattaya say fellas? Are you in?”
Chuck and Groves looked at eachother, then at me.
“Does this mean...” said Groves.
“...That we have a gig” said Chuck.
“It sure as Christian Dior Extase Sunglasses with Lilac Lenses does” I said.
“That’s the mettle” said Mr. Mouse “So, let’s get right on this. Think advertising, getting the word out, shmoozing, networking. I can see billboards and skywriting in the future, but for now, let’s take a grass roots approach to things.”
Mr. Mouse reached up and pulled a poloroid camera out from behind my ear. It was wierd. I didn’t feel a thing! He snapped a picture of us, and while we were waiting for it to develop he reached up again, and this time pulled a sharpie brand magic marker from behind one of Groves’ whiskers.
“Mondo-cool” said Groves.
“Grape-fruit like” said Chuck (Chuck really likes Grapefruit)
Mr. Mouse wrote; “Come See Evil Wiener at the Cave” on the picture and hung it on a kiosk.
The four of us then walked from kiosk to kiosk, and at each one Mr. Mouse would take another picture, write on it, and then hang it up to advertise our big show.
Several times I noticed men in black capes, top-hats, and handle bar moustaches looming in the shadows around the kiosks, but I didn’t think anything of it.
“Hail” said Groves, as he took a long slog from a bottle of quarry water.
“Acknowledgments all around” I said “I’d like to introduce you to my new friend, Mr. Mouse.”
Mr. Mouse jumped up onto the sidewalk and did four backflips. He then spun around, dropped to the ground, did the worm for eighteen and a half minutes, turned a sommersault, came out of it and spun on his head, walked on his hands for another eighteen and a half minutes, turned invisible, reappeared on the other side of the street, bounced back across on his tail, and said;
“Mr. Mouse is my sobriquet
I live downtown in a bona fide cave”
“Wowsers” said Groves.
“How did you know to stop at exactly eighteen and a half minutes?” asked Chuck.
“Chuck, baby, this isn’t about me. This is about Evil Wiener, my cave, big party. I got more connections than the internet. I’m seein’ stars. Three of ‘em. Whattaya say fellas? Are you in?”
Chuck and Groves looked at eachother, then at me.
“Does this mean...” said Groves.
“...That we have a gig” said Chuck.
“It sure as Christian Dior Extase Sunglasses with Lilac Lenses does” I said.
“That’s the mettle” said Mr. Mouse “So, let’s get right on this. Think advertising, getting the word out, shmoozing, networking. I can see billboards and skywriting in the future, but for now, let’s take a grass roots approach to things.”
Mr. Mouse reached up and pulled a poloroid camera out from behind my ear. It was wierd. I didn’t feel a thing! He snapped a picture of us, and while we were waiting for it to develop he reached up again, and this time pulled a sharpie brand magic marker from behind one of Groves’ whiskers.
“Mondo-cool” said Groves.
“Grape-fruit like” said Chuck (Chuck really likes Grapefruit)
Mr. Mouse wrote; “Come See Evil Wiener at the Cave” on the picture and hung it on a kiosk.
The four of us then walked from kiosk to kiosk, and at each one Mr. Mouse would take another picture, write on it, and then hang it up to advertise our big show.
Several times I noticed men in black capes, top-hats, and handle bar moustaches looming in the shadows around the kiosks, but I didn’t think anything of it.
Heart Like an Eel
Before we had gone too far down the street, Chuck said;
“I’m hungry”
Groves said;
“I sure would like to jump into a pond or something”.
“Say” said Chuck “Why don’t we look around for a place where we could eat, and maybe get a hotel room with a big bathtub for Groves”
“Gee” I said “I don’t think we have enough money for that.”
“Darn” said Chuck.
“Shucks” said Groves.
I gave Chuck and Groves the last bit of dough that I had and told them to go and at least get a snack somewhere. I then sat on the curb and felt lower than the toilet in the basement of hell.
“You look sad” said a squeaky voice. I turned around and saw a mouse.
“I am sad” I replied.
“That’s ok.” said the mouse “So am I”
He came and sat on the curb next to me and said;
“Why are you sad?”
