Chapters

Chapter 1: Moonian or Martian? ...... 1 Chapter 2: Icy the Ice Queen ...... 3 Chapter 3: The Crisis of the Missing Snacks ...... 5 Chapter 4: Mars… Again? ...... 8 Chapter 5: A Breezy Space Walk ...... 10 Chapter 6: Franky the Hot Dog Vendor ...... 13 Chapter 7: An Unexpected Encounter ...... 16 Chapter 8: The Great Planetary Race (Part I) ...... 19 Chapter 9: The Great Planetary Race (Part II) ...... 24 Chapter 10: Crossing Paths ...... 28 Chapter 11: Full Circle ...... 33 Chapter 12: The Trek to Saturn ...... 38 Chapter 13: The Great Snot Bubble ...... 42 Chapter 14: The Travelocity Gnome ...... 45 Chapter 15: The Life of a Gnome ...... 49 Chapter 16: The Time Machine ...... 53 Chapter 17: Operation Total Mayhem ...... 59 Chapter 18: Déjà vu ...... 64 Chapter 19: Decision Time ...... 69 Chapter 20: The Mad Dash ...... 72 Chapter 21: Mercury (a.k.a. The Great Reunion—Part I) ...... 78 Chapter 22: The Rockin’ Dead ...... 82 Chapter 23: The Encore ...... 89 Chapter 24: A Few Moldy Buns ...... 94 Chapter 25: Worm Holes, Elvis Presley, and the Realm of the Dead ...... 97 Chapter 26: The Marriage Express (a.k.a. The Great Reunion—Part II) ...... 103 Chapter 27: A Fishy Tale ...... 110 Epilogue ...... 117

Chapter 1: Moonian or Martian?

Hello, and let me introduce myself, "Hello, and let me introduce myself, I'm two years old, and small as an elf. I'm two years old, and small as an elf. I'm a cute little boy named Gabriel, I'm a cute little boy named Gabriel, And so I fit cribs and onesies very well. And so I fit cribs and onesies very well.

I have two parents—a mom and dad, This here is my companion and good friend Teddy, Sometimes they scold me for being bad, For a long time has our friendship been steady. They tell me "go to sleep!" We are traveling through the stars—that's right— And not to make a single peep. For how could we not on such a clear night?

But I can't help it, I swear, And what may your name be, Mister Alien? For I feel like playing with my teddy bear, Or would that be ‘Sir’? But then again, Rather than going to sleep, I think you might go by ‘Moonian,’ no? And falling into a dream so deep. You are a Moonian, isn't that so?"

For me and teddy would go on adventures, "In fact, young Earthling, I am not. And take bold risks and great ventures, I'm actually stuck—kinda caught. If only we could break free, I only crash landed here, you see. Of this crib and its bars surrounding me. I'm really a Martian—yesseree.

Why, if we could, we'd try, teddy and I, I'm from Mars; I'm your neighbor next door, To climb aboard that rocket in the sky— I was exploring the planets and so much more, The one on my mobile hanging above me, Until my stupid ship crash landed here, With planets, stars, and comets floating free. Because I suddenly forgot how to steer!

We'd climb aboard, I say, Luckily, I found a few helpful locals, And we'd fly far far away, Who were kind enough to answer my calls, Out of this crib and to the stars, My calls of distress and frustration, No longer caught between these bars. And so they came to assess my situation.

The first place we'd go, in our rocket ship, There were three of them to be exact, On this adventurous space-bound trip, And, oh, how quickly they began to act. Is to the Moon, that bright round ball, I'd say ‘Scientist,’ ‘Philosopher,’ and ‘Engineer’— That I see outside the window on my wall. That is, if I were to name them by career.

We'd land and right away, The scientist, Hubert, studies quantum mechanics, Right on the very first day, And listens very closely to those annoying tics, Meet an alien, some weird moon-creature, The ones my ship’s been mysteriously making, Someone who was strange to look at for sure, Ever since the crash from which I'm still shaking.

For his skin would be green like a frog, The engineer, Sally, has begun, Not like a sheep, goat, or dog, Eagerly and seemingly having fun, And he’d have big bulging eyes, To fix the plumbing on my ship— The type that would take you by surprise, First order of business on a space trip!

And don’t get me started on his head, And the philosopher, Immanuel, has been thinking, For it would be huge like a king size bed, Thinking long and hard, sometimes blinking. A pair of spectacles on his face would sit, Trying to figure out the justification for why And a propeller cap on his head would fit. I crashed rather than soared through the astral sky.

I'd introduce Teddy and I, I would, Come, let me introduce you. To this strange looking alien, as I should, Maybe you can join the crew. And I'd kick things off right, I'm sure that you and Teddy, And try at all costs to avoid a fight: Have something to offer at the ready."

"Why, that would be splendid," I'd say, But that's a different problem, a digression, "I'm so glad that in my crib I didn't stay, What's important now is to answer the question, For this is already way more exciting, Of why this terrible event did happen. Than I expected, and, oh, how inviting." We know it wasn't because Sir Martian was nappin'.

Teddy and I would follow Sir Martian, The only conclusion I can come to about this curse, Back to his friends at the station. Is that we live in a deterministic universe, It wouldn't take long—no, not at all, Which can only mean it was written in the stars, For the Moon is a tiny, eensy-weensy ball. That on this day you would crash, traveler from Mars."

We would get there speedy quick, and I would see, "Now wait a minute," Hurbert would stand up, Hubert, Immanuel, and skinny little Sally. "If determinism were tea, I'd throw away the cup, They would be hard at work indeed, For as an expert in quantum theory, Taking care of Sir Martian's central need. Talk of determinism makes me weary.

I'd see Hubert knocking on the ship, on the door, For it is false—and that means not true— And then listening for something, maybe a roar. That everything we see and everything we do, He was studying something for sure, testing. Has been written in the stars since time began. A lot of concentration he seemed to be investing. Can things happen randomly? Yes they can!"

Sally would be there too, getting a shock— So Hubert and Immanuel would shout and dispute, After fixing the wires in the cockpit clock. That what the other was saying does not compute, She'd like it though, it'd be a buzz, But before things would get out of hand, She'd smile, and do it again just because. I'd propose something we'd all understand:

Immanuel would be busy too—he'd be walking— "Excuse me, for I don't mean to interrupt, But that's not all—he'd also be talking— But if it's a ship you need that isn't corrupt, Talking to himself, speaking out loud, I, and my companion Teddy here, have one. As though to an invisible crowd. It's ready to go and it's a whole lotta fun."

"My good friend Hubert," Sir Martian would say, So I would invite everyone aboard, "How goes the work on this bright sunny day? And immediately we would all strike a chord, Have you figured anything out about my sorry ship? A chord of friendship, that is, of team spirit, Could it be the quantum flux booster rocket has a rip?" Before we got to our ship or even near it.

"Highly doubtful, Sir Martian," would say Hubert, It would be a wee bit crammed at first, "But I did find, in the ventilation, this shirt. It might even seem my ship would burst. You must have lost it some time ago, But it wouldn't take long to get comfortable, How or why, well, I don't profess to know. And off we'd fly without any trouble.

What I do know is what's causing those annoying tics, Next on our agenda: Mars of course, Those one's we've been hearing since quarter to six. For we'd have to return Sir Martian to his source, You must have dropped your watch in the toilet, His home, that is, in order to call AMA, Accidently, of course, and I think you've spoiled it." And report the accident in all its disarray.

"After I pulled apart the plumbing," Sally would interject, "Ripped it up, I did, to see what was wrecked. Pulled the tube out of the poddy, And out poured your watch, looking shoddy."

"Do you know what this means?!" Immanuel would intrude, "How depressing, how dismal, how utterly crude?! For now, not only is his ship a wreck, But his shirt and watch too—we're up to our neck,

In troubles, that is, in dilemmas and puzzles, For I can't figure out how one guzzles, Three and a quarter gallons of salt water, Without pestering a contemptuous otter.

Chapter 2: Icy the Ice Queen

It would take a while to get to Mars, But then: "Like, oh my God!" would say the Queen of Ice, Much longer than to the Moon amongst the stars, "You guys are, like, totally nice! For Mars is 150 times the distance in space, And awesome and, like, really cool, And we'd have to go faster as if in a race. And, aaaw, your Teddy's so cute! You rule!

Unfortunately, we couldn't land just anywhere, So, like, do you need anything? What can I give you? For my ship couldn't land on the rocks down there. Gold? Silver? A hug for each member of your crew? I forgot to tell you what my ship doesn't feature; Oh, I'd love to give you a hug, Gaby; It doesn't have landing pads, the cheap creature. You're, like, a totally cute little baby!"

So, of course, we'd head for the North Pole, "I'm a toddler, thank you very much," That white spot that sticks out like a mole, I'd say, trying to look mature and such, The ice cap on the top of Mars, "And like I said, we're dropping off our friend, That reflects light brighter than the stars. Sir Martian, for to him our helping hand we lend."

At least that way, we'd slip and slide, "Now, hold up," Sir Martian would say, As opposed to a roller-coaster ride, "I never said I wanted to come home to stay. That goes off the tracks and crashes, As I understood it, I'm here to call AMA, And burns into flames and ashes. And after that, to continue my travels far and away."

And, well, whose assistance would we seek, "Oh, that's no problem," would say the Queen, At this Martian icicle: the pole, the peek. "I totally love to help, I'm so not mean. We'd seek out the Ice Queen! Her royal highness, You can use the royal phone, hanging there on the wall, In the hopes of inciting her genuine kindness. Dial 9, 1, F12, numlock's optional, then make your call.

You see, she'd have a palace, the Ice Queen, And if you're all, like, going for a ride, It would glisten in ice, sparkly and clean, Can I go with you? I mean, I have to confide: Inside, on her throne where it'd be most cool, That I, well, that is, I'm really bored. The Ice Queen sat and over Mars would rule. There's things to do, yeah, but they can be ignored.

"Your Highness," I'd say on behalf of everyone, I'm sure Mars can deal with itself, "I come from that planet a bit closer to the Sun, At least for a short while, self-proclaimed elf, The one they call Earth, and I come bearing my crew, For, really, the most pressing issue of late, One of which lives here on Mars like you. Has been what color nail polish I love or, like, hate.

But first, allow me introduce myself, I work totally hard as my subjects, I'm sure, have seen. I'm two years old, and small as an elf. So I think I deserve a break; I am, after all, the Queen! I'm a cute little boy named Gabriel, So is that OK? I mean, I hope I don't seem like a creep. And so I fit cribs and onesies very well. It's just, I'm so bored, I often just fall asleep!"

This here is Teddy, my companion and friend, Immanuel would nobly say as their eyes would meet: And that's Sally, my engineer to the end. "Your highness, your excellency most beautiful and sweet, And this is Hubert and here's Immanuel, It would be our pleasure—and our honor— My scientist and philosopher who serve me well. To bring you aboard before we're a goner."

And finally, this here is our companion, Meanwhile, Sir Martian would be trying to figure out, The one we all call Sir Martian. The phone: "Did she say 'optional'?—that I doubt. He lives here, as I said, with you, She definitely said numlock was required, And we're bringing him home to where he grew." So I'll keep pushing it 'til I get tired."

The ice queen would put down her book, So Sir Martian would push numlock 50 times, And would stand up, giving us a grim look, And for good measure, insert a few more dimes, She’d inch forward, slowly, from the shadows, And when he'd get tired, and his fingers hurt, A cold, sullen look upon her face, as if it froze. He'd call his mom and dad, and would assert:

"Mom? Dad? Uh, well, I have something to say. You see, uh, it's like—it's been a bad day. And, well, you know the ship you let me borrow? It's, uh, well, it's—this will fill you with sorrow.

It was an accident, ok?! It's wrecked, it's bashed! I totaled it! I'm sorry! But I crashed. I need you to call AMA and sort this out. I swear I'll make it up, without a doubt."

So while Sir Martian would undergo, This ordeal with his parents, disappointed so, The Ice Queen would become inaugurated, Into the crew and to the stars, with us, be fated.

When Sir Martian would be done, His parents taking care of their son, He'd catch up with the rest of us, And board the ship, now more like a bus.

Chapter 3: The Crisis of the Missing Snacks

We'd start to lose room aboard the ship, Here, why don't I, like, give them to you, But I'd shove and push with my hip, After all, it is the least I can do, And make myself comfortable and cozy, If it means befriending you and then some, So that the rest of the trip would be rosy. For your kind and bodaciously warm welcome."

Where would we go now? And with that, Icy would remove the batteries, We'd have to plan our trip somehow. As Sally would light up from all the flatteries. I would have been to the Moon, She'd take them and apply them to her tongue. And we'd all have been to Mars since noon. She'd howl and yelp with every breath in her lung.

And well, it’d really be up to Sir Martian, "Well, if electricity Sally likes so, Where we’d go amongst all this starshine, Then let's aim for the red spot and go," You know, like sunshine, except from stars, I'd say, "Headlong into the storm, Where among the stars would our traveler from Mars, Whether cold, hot, or lukewarm."

Wish to go on this late day in December? And so into the eye of the storm we'd head, To answer that, he’d remember, And though we'd be scared, we wouldn't end up dead, That Jupiter was on his list, Not with me and my piloting skills at the helm, So to Jupiter we’d go, he’d insist. Though my ship the gale winds would certainly overwhelm.

Besides, Jupiter would be the next logical place. Into the red thick we'd disappear, It's definitely way out there in space. The howling winds would deafen the ear, So we'd set our course for the great red giant. And as sure as we'd expect, and to Sally's delight, Would everyone agree? Of course, they'd be compliant. Lightning flashes would give us an awful fright.

"But should I bring it to your attention," But a little too soon, or a little too late, Would interrupt Hubert, in his voice an inflexion, I would somehow slip up and sealed our fate. "That after consulting the Weather Network, It would happen too fast for me to react, It seems a storm, a hurricane, on Jupiter does lurk. But out the window I'd see the wing cracked,

According to Tom, the weather man, Under the pressure of 1.21 gigawatts, It blows wind stronger than any fan, Traveling at the speed of a billion kilonots, It's even colored red like a great swirling fire, A bolt of lightning would have struck our ship, And it's as big as Earth times three, maybe higher." And through the wing, tear a great rip.

"Oh, oh, oh!" would perk up Sally with glee, It would send us spinning, swirling, out of control, "Is there any lightening, can you see, And send us flying down an abysmal hole, Can you, Hubert? On the screen? Out the window? Through the great fog, that is, through the mire, Oh, electricity excites me, as you know." Through the hydrogen cloud that covers Jupiter entire.

"Yes, my dear," Hubert would answer, And where would we land, you wonder? "Where there's a storm, you can be sure, Into a dirty old shack we'd crash like thunder, There'll also be lightening galore, Like a rusty old barn abandoned and forgotten, So much, it'll throw you to the floor." Grey and crooked, with wooden boards rotten.

"Woaw, you, like, totally love electricity," We'd crash right through the wall, Would comment Icy, the Queen from the Martian city, Into what would look like a bathroom stall, "So do I. It totally powers my equipment, sure enough, With sewer lines broke and water erupting, My hair blower, my crimper, and all this other stuff. The spectacular mess would sure be something.

Some I have to, like, plug in," she'd go on, We'd step out of the ship, Sir Martian shaking, "Some need batteries that must last long. And immediately we'd smell something baking, In fact, I have a rad trimmer right here in my pocket, It would be like turkey, bacon, or something dicey, And, like, Oh my God! There's batteries in the socket! No, more like chicken wings, hot and spicy.

Indeed, in would come walking a greyhound, "He's wight, you know," Rex would add, Carrying a tray of eaten wings, about a pound. "To fink we can't pway pokew is just sad, He would look at us with those puppy dog eyes, We'w human too, you know, we'w intewigent, And on his face, a look of utter surprise. Pwus de advantage of a nose wiv awsome sent."

He'd say: "Woof! What have you done? "Yup," would pipe up the twins, Puddles and Sparky. Who awe you to wuin ouwe fun? The Poodles who, whether sense or malarkey, We were pwaying cawds and eating dese, Would respond together, at the same time, Chicken wings, that is, wiv cwackews and cheese. Brother and sister were they, like rhythm and rhyme.

But now we have a meff to cwean, "Mawe," would yelp Sparky, "Or femawe," Puddles would say, De biggeft meff I evew seen." And then together: "We have wights dat awe hewe to stay, He'd be right, I would have to admit. Wheder spotted or pwane, stwiped or pwad, I wouldn't want to just stay and sit. We take pwide in doghood, and it makes us gwad."

I'd want to help him, of course. And at that, all would howl and yipe, I'd owe it to him to work like a horse, For with doggihood they would have no gripe. For it would be the least I could do, They'd be proud and exuberant, they would, After bursting through his wall with my crew. And of this, we'd make sure we understood.

So I'd say "I'm terribly sorry, Spot, "Wew, come on, I'w show you de bwoom," Or is it Sparky, or Rex—well, maybe not. Buster would say, leaving the room. Whatever your name is, I and my crew apologize, He'd come back with brooms and hand them out, For creating a hole in your wall of enormous size. From Rona or Home and Garden, no doubt.

Now, please allow me to introduce myself, "Now, as I was saying," Rex would continue, I'm two years old, and small as an elf. With the discuss before me and my crew, I'm a cute little boy named Gabriel, "Dis pwobwem has been wiv us fow a while, And so I fit cribs and onesies very well. And evew since it stawted, I haven't seen a smile,

And this is my crew whose names I will assert: Fwom any one of you, nor fwom mysewf, These are Teddy, Sally, Immanuel, and Hubert, De probwem, dat is, dewe on de shewf." And this is Sir Martian with the propeller hat, "You mean," would yelp Sparky, "aww dat noffing? And that, Max, is Icy, Queen of Mars—isn’t that phat?!” De empty space, de void, de absence of someffing?"

"I’d say she wooks wather fin, and my name's not Max! "Yes, Spawky, de wack of snacks on ouw shewf, It's Bustew—nevew guess names, stick to facts! De wack of chips, cheesees, cookies fwom the Keebwer ewf, And if you'w so sowwy, why don't you hewp, De noffingness—except de empty bags, To cwean dis up," he'd bark at me and yelp. Stwewn about amongst diwty wags."

"But of course, Buster, and sorry about the name. "Wex is wight, dis is a cwisis," would say Spot, I have a real problem," I'd say to ease the pain, "An de wowst is—an dis shouwd not be fowgot— "Of guessing people's names"—and Sir Martian would say: None of us awe vowonteewing, "In fact, he guessed my name 3 times just the other day!" Not even fow dis bootiful eawing,

And with that, Buster lead us into the game room, Which I wiw offew anyone who goes, Where, to our stupefaction, we found what, I assume, And gets some mowe chips made fwom potatoes, Were four other dogs playing poker, As wong as it's not me, I would not believe it: "Okay, whose the joker?" Fow I'm in de middwe of a game, you see."

I'd below out, "Whose brilliant stunt is this? "But we'we aww in da middwe of a game, Do you really expect us to think nothing's amiss? Evwyone's pwedicament is da same!" I mean, what dog really plays poker, really? "Exactwe, Pddwes, dat's what I'm saying, This is obviously a façade, it's just silly." But at weast, wiv dis eawing, I'm paying."

"You, my fwiend," would retort Spot, the great dane, And at each other, all would bark and holler, "Awe a doggist—denying it would be in vein. For only by being dragged by the collar, You assume ouw names awe de typicaw doggy names! Would any one leave the game to go, You give in to steweotypes and to sinistew games." To buy chips, crackers, and sugar covered dough.

"Now, wait a minute, guys! Heel!" "Da kid's wight," would say Spot, I'd say and abruptly did their clamor keel, "Wet's stwike de iwon when it’s hot, And all puppy dog eyes looked my way. And take de oppowtunity to eawnestwy decide, Having their attention, I'd continue to say: Dat by dis pwan, we won't have to divide."

"If you need someone to go to the store for you, "But we muft stiww divide," would interrupt Rex, Why don't I go—er, that is, I and my crew. "Fow whose gonna dwive? Puddles of de opposite sex?" There'd be no need for you to get up at all, "Now, Wex, we poddwe giwls can dwive just as weww, As soon as we get unstuck from that wall." As you mawe dogs—don't make me waise heww!

"But you awe stuck," would remind old Buster, But, be dat as it may, I'm not dwiving." "And de fwoow stiww doesn't have its shiny wuster, Spot would concur: "To dwive, I'm not stwiving." So keep cweaning, and weeve de doggy buisness to— "Neider am I," would insist Sparky, Unwess..." Buster would pause and turn to his doggy crew. "Not me," Buster’d say sounding snarky.

"Say... what if we wet de kid dwive ouw ship, And of course, the barking and yelping would begin, We could wet him take it for a space twip, But again, I would arbiter, and bring back a grin, To go get snacks, of couwse, not just fow kicks. On Buster's, Spot's, Rex's, Sparky's and Puddle's face. If you did dis fow us, kid, I'w give you wicks." And sooner than later, we'd be back up in space.

"What?! Awe you out of youw mind, Bustew?!?!" Would protest Puddles, speaking for the doggy cluster, "Twust dis kid wiv ouw ship? Absowutewy Nevew! Not now, not evew—not even aftew fowever!"

"Weww," Sparky’d say, "One of us could go awong, Someone to dwive ouw ship made of tefwon. Why did we get a ship made of tefwon? As a matewiaw, its weawy not dat stwong."

"I pwopose," would say Puddles, "Dat be you, You came up wiv de idea, isn't it twue?" "I did, but I'm in no position to go. Fow to weave dis game would bwing me woe."

"Same hewe," would pipe up Rex, And Spot would add, "It'd bwing me vex." "Weww, I'm not going." Buster would assert. And they'd bark and howl so much, it would hurt!

"Okay, okay, okay, woaw, woaw, woaw!" I'd calm things down and make things slow, "Here's a brilliant idea—if I may— You have a ship, or so you say.

Why don't we all go? Buster, Puddles, the whole show? Plus me and my crew, unless of course, Your ship is smaller than a horse."

"Say..." would say Buster, "Da kids pwetty smawt, Ethhhpeciawwy considewing he's 2, the widdow fawt. And it's not a bad idea, in fact it's smawt. Not wike de ting I push outa my butt—a fawt."

"Well," I'd contort, "My idea's worth more than fart, But you are right about one thing—I am smart. And I'm serious too—we should all pack together, And fly in your ship, through sun or stormy weather."

Chapter 4: Mars… Again?

I would be at the helm, quite naturally of course, "Did I forget to put in a notice?" Icy piped up. For this solution was simple; it would be the source, Mr. Martian, alarmed, dropped his coffee cup. Of how we could all go to get snacks as one, "Silly me," she continued, "I, like, totally forgot. While all doggies play poker and have fun. But now I'm assigning you—please forget NOT;

In fact, we would bring the whole table, Don't forget, that is, to, like, send out a broadcast, Plus chairs, cards, and whatever we'd be able, To all of Mars—and, oh yes, when they go past, To fit on this new ship, with space-a-plenty, Maybe to Phobos and Deimos too, For there'd be several rooms, at least twenty. So that no one will, like, construe,

The dogs would be in the back room playing, My absence for a ploy, like what you just said. And in the bathroom, we'd hear something spraying, No, I'm not kidnapped, I'm totally not asleep in bed, It was only Icy, spraying her hair with gel, I'm just, like, conducting some important politics, The pantry was the next room, the next cell. Some foreign affairs, yeah that—I'll return on, uuuh, June 6."

And that room, the pantry, would be our goal, "Well, uh, er, yes, your majesty," would say dad, It'd be the room that, right then, would be a hole. "To relay your message would make us glad." And our mission was to fill it with snacks, "As soon as we're done with our son, your highness," Goodies that would help the dogs relax. Would add mom, "granting your permission, your kindness."

But where in the vastness of interstellar space, "Now hold on, wait up!" I'd interject, Would we find snacks with which to stuff our face? "Do I understand this? Is this correct? To search aimlessly would seem our only choice, That you, Mr. and Mrs. Martian, Until over the intercom came a doggy voice: Took Mars out for a leisurely spin?"

"In case you didn't know, Satuwn is de pwace, "Not only that," dad would say, "but your ship, Whewe you can buy cheesies by de case." Marshy-Warshy, we repaired—not a scratch or rip. So we'd fly off this big red ball, We had it toed from the Moon, And be at Saturn in no time at all. At about a quarter to noon."

But unbeknownst to us and as a surprise, "We then fixed it up, free of charge," mom would add, This attempt to reach Saturn would be our demise, "Paid for by AMA, so don’t worry, we’re not mad." For about half way there, we'd crash on Mars— "It's ready to go son," would continue dad, "if you want it. That's right, Mars, way out amongst the outer stars. Here's the keys—crash it again, and you're in deep poop."

As it would happen, Sir Martian's mom and dad, "Well," Marshy-Warshy would respond in utter surprise, Would feel, towards their son, so incredibly bad, "Our ship is a bit crowded, despite its size, And while they would be dealing with AMA, So ummm... yeah, I'll take the keys, They just had to visit their son. Mom would say: Driving my own ship would put me at ease."

"We were worried about our little Marshy-Warshy— "What?!?!" I'd protest, "We're not sticking together? And don't take this to sound too harshy— Like the coat of a bird, feather to feather?" You might get into trouble so far from home, "Hey, I didn't say we'd go our separate ways," And so we brought you lunch, cash, and this comb." Would say Sir Martian, lowering my eyebrows raised.