“I am sad because our Rock and Roll band can’t get any gigs because no one likes my singing. How about you?”
“I am sad because my pet died”
“What kind of a pet was it?” I asked.
“It was a giant electric eel. What is the name of your band?”
“Evil Wiener”
“Evil Wiener? Say, aren’t you the guys who trashed Thrum-Cap and Coil’s? And then drank all of the lemonade at Admantine’s Rock and Roll Lemonade Stand?”
“Yep”
“YEEEEHAW!!!” said the mouse “Those jerks have had it coming for years. I wouldn’t feel bad about what they think. They wouldn’t know real Rock and Roll if it moved into their socks and played cards with their toes. To me, good music isn’t about good singing. It’s more about swimming in rock quarries, talking catfish, meteorites, and magical events that turn normal everyday creatures and objects into musicians. That’s where I’m comin’ from.”
The mouse paused for a moment and then said;
“Saaaaaaaay. I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you guys come play at my place? I live in a cave that’s right down town. Having a rock band to party with might make me less lonesome for my recently departed pet, the giant electric eel.”
I felt like a multicolored balloon with a hologram inside it. It was finally happening!!! A gig for Evil Wiener!!!! Then, I had an idea of my own.
“Why, yes, Mr. Mouse. We’d love to play your Cave. But first, let me ask you. Can you pay us a thousand bucks each? JUST KIDDING. JUST KIDDING. What I really wanted to ask, is, what kind of aquarium did you have for your eel?
“A large freshwater aquarium” said Mr. Mouse.
“Would it be big enough for, say, a six foot three catfish wearing sweat pants and a tuxedo jacket?” I asked.
“I should say so” replied Mr. Mouse.
The future looked brighter than a solar panel on the Palace of Apollo.
“I’m hungry”
Groves said;
“I sure would like to jump into a pond or something”.
“Say” said Chuck “Why don’t we look around for a place where we could eat, and maybe get a hotel room with a big bathtub for Groves”
“Gee” I said “I don’t think we have enough money for that.”
“Darn” said Chuck.
“Shucks” said Groves.
I gave Chuck and Groves the last bit of dough that I had and told them to go and at least get a snack somewhere. I then sat on the curb and felt lower than the toilet in the basement of hell.
“You look sad” said a squeaky voice. I turned around and saw a mouse.
“I am sad” I replied.
“That’s ok.” said the mouse “So am I”
He came and sat on the curb next to me and said;
“Why are you sad?”
“I am sad because our Rock and Roll band can’t get any gigs because no one likes my singing. How about you?”
“I am sad because my pet died”
“What kind of a pet was it?” I asked.
“It was a giant electric eel. What is the name of your band?”
“Evil Wiener”
“Evil Wiener? Say, aren’t you the guys who trashed Thrum-Cap and Coil’s? And then drank all of the lemonade at Admantine’s Rock and Roll Lemonade Stand?”
“Yep”
“YEEEEHAW!!!” said the mouse “Those jerks have had it coming for years. I wouldn’t feel bad about what they think. They wouldn’t know real Rock and Roll if it moved into their socks and played cards with their toes. To me, good music isn’t about good singing. It’s more about swimming in rock quarries, talking catfish, meteorites, and magical events that turn normal everyday creatures and objects into musicians. That’s where I’m comin’ from.”
The mouse paused for a moment and then said;
“Saaaaaaaay. I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you guys come play at my place? I live in a cave that’s right down town. Having a rock band to party with might make me less lonesome for my recently departed pet, the giant electric eel.”
I felt like a multicolored balloon with a hologram inside it. It was finally happening!!! A gig for Evil Wiener!!!! Then, I had an idea of my own.
“Why, yes, Mr. Mouse. We’d love to play your Cave. But first, let me ask you. Can you pay us a thousand bucks each? JUST KIDDING. JUST KIDDING. What I really wanted to ask, is, what kind of aquarium did you have for your eel?
“A large freshwater aquarium” said Mr. Mouse.
“Would it be big enough for, say, a six foot three catfish wearing sweat pants and a tuxedo jacket?” I asked.
“I should say so” replied Mr. Mouse.
The future looked brighter than a solar panel on the Palace of Apollo.
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