Marshy would ask: "You drove Mars way out here? "Why don't you follow me? Or I could follow you. Way past Jupiter? That's quite queer." Your call, captain—I'm still a loyal member of your crew." "It's the least I, daddy, could do for my boy. "Well," I'd say, "I guess elbow room is a virtue, Plus there seems to be some kind of ploy. And like sardines, I don't want to sit and stew.

For the Queen has gone missing, it appears. So yeah, we'll fly in tandem, a two-ship crew, Notification of her absence reached no one's ears, But I'm still taking the lead, it's true." And, well, since there was no one to authorize it, "Fine with me," Sir Martian would happily conciliate, We made an executive decision to take Mars out for a bit." "And a few members into my crew, I'll need to consummate.

For I'd prefer not to go it alone, So Sir Martian would bite into the apple, For it would leave me cold as a stone." The first of mom's foods to sample. "I'll go with you!" Sally would volunteer, Just as on the dashboard, he'd put his feet up, "So will I," would 2nd Hubert, "I'll steer. He'd noticed something so foul and corrupt.

For I'm experienced in many-a-piloting lesson, For in the apple, under the first bite, And I'm sure your father would agree that his son, Would be a nematode—a worm—a horrible sight, Should allow someone who doesn't typically crash, "Yeeeuuwghch," would yelp the green man from Mars, To drive your ship in a manner not so rash." The grossness, leaving in his mind, many scars.

"Then it's settled," I'd conclude, He'd toss it out the window, onto my ship, "The manner in which we've been 'crewed,' That's right—about a twenty yard trajectory trip. That is, how we're to be partitioned, It would get lodged somewhere on the wing: Split up, divided, as it were, fissioned. On the part of Sir Martian, a magnificent fling.

You, Hubert, will drive Sir Martian and Sally, Well, I’d command my crew to start the engine, Close behind me and my awesome posse. It would cough a bit, blow out smoke, and I’d be cringin’, We'll head East towards Saturn, For having crashed, it wouldn’t be in the best shape, Hopefully with enough fuel to burn.” But it’d still work, it’d still fly, like Superman and his cape.

"East, did you say?" Mrs. Martian would point out, So we'd both take off—in opposite directions— "I'm sorry, but it's West—you need to do a round-about. Neither of us realizing our opposite projections: Saturn, at this time of year, Sir Martian, Sally, and Hubert at the helm going East, Is two light hours away from here. While we'd go West—to Saturn that great ringed beast.

It's not next door to Jupiter— That's a fact that's for sure— For Saturn is on the opposite side of the Sun, From where we are now—sorry to ruin your fun."

"But you'll have to travel quite a ways," Dad would continue, "Maybe even for several days. You'll have to travel past the Earth, Past the Moon and, for what it's worth,

Past Venus and Mercury, and around the Sun, Then straight on 'til morning, young padawan, For if you follow that pattern, Then for sure, you’ll reach Saturn."

"That's mighty helpful, Mr. and Mrs. Martian," I'd say with all due courtesy and passion, "And if there's nothing more to address, We should begin this unexpected regress."

But Hubert, Sally and Sir Martian would already be aboard, And this news about East and West would have been ignored; They wouldn't have caught that Saturn was West, And would set their course East—really not best.

"Now let's see," would say Sir Martian, "what ma packed, Hmm, a sandwich—peanut butter and jelly—it's a fact! And look at this—cheesy fish crackers—my fav! And hey! An apple! This one I definitely won't save."

"I'll eat it right away, apples are so yummy, Why, to eat peanut butter or cheesy fish is funny, If it came first, before something sweet, Something fruity, for the sake of Pete."

Chapter 5: A Breezy Space Walk

We'd both just assume that the other, "Your curiosity is enchanting, my dear, Wasn't far behind, like a Siamese twin brother, Your lust for knowledge is very clear, And so we wouldn't fret, we wouldn't worry, But if you want to explore, After all, to catch up, there was no hurry. You'll need something more—

After passing Jupiter one more time, More powerful than binoculars, that is to say; Gazing at its colorful stripes sublime, I recommend a telescope—that is, if I may. Icy the Ice Queen would need some air, Why, did you know, by Galileo it was invented? She'd need a break, which was only fair. In his genius mind, the idea had fermented.

She'd wonder out onto the left wing, Along with a theory of relativity, Of our grandiose ship full of doggy bling. Though not Einstein's—that's silly. There she'd sit and look at the stars, Einstein was several years ahead of him; As we'd travel further away from Mars. He made Galileo's theory look rather slim—"

Immanuel noticed her leave the room, "Umm, you're, like, totally missing the point, dude," And after giving his hair a plume, Interrupted the Ice Queen, trying not to be rude, He'd follow her out the door, "I think it's, like, totally rad, And walk 10 feet, plus a bit more, That this science stuff makes you glad,

Before sitting down next to her, But I, like, don't even know those guys— And politely, a conversation he'd stir: Well, I heard of Einstein; I heard he's very wise, "I certainly hope I'm not intruding, And Galileo rings a bell—isn't he a science guy? And I don't mean to cause any brooding. Who, according to you, looked up at the sky?

But I couldn't help but notice you, But I, like, think that's boring—no offense— That you left the group, the crew. I'm just totally stunned by how awesome a sense, And, well, I hope everything's all right, I get when I gaze into the sky, I hope you're feeling well on this night." It inspires questions like 'why?'

"Hey, you," would respond Icy, 'Why,' for example, 'Do the stars twinkle?' "That's, like, so sweet, even spicy! They're like pixie dust that I might sprinkle, But I'm totally OK—just chillin', On cupcakes or cookies, or chocolate pudding pie, Come, sit with me—that is, if you're willin'." But why, Immanuel? I'm always asking why?

"My lady, it would be a pleasure, And how far away are they, anyhow? It would be an honor and a treasure," And though they seem fixed right now, Would say Immanuel, putting on the charm, Can they move? Or were they always there? And sitting down, arm pressed against arm, Pinned to the night sky without a care?

"For on such a clear night such as this, I'm sure those science guys figured it out, And with so much time to just remiss, About your knowledge of them, I have no doubt, There is so much to talk about— But I don't really care for a history lesson; Anything—nothing should we flout. To find the answers would be the real blessin'."

So why don't you pick a topic— "But of course," Immanuel would respond, Hugely significant or microscopic— "How silly to think that you would be fond, From the deepest mysteries of nature, Of old geezers like Galileo and Einstein. To the banalities of agriculture." If its answers you seek, that would be fine.

"Well, I do like the stars, Those stars, my dear, are burning balls of gas, I kinda wish I had binoculars, A billion and some years would have to pass, That way, I could, like, see what they are, Even if we traveled at the speed of light, Suns, planets, or alien space ships afar. To get to them in a long and boring flight.

Oh, they're, like, so pretty and bright, That's why they seem so small, Like sparkling diamonds in the night. Smaller even than a ping-pong ball. I wish I had wings, you know, They're just that far away, So I could fly amongst them so." But make no mistake, not on this day,

For they're really no different than our Sun, And though I can't deny—because it's true— Hot, bright, and weighing well over a ton. I never could get into math, and science too, You ask if they move—well, they do! I did study—ardently, to the bone— Oh, you can't see it—this might be true. I studied 'til I made it to the throne.

But you wait a couple centuries or so, I studied people, I studied how they interact, And then for sure you'll know, I figured out how boys and girls attract, That a few of them have indeed shifted, I learned how to form alliances, to make friends, A few inches would they have been lifted. To be positive, and about the message that sends.

It seems so slow, I understand, That's what I'm good at, you know, But, oh, how much space does expand— It's a talent that rids me of woe, This great big universe that we live in, It's what brought me political success, Is so vast, our knowledge of it so thin, Which helped back when I was a princess."

That what seems to us so slow, "Indeed," Immanuel would say with soft-spoken voice, Is a thousand times faster than we know. "I can tell—for you would be my first choice— For did you know, my dear, Anyone's—should it come to a decision, We travel 150 million km per year? Made with absolute care and precision,

That's the distance the Earth travels, Of who I'd want to lead this great big world, Around the Sun when another year unravels. For if ever into war or peace we were hurled, Now that's fast, wouldn't you say? I'd trust you, above any other person, Yet the stars by night, and the Sun by day, For only then would things never worsen."

Seem fixed in the sky, perfectly still, "Immanuel," Icy would say, "You are so sweet, As though we're not moving, our speed nil. And I'll tell you a secret, a little treat: Such are the wonders of our cosmos so great, If I ever needed an adviser, It'd certainly be you— At least, according to my knowledge to date." You could be my muse, my one-man inspiration crew.

"Well, that's, like, really cool, Immanuel. I'll ask you questions, and you'll enlighten my world, So each star isn't like a little granule? With you by my side, all mysteries will be unfurled. They're each, like, totally humongous? I'll use your wisdom only for good, I swear, Huger than a big red double-Decker bus? And I'll reward you justly, which is only fair."

I never knew that. I totally had no clue. "My lady, the pleasure would be mine, You see, Immanuel, what you can do, To act in your service would be divine. When you, like, inspire my imagination, You may come to me with any question, How it totally fills me with elation? Concern or problem; I'll give my suggestion."

That's the stuff that inspires me, Then on his cheek, Icy would kiss him, That's what sets my imagination free. And say "you're a darling," just on a whim. Almost as though my soul were to fly, Immanuel would blush, and chuckled a little, Through this awesome and bodacious astral sky. And would feel warm right in his middle.

I would travel past our Sun and to the stars. But then: "Aw, you guys suck!" I would see if other planets exist, like Mars. Would say a voice, ruining their luck, Planets that orbit these other stars, as you say, "Gits youselves a room, don' make me sick! These huge burning balls of gas that give us day. That lovy-dovy stuff is jus' ick!"

I'd visit these other planets, cousins to Mars and Earth, They'd both look toward the ship. I'd meet with other people, and for what it's worth, Startled, Immanuel would clasp Icy's hip. Their kings and queens—and presidents too. There seemed to be an apple, Oh, it would be exciting and all so new! Moldy brown with a bit of dapple.

You see, Immanuel, that's why I got into politics. The voice would seem to come from there. I get to go to parties, mingle and mix. And protruding from the apple would be a hair. Some say I just never grew out of high school, At least, it'd look like a hair at first, That I never studied much—as a rule, But a closer look would reveal something worse.

It would be a worm, slimy and pink, "Yea, gib me a bit mo' momentum or someth'n, With a scowl that'd make you shrink, Some oomph—heck, it's betta' dan noth'n. From fear of its grumpy demeanor, Jus' pick me up, wind yea' arms back, For you would too if you'd seen 'er. And Swing foward wit' yo elbows slack.

"This is mushy-wushy poop— Oh, and remembe to release you grip, It is!—I'm givin' you de scoop, Oderwise, I ain't leavin' dis snail-paced trip. So snap outa it you 2, If you could do dat for me. Kisses make me grumpy, it's true. You can weturn to yo' kissy-kissy."

Say—whewe de heck am I? "Well, I suppose it's worth a shot," A set a' Martian teeff being nigh, Would conclude Immanuel, hesitating not, Is the last ting I seems to recalls, "If that's really what you want, Since retreatin' into my apple walls. Then I'll do it—like a little space jaunt."

It waz a close call, dat's fo suwe. So Immanuel would scoop up the apple, Da rest iz aw' jus' a bluwr. And like tying himself to a rappel, Ya know—I tink I must'a fainted, Mr. Worm would sink into his hole, And 'cause a' dat, my memowy's tainted. Inside the apple, like a mole.

But whewe da heck am I? Immanuel would throw back his right arm, I appeaw to be way up high, And with the left, keep Icy away from harm. In outa space dat is—on a ship! Then for practice, he'd count to three, Goin' fow an unexpected space twip! Before setting Mr. Worm and his apple free.

Who ordewed dis? Cewtenly not me! "One for the money, two for the show, My home of Maws I nevew wanted to flee! Three to get ready, and four... to... go!!!" So take me back wight now—I command you! And as Immanuel would utter those last words, In dis festewing apple, don't make me stew." Mr. Worm would be sent flying like the birds.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Worm," Immanuel would say, "Well, I'm getting chilly. How 'bout you?" "Returning to Mars is not an option today. Immanuel would ask, "Shall we return to the crew?" I tell you this with sincere and heartfelt regret, "Why, yes," Icy would answer, "It is rather cold, For we're headed away from Mars—please don't fret." Space tends to be like that, or so I'm told."

"Now, wait a minute Immanuel," Icy would retort, "Yes," Immanuel would agree, "minus 270.45 degrees, "That, like, depends, in a manner of sort: Pretty cold, thus the knocking of my knees." I mean, don't you think, Immanuel my friend, "Oh," Icy would reply, "you space guy you, That Mr. and Mrs. Martian would tend, You're such a science nerd, it's true."

To putting Mars back into place? On the move, wouldn't they be, through space? Back to the place where Mars should belong, Which is where we've been headed all along?"

"Why, yes, my dear—how clever you are," Would say Immanuel lighting up like a star, "So then, Mr. Worm, we may get you home yet. We'll make a pit stop when, to Mars, we get."

"And how long will dat take? Yeas? By den, I'll pwabably gwow ears! Nah, jus' pick me up an' chuck me, Pwease, like a bottle into da sea."

"Like, dude, you want us to chuck you?" Icy would question his intentions true, "Like, launch you forward, like a throw? Why? To make you go, like, less slow?"

Chapter 6: Franky the Hot Dog Vendor

"Woof!" they’d hear over the speakers, They'd be like metal cubes scattered about; Immanuel removing his sneakers, Billows of smoke, they'd be spewing out— "What's taking so wong?!" Sparky would bark, No doubt the source of all this fog, "When is dis ship finawwy gonna pawk? Polluting the air like city smog.

When is it gonna wand, dat is to say? We'd get closer still and begin to make out, We shoulda' been to Satuwn in wess dan a day. What these curious machines were without doubt. Ouw tummies awe wumbwing and making weiwd sounds. And after a moment, we couldn't deny it— In fact, we'we woosing weight by sevewal pounds." We couldn't be mistaken or wrong, not one bit.

At just that point, it would occur to me, It would be clear what covered the landscape, That we'd have forgot to tell them, you see— Maybe all Venus, like whip cream over a crape. Those doggies playing quietly in the back room, Venus must be home, it would seem, Quietly as a dark and old forgotten tomb— To hot dog vendors, millions, a whole ream.

That our course had changed since Friday, There they were by the legions— Which means they would be in for a long stay. With nothing in those in-between regions— After regretfully informing them of this news, Except for the rocky grounds, And listening to them howl from their blues, That covered Venus to its bounds,

They'd say, "Ah, if Satuwn is not in ouw fate, Each one puffing out clouds of smoke and steam, We'ww tell you of the next cwosest pwanet, mate— Loaded with buns and condiments it would seem. A pwanet known fow its dewicious snacks, And each one would have a vendor at the helm, A pwanet on which we can stop and wewax: Someone so big, fat, and greasy, it would overwhelm,

Venus is wewe we want to go, Anyone in their presence, in their haven, Venus is da pwace to be, you know. For they'd also be bald and kinda unshaven, So if you set ouw couwse for da white pwanet, They'd wear a greasy white muscle shirt, I pwomise we'ww get back to ouw game and can it." And out their mouths would occasionally spurt,

Well, how would I argue with that? One or two little rings of smoke, Venus was, after all, where we'd be at, After inhaling a manly toke, In a matter of hours, maybe minutes, for sure, From their cigars which no doubt added, For Earth would've just passed by in a blur. To the pollution with which Venus was padded.

In fact, I'd see Venus blinking on our radar, "Well," I would say at last, I'd even see it out the window—it wouldn't be far. "They were right, the puppy cast, "Let's take a break," I'd command, For indeed it seems clear to me, "Let's go there, to that star, and land." That snacks galore do I see.

So to Venus covered in white cloud, Inform the dogs that we have arrived, We'd aim to go, as I'd announce out loud. That they will no longer be deprived, We'd cut through the fog like a knife so slick, Of the tasty treats and yummy snacks, And then smell something in the air so thick. That help them play cards and to relax."

It would smell like chicken cooking, On the rocky ground, we would land, Or something burnt and charred-looking. About 10 yards from a hotdog stand, Something on the barbeque anyhow, And upon stepping out, Rex would sniff, Like pork tenderloin, or steak from a cow. The savory air—a mouth-watering whiff.

Then the ground would start to appear, "Now dat's what I caww," he would say, As the dense mire would begin to clear. "Da beft dawn sewvice we had today, And after a few seconds more, We asked fow snacks, and boy did you dewiver, We'd see strange objects galore. Young Gabwiew, wike watew fwom a wiver."

"And would you wook at dat," would add Spot, "No, Fwanky, not dis time, "It's Fwanky, da best vendow in da wot." Today, nachos awe mowe subwime." "Fwanky?" would light up Puddles in surprise, "Weww, Bustew," Rex would chime in, "Da vendow who offews fwee fwench fwies?" On his face a great big grin,

"Dat's wight, Puddwes, but as you know, "If today you'we having a change of heawt, Only when we buy chips-a-la-potato, And to owdew you’ usuaw you won't even stawt, Awong wiv a pop-a-la-soda, any fwavow, Den dis time I'ww take you’ pwace, As wong as da taste you wiww savow." And wid buwgews stuff my doggy face.

"Weww, what’e we waiting fow?" Buster’d add, tall and lanky, So keep dose buwgews on de tabwe, Fwank, Wet's say hi to ouw owd time fwiend Fwanky, Ow wader on de gwill so dey don't get dank, Fwom whom we've bought many-a-dewicious snack, And don't fowget to add extwa cheese, Wike da speciaw 'wewease-da-gweece-heawt-attack'!" And you know what? Twipwe de bacon pwease."

And before even a step they'd take, "A tousand cheesy tuiple bacon bugues comin' up," From his daydream, Franky would awake, Franky would confirm in response to Rex the pup, For he'd notice them through the fog, "And what'll it be fo' you, Spot? Thick and opaque like a muddy bog. Pizza? Chicken stuips? Hesitate not."

He'd say "Well, if it ain' my favuit cuients— "Just chips fow me, Fwanky," Spot would say, What's up dogs?" as he'd wipe clean his appliance. "And I heawd twough de gwape vine back in May, "What c'n I getcha guys? What's yo' pleasue? Dat you have a new fwavow—is it twue? I got whateva y'want, like a chest full’a tueasue." Dog biscuit fwavowed chips colewed bwue?"

He'd hold up his fist and pound theirs down, "Indeed, Spot, indeed. I have 10 million of 'em! Welcoming them with an up-side-down frown, 10 million bags, dat is, which I bought on a whim. Being sure, of course, to put out his cigar, In fact, I'ww give you a speciau deaw, Clearing the toxins like exhaust from a car. Which I know to you it wiww appeaw:

"How 'bout da usual," he'd continue, You can pay de wegular puice: 50 cents a pop, And then think for a second or two: You can have as many as you want, non-stop— "Wha' was it again? I can't quite remembeu. Or you can have aww 10 million fow a dollau. My memouy's bin' failin' since last Septembue." Now I know dat's a deaw to which you will hollau."

"Don't fwet it, Fwanky," Sparky would reassure, And indeed they would—holler that is— "Fow we wemembew what we wike fow sure, For in the hot dog and greasy snack bizz, "Da'd be 5 hundwed smokies, aww dwessed, A million bags of chips for a dollar, Aaaah, dose smokies—dey awe da best." Is an order that couldn't be taller.

"And don't fowget my favowit, Fwanky," But it would be real—as they'd plainly see— Puddles would interject, sounding swanky, For Franky would repeat it for no extra fee: Nachos wiv chicken, jawapinos, and cheese, "So le'me get dis stuaight, jus' to be clea’— And don't fowget de sawsa, pwetty pwease." Fow messin' up you'we o’der we shouldn't fea’:

"How could I foget, Puddues," Franky would reply, Dat was a million doggy buscuit chips, "And if memouee seuves, if it doesn't lie, All fow a dollau (not includin' tips). Dat would be de buwk oudue, am I uight? Den dere's de tousand cheesy doubue bacon— De cuate fue of cheesy nacho deuight?" er, tuipue bacon, dat is, bu’gues I'm makin'

"Vewy good, Fwanky my boy, I'm impwessed, Aftue dat, dere's de ordeu of cheese covued nachos, Nachos in buwk would put my tommy to west." Two an’a qua’teu cuates fuww, tall as yo' head to yo' toes. Then Buster would pipe in, adding to the order: And last but not leas’, dere's de 500 hot dogs, "Make dat a doubwe buwk, Fwanky, pwus a qwuatew, Aww duessed, of course, made wiv beef, not fwogs."

Fow I'm in da mood for nachos too, you know, "Not hot dogs, Fwanky," would retort Sparky, Even if, to you Fwanky, a wot mowe money I'd owe." "Smokies! What's wif dis 'hot dog' mala’chy? "So a tousand owdues of de bu’gues wit' cheesy doubue bacon, You know vewy weww how doggist it is— Wit' a side a fuies isn't de decision dat yo’ makin'?" Dis tewm 'hot dog'—how it fiwws us wiv rizz.

I tought we had dis dithcussion befow, Did we not, Fwanky? We awgued it to de co’e! If you want us to wemain faifu’ cwients, You haf to maintain, upon you, ouw wewiance,

And fow us to compwetwy wewy on you, You must be kind and undoggist too, So pwease aways say ‘smokie’, Pwetty, pwetty, pwetty pwease, okie-dokie?"

"Souuy 'bout dat, Spawky, I meant no offense, But to tell you de twuf, lately I've been dense— At least my memouy has—it's been failin' me— Fow I can't wemembue what I did at a quatew to tuee,

Let alone de discussions we had 'bout doggism— But I tell you what—I'll fix dis antagonism: I'll make you guys an offeu you can't refuse, Though to weject it is a decision you can choose.

I'll climb abowd yo' ship oveu dere. I'll seuve you guys widout a care. Wheneveu you want, whateveu you want. I swea on da guave of my favowit aunt.

It would suwe beat lazin' 'round here, Where de economy is dismal—it's clear. I mean, don' get me wuong, don' misundeustand, You bwing good business, but on de oder hand,

You'e my only cwients, and you don' come of'n, And it's bwinging me cwoser to de economic coffin. I mean, I appweciate you'we business, it keeps me afwoat, Unwike Walter dere, whose stand is wike a sinkin' boat."

He'd point to Walter, the hotdog vendor closest by, Who, upon closer inspection, was about to cry. He'd be packing his stuff, stowing away the relish, He'd be out of business, and feeling hellish.

"So whadya say?" Frank would continue, "Is it OK fo' me to buing my venue, On boad yo' ship and seuve eveuy one'a'ya? I'll can de doggism and stop makin' fun'a'ya."

"Hmmm..." Buster would think, But then before anyone could blink, Puddles would jump in and speak: "If it's fwequent business you seek,

Den by aww means, Fwanky, cwimb aboawd! I can't wesist youw offew. It has me fwoord." "Howd on now, Puddwes," Buster would assert, "Ouw captain, I tink we should first awert.

Gabwiew cawws de shots awound hewe, And we must wemain faiful, it's cwear. Wet's bwing Fwanky to ouw honowabwe weadew, Wet's not get in twoubwe, for de sake of Petew. "

Chapter 7: An Unexpected Encounter

And introduce Franky to me, the doggies would, "It's a pleasua to meetchya, Just as a good and loyal crew should. Wid all sincewity, I greetchya, Franky and the pack of dogs would climb aboard, And I puomise I won' be in yo' way, Plus the hot dog stand—that couldn't be ignored. If only you'd show me a pwace to stay."

And before Frank would even start paying rent, "Wight dis way, Fwanky," would usher Buster, We'd all immediately smell the yummy sent, "In de back woom, next to de wocket twuster." Of the greasy, juicy, cheesy-BBQ-flavored aroma; The dogs would lead Franky to the game room, So yummy, Immanuel would almost fall into a coma. He'd keep them fed and their game would resume.

But we'd catch him and stand him back up, Well, at this point, I would decide, Just before Franky would greet us: "S'up? That before we'd continue on our ride, I mean, I hope you don't mind my intwudin'. Before we'd cross another planetary border, I swea' I'm not a teaf intent on stealin'. A refresher on our mission would be in order.

In fact, I intend to buing you and you' cuew, I'd grab the mic firmly in my palm, Much seuvice and enjoyment—it's twue. And I'd announce over the intercom, So I hope you don' mind dis here contuaption. (Even though we'd all be within ear shot, Fo’ it's de souace of you' futua satisfaction." But that's what captains do, is it not?):

"Future satisfaction can't be all that bad," "Hear ye, hear ye, one and all! I'd say in response, making Franky glad, Loyal members of my crew, hear my call. "And by the looks of it, I'd venture a guess, This is your captain speaking. That satisfaction will come from nothing less, Your attention I hope I'm peeking.

Than whatever's brewing under the hood, Whether you're well or got indigestion, Of your so-call contraption—it's understood, It is time I posed the following question: And by the sent in the air, I'd have to say, Is it time to rest our weary heads? It's hot dogs galore—most joyous and gay! To laze around, to relax in our beds?

But, oh, allow me to introduce myself, Nay—I say—never for a moment! I'm two years old, and small as an elf. We will not tolerate postponement, I'm a cute little boy named Gabriel, Of our journey only beginning, And so I fit cribs and onesies very well. Worlds await us, out there, spinning.

And this is my crew whose names I will assert— Why, who among us could sit by, Some of which are absent, like Sally and Hubert, And do nothing but watch the paint dry? There's also Sir Martian—they're on another ship— Not I, not me, We'll rendezvous on Saturn at the end of our trip. Not when there's a universe to see,

But as for the ones that are here, A cosmos full of stars and wonderful worlds, The ones you can see so very clear, Some dark and sinister, others white as pearls, These are Teddy and Immanuel with the top hat, Some desolate and barren of benevolence, And that’s Icy, Queen of Mars—isn't that phat?! Others teaming with life and intelligence.

The dogs you know, I will presume, So let's move on, let's move forward, But as a formality, I will resume, Let's blast off and head starward, This well-rehearsed introduction, Let's not waste another minute, For as the captain, it is my function. Let's gear up and get to it!"

From left to right, and front to back, Well, that ought to do it, I'd think, From top to bottom, and white to black, And before anyone could even blink, That's Buster, Rex, Spot, and Puddles, I'd command us to blow this popsicle stand, And finally Sparky—I hear he likes cuddles." Away from Venus and towards another land,

That land being Saturn, of course, "Why look!" would exclaim Immanuel with glee, Now would not be the time for remorse, "That's Hubert and Sally—don't you see?" No crying over pit-stops or delays, "And, like, is that the Travelocity Gnome? A path to Saturn we would now blaze. Or am I trippin', being so far from home?"

But the strangest thing would happen, Icy would question with stupefaction, About an hour or two into our travellin'. And I'd respond with a gut reaction: Alongside our left flank, "I betcha we'll all find out, Looking like a great big tank, By reading the back, no doubt.

Would pull up our old ship, Let's read what they wrote, The one whose wing had a rip, Eh-hem," I'd clear my throat, The one that crashed and burned, "'Dear Captain Gabriel and your loyal crew, On Jupiter, and our fate overturned. That is, the half away from which we flew,

But somehow it had lodged free, Inadvertently that is, unintentionally— And there beside us it would be; If you are reading this, then eventually, There'd be no sign of a dent in the wing, Sir Martian must have delivered this to you, No crack, no rip, shiny and new like bling. He’d make a magnificent postman, isn’t it true?

Whoever would be driving that beast, Well, you're probably wondering: Would honk the horn—3 times at least, What's with this sundering? So I'd roll down the window and stick out my head, That is, this separation, this dividing, The solar winds freezing my face beat red. Between your ship and the one I'm riding.

"Hey, roll down your window!" I'd shout, Well, I take full responsibility—blame me, And what'd happen next, I couldn't help but doubt, Not Sally, not Sir Martian—for you see: For who would be at the helm, at the wheel? I volunteered to man the helm, to drive, It would be Sir Martian—how surreal! It's my fault that together we did not arrive.

"Gaby, my old friend!" he'd holler at me, I was an imbecile, a nimrod, a dunce, "Long time no see—wouldn't you agree? For it should have occurred to me at once, I was on my way to mail a letter to you, That of course it's the Fall season, But now that I've stumbled across your crew, Which means that Saturn, for that reason,

Why don't I just hand it over, Is on the opposite side of the Sun, And bring to my trip some closure." From which we enjoyed our travellin' fun. He'd grab something from his lap, So I went the wrong way—silly me— And reach his arm out across the gap, Which is why away from you we did flee.

I'd grab the object from his grip, But never fear—we made it to our destination— And pull myself back into my ship. That's right—Saturn—that awesome ringed nation; What could it be, this mysterious gift, In fact, have a look at the image on this card, From Sir Martian out there adrift? Go ahead, I'll wait, like a Swiss Guard."

Why, it would be a post-card, So I'd flip the card over to have another look: Figuring that out wouldn't be hard, Same old image, like reading a familiar book, And by the looks of the image on the cover, But of course, Hubert wouldn't continue, It'd be from Sally, Hubert, and one other: Unless I'd oblige him—this I knew.

Could it be? But surely it could! "That park, that fair," he'd go on, The Travelocity Gnome with them stood. "Is Saturn—we've been here since dawn— They seemed to be at an amusement park. We have no choice, we're trapped, we can't escape— The Ferris wheel would be the defining mark. This amusement park covers the whole landscape,

Cotton candy would be in Hubert's left hand, Not that I'm complaining— While Sally held a huge teddy bear, and, My enjoyment I'm sustaining— The Travelocity Gnome would stand right before them, And Sally's too, that's for sure, Holding a yummy looking candy apple by the stem. For she smiles something pure.

But that's Saturn for you: One big amusement park—it's true— Rides galore and corn dog stands everywhere, Mascots and haunted houses here and there.

Clowns and carnies, games and shows, Cover Saturn like white winter snows, Snows that fall and cover the ground, On polar ice caps where it does abound.

Oh, and you were probably just now wondering, How, after all our space travel blundering, We met up with that little guy so far from home— Well, indeed, it's him—the Travelocity Gnome.

But before we get to that, I must digress from this chat; I must give some background, Some explanation that is sound. "

Chapter 8: The Great Planetary Race (Part I)

You see, we were on our way to Saturn— It said: 'GET OUT OF THE WAY!!! Or so we thought—but soon did learn, MOVE! MOVE! TODAY, MAN, TODAY!!! That we had gone the wrong way; YOU'RE BLOCKING THE VIEW— We figured that out after about a day. ALL WE CAN SEE IS BLUE!!!'

We figured it out because of Uranus— (They must have meant my shirt— For the sight of it was most heinous— For I think I forgot to assert— Not that Uranus is ugly, not at all, I was wearing blue that day— But that we missed Saturn by a long haul. I like blue—what can I say?)

For that's what it implied, Turning my head, I looked and I spied: Seeing that blue ball which we spied, A periscope with which we had been eyed. Out the window of our spaceship, It was sticking four feet out of the ground, Learning that Saturn gave us the slip. And attached to its side, a speaker I found.

But what else could I do, Obviously, that's where the voice came from, But land my trusty crew? Blaring loudly like an electric guitar strum, We were low on gas, after all, And with the periscope looking down on us, So landing was the best call. Sir Martian started to make such a fuss:

But about half way to landing us, 'What? Who said that? Who goes there? Neptune rammed us like a city bus, You frightened me so much, I lost my hair! Which was quite odd to say the least, Not that I had any to begin with, of course, For it was in the wrong place, the beast. But if I did, I'd lose it, and feel remorse.'

You see, on a typical day, 'WE WILL GIVE YOU TO THE COUNT OF THREE,' Which this was, you could say, Yelled the voice, deafening us to the nth degree, Neptune would be further out, 'AND IF YOU DON'T MOVE BY THEN, Further than Uranus, no doubt. WE WON'T GIVE YOU TO THE COUNT OF TEN,

So why it was between Uranus and the Sun, NOR WILL WE DIVIDE OUR COUNT BY A FRACTION, Was a question that answering was no fun. WE WILL SIMPLY TAKE EFFECTIVE ACTION, In fact, I couldn't answer it if I tried, SO HERE WE GO, STARTING FROM ONE: It was so puzzling, I almost cried. ONE, TWO, THREE... oh boy, this won't be fun.'

So Neptune hit us, like I said. All of a sudden, to my utter surprise, Luckily, no one was hurt or dead. The landscape disappeared before my very eyes; Yet the impact launched Sally far away. We were falling—falling down, down, down— It threw her to Uranus, there to stay. The ground had given way—it skipped town—

Sir Martian and I, on the other hand, That is to say, the ground on which we stood, Remained planted on Neptune's rocky land. Must have been a trap door—and that wasn't good— Stepping out of our ship, now a glorious wreck, For they meant business—that is, the voice— We looked around and thought 'What the heck?' And they followed through—they made their choice,

'What do we do now? And where's Sally?' I asked, To take action, like they said they would, Two more questions with which we were tasked. And release the trap door on which we stood. 'Beats me. And beats me,' answered Sir Martian, Thus, free falling were we, down a dark abyss, Which, on my worried face, did not put a grin. Sharp objects and solid ground I hoped to miss.

Then all of a sudden, blaring our eardrums, But we landed on a cushion, or something soft, Causing me to stick, in my ears, my thumbs, And it left us dizzy, our heads very much aloft. A deafening sound blasted from a speaker— We stood up straight—as straight as we could— I wished like pickles it would have been weaker. With our knees shaking as anyone's would.

We managed to step off, onto solid ground, 'We cut a corner, took a detour, And upon looking around, guess what I found? We slipped beneath the orbital contour; It was like a central control station, We stepped outside of our lane, That spied on everything across the nation, For it causes us much trouble and pain.

With monitors, wires, and computers galore, You see, my guests from far away, With circuit boards, flashing lights, and more. Since our orbit is, on an ordinary day, People in suits and shades did abound— Much wider than that of our competition— Busy, hustling, working hard all around. We can calculate with mathematical precision,

And there was one guy in the middle, That in a race around the Sun, A periscope with which he did fiddle; The time it would take would be a ton, He held the handles with his two hands, Compared to that of Uranus, our competition, And with his eyes, he spied on the lands— To do a full lap, a complete revolution.

The landscape above, that is— For you must understand, foreign strangers— For it wouldn't take a math whizz— Of losing this race, we are in many dangers; To figure out that this periscope, Since our orbit is wider than that of Uranus, The very one which his hands did grope, It is also longer—and this is most heinous—

Was the same one which we saw a minute ago, And thus, so is the amount of time— The one way up on the surface, you know. And this is our reason and rhyme, This guy looking, peering through it— For why we cheated, why we enhanced our pace— And this, I can't explain—I just knew it— That it would take us to finish this race.

Was the voice that spoke and almost deafened us, We jumped out of our orbit, in other words, And hurt our ears so bad, it almost made me cuss. And even flew past Uranus, like the birds, He was down here, spying on the world above— Then we made a b-line straight ahead, But to know the reason why—that I'd love. And put ourselves in the lead instead,

'Welcome, strangers, welcome,' he warmly did say, For it makes sense, wouldn't you agree, From the periscope, pulling his face away, That the shortest distance, don't you see, 'Sorry I had to do that, but I did warn; Between two points is a straight line— I couldn't see, my view was forlorn. For that is a logic both flawless and divine.

My name's Bill, nice to meet'ya both, It sure beats rushing around a curve, And I swear as though on an oath, An arched path around which we must swerve. That though I must have given you a scare, I hope that answers your question, Sir, I didn't mean to dislodge you from up there. I hope that explains what just now did occur.

You see, I'm at the helm here, Now if you'll excuse me, I must resume, Driving Neptune, trying to steer, In order to avoid our early doom, We're in a race, Uranus and we, My surveillance of the surface up there— It's our annual Olympics, you see. Or rather the space above it, the one we share—

Now, there's something I have to confess: Uranus and us, that is, We just cheated, but it's no distress; For we aren't done this biz; These games of ours were never that strict, Uranus is bound to retaliate— Following rules is a habit we long ago kicked. That's a certainty as sure as fate;

We try not to let it get out of hand, So I must turn this gadget around, Some rules have to stick, you understand, See what on Uranus is to be found, But the minor ones are quite loosey-goosey, I must spy on her and see her reaction, In fact, it makes playing more fun and juicy.' And thereby be ready for any action.

'Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude,' But on second thought, why don't you— I interrupted, trying not to offend the dude, Friendly strangers who appeared out the blue— 'But in what way, may I ask, did you cheat? Have a look yourselves—please, don't be shy— What kind of rule did you fail to meet?' Step right up to the visors, give 'em a try.'

'Don't mind if I do,' I eagerly said, It was junk as far as she could see, And dragged over my silver haired head, Rolling hills of garbage and stinky debris, And stuck it right in the spot for the eyes, The landscape was filthy and covered in rot, And wouldn't you know it—it was just my size. Mountains of scrap and waste—it was a lot.

'Now, let me instruct you, my good friend' Banana peels and apple cores covered the ground, Bill said, his helping hand he did lend, Here and there, crumpled up paper did abound, 'Right now, you're looking straight ahead. An old broken television sat beside her, Where you need to be looking,' he said, And to her left, a rusty bent screwdriver,

'Is in a totally different spatial section, Straight ahead was a caked up frying pan, In the complete, total, and opposite direction; It was leaning against a busted electric fan, You need to turn around 180 degrees— Someone musta' thrown them out, Sally thought, Just do an about face—it's a breeze. I mean, they're probably worth diddly squat.

For it's Uranus that you're looking for, Strewn about them were a hundred soup cans, And she's not ahead, certainly not on the floor, One was squashed: chowder made with clams, We just whizzed by her like a speeding Winnebago, A few made a trail—they lead to the next mound, You must recall the tail I told a few seconds ago.' The junk in that pile would surely astound,

Of course, I recalled, and I understood, It contained a patch of spilt kitty litter, So I followed Bill's words as best I could, Leaking out the bag that no longer fit 'er, And turned my body, pulling with me the periscope, The litter partly covered a Barbie doll, Bringing Uranus into view being my hope. Missing an arm with which she could call,

But did I find Uranus?—no, nothing of the kind; Using the cracked phone, if she only could, What I found instead almost made me blind, Which was inches away and would do her good, For it was Sally's face that I spotted, If she could reach it and make a call, Her hair all tangled and knotted. Maybe to Ken, or even anybody at all,

Her face was all dirty and covered in soot, And ask someone to clean up this mess, Something messy anyway covered her head to foot, But alas, one would have to confess, She looked like she was pulling herself out, After taking in the full mass of it all— Of a garbage pile, a trash heap, junk all about. The landfill, Uranus, in the shape of a ball—

I twisted the handles to zoomed out a bit more— That this was just the way it was, Sally's face is pretty, but I wanted to explore, That Uranus was a mess just because, More of her surroundings just to get a feel, Because what? Because why? For the predicament which around her did congeal. Well, who knows, by and by,

In other words, I wanted to understand, Why Uranus got covered in junk, What she was doing in that far off land, Covered in gross disgusting gunk, Which, by now, I surely realized, But it was clear to see for sure, Was Uranus—or at least I theorized, That this was a planet of waste pure.

But what else could it be? So that's the mess Sally found herself in, The land of Honalee? She'd have to deal with it—thick or thin— Of course not—that's silly, But what did she care for getting dirty— It had to be Uranus—I mean, really. She was an engineer, even quite nerdy—

So there was Sally brushing herself off, She was used to grease and grime, Regaining her balance, letting out a cough, With messy jobs, she spent a lot of time, Almost as though she had just fallen, So she dusted herself off and stood straight, From the Heavens and then started crawlin', As straight as she could at any rate.

And then stood up as best she could, Meanwhile, still beside myself I was, Grabbing onto something made of wood, Why was Sally there? Just Because? And wiping away the hair from her face, I even uttered my thoughts aloud: She looked around the smelly old place. 'That's Sally! Up there, like a cloud!

What in Heaven's name is she doing there? For now I could see Sally—in fact I did! Why, to see her there gives me quite a scare.' Down a whirly-twirly slide she slid, 'What?' Sir Martian spoke, 'Sally, did you say? Round and round in circles she went, Move over, Hubert, get out of the way,' To the land of dizziness her head was sent.

For Sir Martian was eager to see, Into a mine car the slide plopped her out; Sally, our friend, who from us did flee. All the while she would scream and shout, With his hip, Sir Martian gave me a nudge— She landed abruptly in a mine car, as I said; Just to make room, but I didn't hold a grudge; The landing was not like a soft comfy bed.

I was hogging the periscope, after all, With a sore bottom, she held on for dear life, And he was only concerned for Sally, the doll, For not only around her were flames and heat rife, So I let him look through the periscope, But to her fright, the mine car started to move! Rather than just sit there and mope. It started slowly, but soon did it prove,

'Yeah,' he said, 'there she is all right, To be quite the speedy little demon, On top of a garbage heap. What a sight! Leaving Sally to keep on screamin', Oh, and look: what's she doing now? For not only was this a roller-coaster ride, Looks like she's climbing down—oh, wow! But on each her left and right side,

She's almost at the bottom, and—oh! Were flames leaping high, like I said, Oh my Gosh! Oh my Heavens! Oh, no! With blinding light, yellow and red! She just... she just disappeared. They were even behind her and in front; Like she vanished into thin air—weird!' Avoiding them would prove quite a stunt.

'Disappeared?!' I questioned with alarm, 'OK, OK, calm down Sally, keep in together,' 'Into thin air, you say?! Did she incur harm?' Sally consoled herself, despite the hot weather— I pushed Sir Martian out of the way, Not that I could hear anything she said, And peered through the visors as Bill did say: But lip-read did I, and figured it out in my head.

'Don't worry—I know what it was; Uh, um, uh... ok, ok... what to look for... Here, let me throw this switch because, This thing must have something in store, Well, because it's the X-Ray vision switch, Something to control this rapid pace, And with it, your vision will be twice as rich— Something like brakes to save my worried face;

That is to say, you will be able to see, Um, uh, oh, looky here! Right through anything—believe you me; Is this thingy meant to steer? If this friend of yours—this Sally— No, it's the brakes, it is, of course! Has disappeared, as though down an alley, So I'll pull it, like the reigns of a horse.'

Then it was probably a trap door; So she pulled on that lever of a mechanism, At least a million of them, maybe more, Thereby avoiding any precarious schism, Cover Uranus like a case of chicken pox, Any schism, that is, of her mine car running wild, Or a messy bedroom covered in dirty socks, That would tear it asunder and cause it to be defiled.

But if X-Ray vision we simply turn on, She pulled on the lever—that is, the brakes— Then all our troubles will be long gone, Anytime when suddenly—for Heaven's sakes— For then we can see beneath the surface, Flames would blaze and rage before her, Which will certainly help with your purpose.' The harsh burns she would almost incur;

So Bill flicked the switch, Or if she'd all of a sudden, And I all of sudden did twitch, Find herself a-plumittin', For the sight I suddenly saw, Down a terrifying decline— Was enough to put me in awe, Quite clever, like Einstein.

For what I saw was the interior, In fact, after a while, Of Uranus—it was certainly superior, On her face appeared a smile; To just skimming the surface for sure, For the fear began to subside, For our troubles were over—this was the cure! As it became a fun ride.

So Sally slowed down and sped up, She landed on an old dirty pillow, Holding tight like in giant tea cup; It felt soft like a pussy willow, She veered left and she veered right, And although her bum felt a bit sore, While at the same time, holding on tight. It could have hurt a whole lot more,

Right before the end of this bumpy ride, If she landed on something hard, She saw that she was about to collide, But that wasn't played, not that card, Into a wall at the end of the tracks— Instead she was dealt a different hand, It just ended, stopped—who could relax? One that promised a very easy land.

She had too much momentum to stop in time, And this thing didn't exactly stop on a dime, 'Yikes!!!' she yelled and at least tried, To apply the brakes as she continued to slide.

But all that did was make the wheels squeal, A deafening sound that made her skin peel, And caused a burning smell to fill the air, As smoke spewed out from the wheels down there.

And right when she was within arm’s reach, Of the wall, she let out a blasting screech— She screamed at the top of each lung, And then crashed so hard that she was flung.

She was flung from the car, that is, And it wouldn't take a physics whiz, To figure out that the force of the impact, Would crush poor Sally, like a potato sack,

Hitting one at a thousand miles an hour, Or being crushed by a great falling tower; But this wasn't what happened—not at all, For precisely on that spot on the wall,

Where Sally would have hit her head, Was a hole that saved her from being dead; It was just her size too—lucky girl— And so even though the car did hurl,

Sally, like a humongous spit ball, Sally didn't get hurt at all; Instead, she landed onto a slide, And went for another wild ride,

She slid in circles, 'round and 'round, Down a dizzy spiral, no end to be found; But finally, there was an end, of course, One which hit her without as much force,

As the wall she hit just previously, The wall that snuck up so deviously, And threw her through the hole, And caused her to tumble and roll,

Down the spiral slide slick, Making her dizzy and almost sick, Until she landed on something soft— What an adventure—like Lara Croft!

Chapter 9: The Great Planetary Race (Part II)

'Huh? Vat's zat? Who?... Oh, guten tag!' Sally, at first, didn't know what to say, Said a stout and obese old hag, But that was fine, it was okay, 'Nice of you to drop in, ja— For she simply followed the old hag's advice, To 'drop in'! Get it? Ha! Ha! Ha!' And explored her surroundings, trying to be precise,

Sally rubbed her disoriented eyes, Precise, that is, in observing all the details; And after, they took her by surprise, There were many to be reported in her portrayals— For what she saw opened them wide, For example, she looked around and saw this: And now I will tell what she spied: A great ball of fire—that, she couldn't miss.

The first thing she saw was the old hag, It was huge, right before her, A stout and obese woman, with many-a-rag, It was blinding—she could only see a blur— Covering her all over, head to foot, But it was definitely hot, that she could feel, And like Sally, covered in soot. For the sweat on her face was certainly real.

Not only was she covered in dirty rags, And surrounding this great ball of fire, But cardboard cut outs and plastic bags, Was a rail that circled it like a tire; They had emblems, logos, and familiar signs, It prevented anyone who got near it, Colored blue, yellow, and red like aged wines. From falling in like into an infernal pit.

There were even pictures that looked fun, Plenty of people did Sally see, Pictures like Tony the Tiger for one, Some near the rail, at least three, Obviously cut out of the side of a cereal box, Who were taking notes, as if doing a test, Hanging from her waist by a belt of socks. Like scientists working at their best.

That's right—about three or four of them— Some were even using instruments— Each one, at the end, sown with a hem— That is, tools for making measurements— And cut outs from cardboard boxes hung, Some held them up as simple detectors, From the sock-made belt to which they clung. Others just pointed, like mathematical vectors:

And it looked as if she wore goggles, That is to say, they pointed to the flame, Made from dirty cups—the mind it boggles!— Like an arrow focused with its aim, For one was broken—it had a crack, But without touching it and getting singed, And the other was pink—it was so wack! In reaction to which they would have cringed.

For a shirt, she wore a garbage bag, The old hag said: 'You see my people, darling? So loose, beneath her belly it would sag, Zey're hard at vork on ze flames snarling, And on her feet she wore tissue paper boxes, For you see, darling, how zey hustle, Not what you'd expect—namely, a pair of soxes. Und also, darling, how zey bustle.'

Not exactly the trendiest fashions— Sally couldn't deny it—it was true— At least, not what'd sway an Earthling's passions— For it was a busy place with a busy crew; 'But perhaps,' Sally thought, 'that's just the culture, Everyone working hard and moving about, Here on... uh, where am I again?... I'm not sure.' On some important project, no doubt.

'Velcome to Uranus,' continued the old hag, It was funny—Sally thought— 'Ze most beautiful planet—I don't mean to brag— For when she looked around the lot, For ve host ze most beautiful junk zat does exist— She saw they were all wearing garbage, At least in zis solar system, if you catch my gist. Whether cardboard boxes or bags of porridge,

For I can tell—you're not from around here— Old beaten scraps of rusty metal, You don't dress like us judging by your veneer— Or dirt rags that, on the skin, itch and nettle, But please, make yourself comfortable, Garbage was obviously the latest fashion, Explore our home into which you did stumble.' Which the locals wore like a trendy passion.

'But I forgot to introduce myself—how rude— But of course not—you understand— My name is Gertrude,' continued Gertrude, Und besides, time for action is at hand!'— 'You are most fortunate to have dropped in,' 'HETZEEEN!!!' Gertrude bellowed out, giving Sally a jolt, Gertrude held in her laughter, with only a grin, Which meant, in German: Get to work, you dolt!

'Sorry, darling... to have—dropped—in, Everyone responded like an organized team, At zis very moment, for ve are about to vin, And like a busy locomotive blowing off steam, Zis race ve are in, zis race against Neptune, Each one ran into his and her position, For soon zey vill be singing a different tune, So smoothly, there was not one collision.

Neptune, zat is, for ve are only avaiting, They each strapped themselves to the wall— Ze results of our final tests, and stop debating— Literally! They did! With a seat belt and all— About vezer or not zis vill vork, our plan: Each one leaned up against a vertical mattress, Zat by tomorrow morning, ve vill have outran, And buckled themselves up to avoid duress;

Neptune, our competition, and left zem in our dust, That's right—a mattress, a bed— Even if zat means cheating—for cheat ve must! Not flat but standing upright instead— For zey on Neptune do it too, of course, For what would soften the blow, Zey cheat wizout hesitation or remorse. Better than a mattress-to-go?

So vat else are ve supposed to do, What would cushion the impact, If ve are to vin zis race—is it not true? Of what was indubitably a fact, Ve must tap in to our most abundant energy source: That Uranus was about to accelerate, Ze core at ze center of Uranus, of course! At an incredible and unprecedented rate,

For zat is exactly vere you are, darling, Than a soft mattress, a comfy bed, You are at Uranus’s core, little starling. With which to rest one's weary head, Vere it is hot und on fire, don't you see, Plus, of course, a seat belt to boot, Wiz zis great flaming ball before you und me. For safety reasons, not just a hoot.

Zis great ball of fire, my dear, 'I suggest, darling,' Gertrude suggested, Is ze key to our dilemma, it is clear. 'That in zat bed zere you vill have invested, Ve vill tap into it, its energy ve'll harness, By ze time we complete our operation— Use it as a booster rocket to gain farness— In ozer vords: get to your station!'

Farness, darling, beyond Neptune, zat is, Sally promptly looked where Gertrude pointed, Und take ze lead in zis racing bizz; Where she saw a mattress, and as if anointed, Ve have only to avait, as I said, There was a sign right above it with her name— Ze test results, und put zis to bed. Literally—it said 'Sally'—was this a game?

Vonce zey are in, ve vill have ze cure— But no matter—she knew what to do: As zey vill prove positive, I am sure— She made her way through the chaotic zoo, Ze cure to all our losing woes, To her station, her cushiony mattress, Und fly by Neptunes like ze crows!' And did it without panicking, without distress.

'Ze results, mine kapitan!' a voice interrupted, She buckled herself up, like a bug in a rug, 'Zey are absolutely, positively, 100% uncorrupted, And laid back against the mattress all snug, For ve ran ze test srough anozer test— All she had to do now was watch and wait, A test-result-corruption test—at your behest.' While everyone buckled in at a speedy rate.

'Sank you, herr Otto,' Gertrude replied, As soon as Gertrude saw everyone in position, And upon reading the results, almost cried— Strapped to her own mattress like a cushion, 'I'm sorry darling,' she apologized, She raised what looked like a remote control, 'I am overvelmed, but not surprised, Or a garage door clicker which she stole—

For ze results prove positive, Or, no doubt, found in a pile of junk, Und zat is acting causitive— And after cleaning out the smell of skunk, Zat is, zey are causing me to cry, And getting rid of all the grit, Out of joy—need I explain vy? Made it work—tweaking it a bit,

To suit her purpose, that is to say, In fact, this is exactly what it felt like, That purpose being, on this very day, To Sally, strapped there like a locked bike— To turn on this humongous, gigantic fan, She was pressed up against the seat belt— That towered above each woman and man; The inertia pushed her forward, or so it felt.

It was at least as big as a house, But only one thing could this mean: Not at all small like a mouse, This rocket blazing red, yellow, and green, And it loomed above them, like I said, Was propelling Uranus at an accelerated pace, About twenty feet above Sally's head. Obviously to give them a leg up in this race.

Gertrude pushed a button on the control, They were moving faster, in other words, And right away the fan started to roll; Faster, much faster, than the birds, In place, of course, but it started to spin, For as Gertrude said, and as Sally understood, And created a breeze cool to the skin. They were in a race, and did everything they could,

It sped up, spun faster, accelerated, To win, to go faster, that is to say, And just as Sally anticipated, For Sally realized amidst all the fray, This created a blazing trail, The reason for this whole operation, A stream of fire beyond the rail, Why everyone got into their station;

It blew the flames, that is, like a brush, She now understood that this whole affair, Combing through hair long and beautifully lush, Had but one purpose, had but one sole care: Such that it created a trail long and flowing, That Uranus must win the race at any cost, Of fire from that blazing ball brightly glowing. In order to say that they had not lost.

The flames blew down a tunnel, long and dark, It was brilliant! It was sheer genius!— A tunnel suddenly lit up like a spark, For to go even faster than Venus, The end of which Sally could not make out, By transforming the core into a rocket, Despite the light that now shone all about. Would guarantee the win in their pocket.

'Release ze secret veapon!' Gertrude announced, 'In exactly 10 point 4 minutes, darling,' As her echo, off the walls, bounced, Gertrude explained sounding not so yarling, Two mattresses down on Sally's right, "Ve vill overtake Neptune, A man held a stick of dynamite. Very soon, darling, very soon.

Obeying Gertrude's resounding command, For zat's about ze time, He lit the stick held in his hand, Since zey committed zeir crime, And after counting to three, Of pulling ahead—by cheating— He threw the stick, flying free. And zerefore began beating,

It flew right into the burning flame— Us und our planet—it's true!— For the man had pretty good aim— For I don't know if you knew, At about the same time that it burst; But zey cut into our lane, The explosion was loud but it wasn't the worst, For it was zeir wish to wane,

That Sally ever did witness, Ze distance zey had to travel, But this was still pretty serious business, And now zat zis story I unravel, For this eruption of heat and fire, I realize it vas 10 minutes ago, Would have singed the room entire, Ven here you landed—is it not so?

If it weren't for that wondrous fan, About ze same time, in ozer vords, Blowing the flame as best it can, Ven Neptune passed us like ze birds... Away from all the frightened faces, Hmm... darling, do you recollect, Saving them all, even their shoe laces. If upon your memory you reflect,

It blew the flames down that dark tunnel, Vere you came from? Like a booster rocket's exhaust funnel, Before landing on your bum? Like a turbo engine igniting its fire, Zat is, landing here on our soil, The blasting flames launching it higher. As your pants it did spoil?'

Sally thought for a moment, And in her mind, tried to cement, Her thoughts and memories, Which really wasn't a breeze.

'You know,' Sally finally said, 'No memories come to my head, Of how I got here or why, For as hard as I try,

All I can remember, On this day in November, Is being aboard our ship— Going on a space trip—

With my two good friends— Friends to our bitter ends— And then suddenly—BAM!!! Into something hard we did slam,

Or so it must have been, For you should have seen, What happened next— You would have been vexed!:

I was jarred, shaken up and launched— My fate was definitely staunched— I was thrown through empty space, And landed on Uranus, this very place.

But you don't suppose, do you, That...' Sally inhaled, 'You do!— That it was Neptune that we hit? That's what you suspect, isn't it?!'

'Yes, darling, how quick you are; From Neptune, that bright glowing star, I did surmise you vere from, But that you crashed... well, um...'

'Yes,' said Sally interjecting, 'For what were you expecting? That I jumped on a trampoline? Of course not, you silly bean,

We must have crashed there, We should have taken more care, But then again, how could we help it, If Neptune stepped out of orbit?

So we crashed into Neptune, Like dust into a broom, And thus I was thrown, Towards this planet, your own.'

'Hmm, you seem quite clever, Und I vonder vezer, Your companions know, Vere you did go.'

Chapter 10: Crossing Paths

'Well, of course we know, And remember what comes first: I know exactly where you did go,' Friendship does, for it's the worst, I exclaimed puzzling the others, When over friendship, winning you choose, My brothers from other mothers; For then everyone will most certainly lose.

For I forgot they couldn't see; So Bill put aside his aim, Even if they could, it was only me, Of beating Uranus in this game, Who could lip read after all, In order to help his new friends, So I told a tail that wasn't tall— To meet up with Sally and make amends.

That is, I explained, before they inquired, Meanwhile, back on Uranus, What, on Uranus, had just transpired— A plan most cunning and perilous, The important bit being, of course, Was being hatch by the two: That Sally, like a galloping horse, Gertrude and Sally—that's who.

Was fast approaching—very fast— 'You gotta help me,' Sally pleaded— And would soon drive passed; Gertrude could tell that help she needed, 'If we don't act now,' I did warn, 'You gotta help me get back,' she repeated, 'This opportunity will be forlorn— 'To Neptune with which you have competed.'

This opportunity to reunite, that is, 'So, darling,' Gertrude responded, With our friend, the engineering whiz. 'You vant to, vonce again, be bonded, In exactly 9 minutes, when they fly by, Viz your friends up zere on Neptune, We must somehow, in some way, try, Vell, I sink ve can arrange somessing soon,

Wearing our best thinking cap, It vould have to be soon— To jump across the spacious gap, For unless you are a baboon, Between Neptune and Uranus, You vould know zat time is short— When the distance between us, 8 minutes exactly, or so I report.

Is at a minimum, at its smallest, Lucky for you, darling, ve have just ze sing: Definitely not at its tallest, Ve have a contraption made wiz ze latest bling— For precisely then—only then— A device made by our leading experts, Is exactly and absolutely when, Or so our top engineer asserts.

This plan, whatever it may be, HERR GUSTAV!!!' Gertrude bellowed out, Will work best, I'm sure you see. Gustav appeared as she ceased to shout, But we need to work fast, 'Javol mein kapitan,' he replied, For our time will not last.' Standing with arms straight at each side,

It was clear what we had to do: 'Bring out ze heat resistant space pod,' A plan had to hatch out of the blue, He saluted and acknowledged with a nod; So we put away the periscope, 'Don't vorry, darling, you’re in good hands,' For it offered no hope, Gertrude reassured Sally, 'For in all ze lands,

And focused on our thoughts, Gustav is ze best inventor, our top engineer, Thinking logically, like robots. Und he has somessing just for you, my dear, Bill was a little reluctant, actually, Somessing vich vill get you back, For he was against the idea, naturally, To your friends, whom you currently lack.'

Of counting on Uranus passing us by, 'Oh, thank you so much, Gertrude,' For then Uranus would win—which is why, Sally expressed her gratitude, He had to remind himself, 'If you can get me back to my friends, To put his concerns on the shelf, The debts I'd owe you would know no ends.'

'Sink nossing of it, darling,' Gertrude replied, You vill turn on ze shower und cover you, When Gustav returned from where he did hide; Head to foot in vater ice cold und blue; He pushed before him the oddest contraption, For only by freezing you to shivers, Sally looked at it and had the oddest reaction— Vill you survive, zough you'll get ze quivers.

For it looked like a bathtub on wheels, So you see, darling, how zis vorks: To push it, Gustav had to dig in his heals, Ve srow you into ze fire, but zere are perks: For it wasn't only a tub he pushed, You get ze comfort of ice cold vater, But a tank that would have smushed, Vich balances, like a son to a daughter,

Anyone over which it rolled, ze heat from ze flames, of course, If it were to lose its hold, Und zese extremes vill enforce, On the tub to which it was hooked, A comfortable middle ground, For it was that heavy, or so it looked; For vich you vill be bound—

It wasn't obvious what filled the tank, So you vill be fine, It just stood up right and was banked, Young darling of mine, At the end of the tub, on the outer side, You vill be comfortable, Almost as big as the tub, and just as wide. Neizer hot nor cold, but stable—

The whole thing looked like an L, Zat is, in an equilibrium state, With something that looked like a bell, For zat vill be your fate— Jutting out from the top of the tank— Keep ze vater flowing, Deep into it, Sally's focus sank— Und all you'll be knowing,

It didn't take long for her to figure out, Are room temperature sensations, What the object was that spouted out, From ze vaters pouring like libations,' From the top of the tank, like a bell flower— Gertrude concluded with Sally nodding, Of course, it was the head of a shower— For she understood with some mental plodding.

And that must mean, Sally reckoned, 'Now, darling, you'd better get in,' After thinking for another second, Continued Gertrude, 'For time is thin; That the tank must be filled, You have but only a few minutes more, Filled with water—was it chilled? Before ve srow you into ze core.

'Zat,' Gertrude continued, 'Is your vessel, So get in ze escape pod zere, Your escape pod into vich you'll nestle, Sit your bum down like in a chair, You need but get in und sit down, Hold on tight and get comfortable, Und from above your pretty crown, Get going, darling, on ze double!'

A shower of cold vater will poor— Sally knew this was her only chance, BE FORVARNED!!!: it vill chill you to ze core— So she didn't dilly-dally or prance, But zis is important, darling, trust me, She got in the tub and sat down, For it must freeze if it is to be, Held on tight, ready to skip town.

Zat vich counteracts ze blazing heat, Then four burly men picked her up, Vich ve feel from our heads to our feet— Like lifting an over-sized cup, Ze heat emanating from zat ball of fire, 'On ze count of sree,' said Gertrude, Ze one whose flames reach ever higher— 'Ve vill launch zis contraption crude,

For vat ve must do, darling, is zis: Into ze fire, zat blazing ball of heat, Ve must aim carefully so as not to miss, Und you vill be in it, darling sweet, Ve must aim for zat flaming core, So you better be prepared, Und throw you in—need I say more? You better not be scared.

Of course I do, for I'm not done, Just remember to pull zat chain, Explaining to you all zis fun: Ze one hanging beside your brain; Ve vill srow you into ze flames zere, It vill release ze vater, dear, And so zat ve don't set ablaze your hair, Chilling your left and right ear,

It vill chill every inch of you, No, it was bigger—the size of Earth— From your head to your right shoe, No, not even that—for what it's worth, Vich is vy no sooner zan sree— It was the size of Earth times four, Not two, not von, you see— It threw her to the bathtub floor!

But only ven to sree ve have counted, It must have been Neptune! Must you pull ze chain zat is mounted, All over was it strewn— On ze shower head right above you— All over her visual field, Only zen vill it take only a second or two— It was all she saw, eyes peeled.

Not four or five—to endure ze cold, It was just that close— So be prepared, my darling, be bold.' Enough to give her an overdose, Sally listened with focused intent, Of wonder and awe at the sight, And before she knew it, the men went: For the timing must have been right,

'EINS!' forward they swung the bath, Gertrude did say, after all, 'ZWEI!' now swinging on a backward path, That waiting was a bad call, 'DREI!' swinging it forward straight ahead, Less than 2 minutes, Gertrude did warn— They let it go as Sally pulled the thread. Or at least, Sally could have sworn—

Out poured the ice cold water, Before time left her, 'YIKES!!!' she screamed, wishing it was hotter; For it passed by in a blur, But she was off, flying through the air, The 2 minutes she had remaining, And after only a second, she was there, Before Neptune started waning,

Plunged into the inferno red hot, For at the time Sally was spat out, 'Aaah,' she sighed, for cold she was not— Neptune was roughly about, Not any longer, no way, no sirree, The closest it was going to get, She was now at a comfortable degree— To Uranus passing by like a jet.

20 degrees celcius to be precise, That's why it was so big, For Gertrude was right, which was nice: So huge like a plump pig; The hot and the cold cancelled out; Uranus had just passed it by, Of that, Sally had no doubt. Exactly when, out of Uranus, she did fly.

But as soon as comfortable she got, And so gravity did pull, She was thrown back—and why not? On the tub and tank so full, The forces of this make-shift engine, And the vessel in which Sally flew, Took hold and again she was plungin'. Veered towards Neptune big and blue.

She was pushed ahead, that is— Meanwhile, on that very planet, By the rocket whose nature 'tis, At the moment when Uranus outran it, To blast anything in its path, Hubert and Sir Martian were jumping, With all the furry of its wrath, On a trampoline were their feet thumping.

Out of the back side of Uranus— For it was Bill's suggestion, For this stunt, she was sure to be famous— That they forge a connection, She was spat out fast from the flames, To Uranus when it passed by, Towards Neptune, her pod had its aims. By jumping really, really high.

After being spat out of the fire, But they couldn't do that, Sally's comfort began to expire, With feet on the ground flat, Space was getting cold, she did realize, For their legs weren't that strong, Turned off the water, and dried her eyes. Nor were they exceptionally long.

And after drying them, opened them and saw, A trampoline was the way to go, Something that put her in absolute awe, Bill decided, and he should know, It was a gigantic, bright, and deeply blue, For it was the primary means, Great big ball about the size of Peru— For Neptunian men, women, and teens,

To travel amongst the stars— Currently, Sir Martian and I, It sure beat traveling in cars— Were bouncing already quite high, For cars can't even get off the ground; For only with his help on our side, But with trampolines, there is no bound. Would we cross the inter-planetary divide.

Of course, one couldn't do it alone, 'Quickly, quickly,' Bill urged us on, One needed something extra to be thrown, 'This window of time won't last long, Into the air and then interstellar space, For Uranus is just passing by now, Something that would double the pace, We must reach escape velocity, and how!'

At which the jumper soared, 'Geez Bill,' Sir Martian did protest, And this could not be ignored. 'Enough with the pressure, unless you jest.' The Neptunians call this something, 'It's no jest,' Bill assured, 'I'm serious, A "bouncer"—it had a since ring— For it'll certainly make you delirious,

A "double-bouncer" to be exact, If you were to miss this opportunity, For it was an undeniable fact, Due to not reaching escape velocity.' That in order to soar extra high, Sir Martian looked at me below and said, Double bouncing was key, which is why, 'What's escape velocity?' turning beat red.

Bill volunteered—he'd double-bounce them— I looked up at him before bouncing high, He'd be from whom their height would stem; Watching him fall and pass me by, How does double-bouncing work, you ask? And said as I soared into the air, Well, it's a difficult and intricate task. Now looking at him down there,

First, you must find a trampoline— 'What’s escape velocity? Well, let me explain: A feat that's not at all mean— It’s a concept that's simple and plain; Then you must get on and bounce, You see, to soar through the astral sky, Gravity, it is you goal to trounce. It's not enough to jump extra high,

Repeat two times, three, or four, But we must jump extra fast too, High above the ground you will soar; For without speed—it is true— The double-bounce comes next— Gravity will pull you back down, Nothing over which to get perplexed. Before you get far, before you skip town,

All you need is a buddy, a friend, So you must soar up at a fast enough rate, Someone with a pair of feet to lend, Fast enough to crash through gravity's gate— For you will need those extra feet, Too slow and those gates will crash you— To get this double-bouncing trick beat. But soar fast enough and you'll break through:

And what does your friend need to do? Jump fast enough, and you'll jump high enough, Listen closely, I'll give you a clue: So high that, way up there, gravity isn't tough— Both pairs of feet must make contact— That is to say, high above the stratosphere, Your own and your friend's to be exact— Where gravity is weak, though it sounds queer,

With the trampoline surface—both at once— But it's true: gravity gets weaker, For timing is key in these kinds of stunts; The higher up you go, the meeker, You must both land at the same time, Its hold you on becomes, my friend, And then twice as high will you climb. Which is why our speed we must extend.'

That's a double-bounce for ya— 'Less talk, more jumping,' reminded Bill, Just repeat the following mantra: 'Hubert's right but we have a goal to fulfill; Two jumpers and four feet, You're almost there—at escape velocity— Landing at once can't be beat. Slowing down now would be an atrocity!'

So Bill, as I said, was our guy, 'How many more jumps, Bill,' I inquired, He'd double-bounce Sir Martian and I, Bill looked at his contraption, looking mired, For only with his help on our side, 'Well,' he finally said, 'Judging by my readings, Would we cross the inter-planetary divide. 3 more jumps before you pay Uranus your greetings.

But if I may, I’d like to suggest— 'Sir Martian, my eyes may deceive me, And don’t take this as a behest— But I swear that ahead by 30 feet plus 33, That in tandem you guys start to jump, Is our good friend Sally, is it not? For only once, I’d prefer to thump, And is that a tub in which she’s caught?'

My two feet on this trampoline, Verily it was, for there was no need, And send you away from this scene.’ For Sir Martian to reply—no need indeed— In tandem he said, which means: For Sally came into view, clear as day, Jump at the same time, you silly beans! As quickly as the travels of a sun ray.

So instead of taking turns, Sir Martian and I, 'Oh, hi Hubert!' she shouted with glee, Synchronized ourselves while jumping extra high, 'Why, hello Sally,' I said on behalf of me, And soon got ourselves into tandem— 'And you too, Sir Martian,' Sally continued, On Bill’s part, a good idea—gotta hand it to him. 'Greetings,' replied Sir Martian, not to be rude.

So three more jumps it was then, And as quickly as we met, we departed, For after that extremely long conversation was when, And it wasn't because anyone farted, Bill would leap onto the trampoline, But because of Newton's first law, Becoming a lean, mean, double-bouncing machine. That anyone travelling suffers this flaw:

We counted: 'One!' Sir Martian yelped first, When in the void of space, As his feet hit down with a burst, If you're moving at some pace, Giving us a bit of extra energy, You can't just stop on a dime, For we double-bounced each other with synergy. You must keep moving through spacetime.

'Two!' I shouted in turn, And that's what Sally did, Feeling in my legs the painful burn, As she passed through the mid— From exercising every muscle therein— That is, the middle, the in-between, Trying to jump faster, through thick or thin. She passed between us, slick and clean.

We soared up high, and came down low; 'Bye Hubert,' she said while passing by, Bill got ready to double-bounce us so, 'Bye' I said as a knee-jerk reply, And half a second before we landed, 'See ya,' Sir Martian said with sorrow, He leapt onto the trampoline single handed. Hoping, perhaps, to see her tomorrow.

'Three!' he exclaimed a bit nervously, And again, into the distance, Landing with sir Martian and I simultaneously— Without any air resistance, That was the double-bounce which sent us, Sally continued on her way, Sir Martian and I, into space, a real plus, To be seen again some other day.

For that was exactly what we needed, Same went for Sir Martian and I— That extra oomph to which gravity conceded; For again, Newton's 1st law did apply: It sent us soaring way beyond escape velocity, That is, unless something stops you, Especially once in space, which has no viscosity. Then no matter what you say or do,

So there we were, Sir Martian and I, You'll just keep on a-speedin', Flying through the cosmos, the astral sky, You'll just keep on proceedin', On our way to Uranus, still within reach: In the same ol' direction, It looked like this trip would be a peach. That, upon a bit of reflection,

But all of a sudden, to my surprise, You'll remember having traveled, I saw something and rubbed my eyes, The one on which your trip unraveled, For I wanted to be absolutely sure, So while Sally was Neptune-bound, It wasn't a dust particle causing a blur, We headed for Uranus blue and round.

Something in my eye, that is to say, For I swear there was something far away, Some entity approaching us fast, And once I recognized it, I asked:

Chapter 11: Full Circle

We streamed down to the soil below, 'What did you do?!' asked Bill, Like a meteor with a bright red glow, And after managing to stand still, Towards the debris and the junk, Sally responded with the reply: Smelling something awful like skunk. 'Uh... I'm not sure. Did I just die?'

But did we land in a junk pile? 'I wouldn't say so, young woman, No, we didn't! Not by a mile! Unless I'm dead too and still loomin', Instead, we fell through a trap door, But assuming that I'm still alive, Which meant we fell for a bit more, You must be too, despite how you did arrive.'

We eventually landed on a slide, Then, all of a sudden, Neptune sneezed, Like the one that saved Sally's hide, In a snot bubble, Bill was ceased, Round and round and round we went, And just by the force, Sally was thrown, Who knows where we'd be sent? Through space and, once again, was alone.

Well, I do—because I remember: But not for long, certainly not forever, It's not like it was last November— For it was as though Neptune was clever, The memory's still pretty clear, As though the sneeze was not accidental, It's not like it fell out of my ear. As though Neptune planned a way so gentle,

I remember that after the slide, For Sally to reunite with her friends, We went for another wild ride: For on getting to Uranus, that depends. We flew a distance that wasn't far, Not only did Neptune get the job done, And landed in a dusty old mine car. Not only was the ride a whole lotta fun,

Then the car proceeded to move, But its sneezy aim was impeccable, On some tracks like in a groove, You might even say it was delectable, Down a decline we began to plummet, For Sally shot straight for a trap door, Like from the top of a mountain summit, And crashed right through the Uranian floor.

On a roller-coaster ride were we, She went spiraling, round and round, And even though after falling free, Downward, downward she was bound, We were on an incline, climbing high, Just like last time, Sally was on a slide, Sir Martian couldn't help but cry. Against something hard, hoping not to collide.

Sally found herself plunging, meanwhile, But a collision wasn't what occurred, Plunging several kilometers plus a mile, What happened was worse, even absurd, Through the atmosphere of Neptune, The slide ended in the middle of nowhere, And the ground she'd hit quite soon. She started free falling without a care.

The impact was cushioned, lucky girl— She screamed a piercing scream, Though it still sent her head into a swirl— She hoped this was just a dream, For she crashed right through the trampoline, Or at least that she'd land, Where Bill could still be seen. On something cushiony ready-at-hand.

She ripped a hole right through it, But no, she didn't, not today, It was destroyed and Bill knew it: Even harder than a bale of hay, 'MY TRAMPOLINE!!!' he exclaimed, She landed on the floor of a mine car, 'IT'S TOTALED!!! IT'S MAIMED!!!' Which hurt her bottom and left a scar.

Sally pulled herself to her feet, At the sudden impact of her butt, Though she felt like she hit concrete, Sir Martian and I exclaimed 'What?!' And tried her best to stabilize, That's right, it was the same car, And ignore the stars before her eyes. The one we'd been riding in so far.

Our duo was now a trio, it would seem, Of Sir Martian's suggestion, We were together again, like a team, Which was a totally other direction, But we were still in trouble, of course, For ahead of us was a wall— Still barreling down the track with force. No way to avoid it at all—

'Hubert? Sir Martian?' Sally did question, The track ahead just ended, 'Sally?' said Sir Martian with inflection, No turns around which it bended, 'Sally, is that you?' I said in doubt, On the brakes, Sir Martian applied, 'Is it really, really you?' is what came out? And so he at least tried,

'What? Huh?' Sally replied a bit shocked, But the brakes came loose in his hand, Still trying to resist being rocked, Which was not what we had planned, 'Uh, er, sure it's me, I think,' 'Oh oh, big mistake, Hubert,' he pointed out, Clearing her vision with a blink. 'That I can stop us now, I seriously doubt.'

Well, as surprising as this was— Well, there was only one thing to do, For us to be reunited just 'cause— One thing I could think of, it's true: I knew this was not the time, I had to climb out the front end, To catch up over a juice with lime, My whole self, I had to extent,

We were in the midst, I thought, I had to hang from the front— Of a crisis in which we were caught, It was, I admit, quite the stunt— So I had to focus on the track ahead, So that, on the wheel, I could put, To make sure we didn't become dead. With great pressure, my left foot.

'Sir Martian,' I shouted out loud, I pressed my foot, that is to say, 'What?' he replied as ahead we plowed, Against the wheel, and I did pray, 'Come up here and take the brake— That the pressure would slow the wheel, Watch it on the curves, for goodness sake, Though it certainly caused my heel,

Or we'll fly right off the track!' To start smoking from the heat, 'OK' he said, picking up the slack, But the burning pain I had to beat, But as soon as we switched places, For it would be a lot more pain, I noticed on both their faces, If our speed I could not wane,

The look of fear, of what-to-do, That is, if I couldn't stop us, For ahead of us was, it’s true, And we crashed like a speeding bus, A fork in the road, a split; So the burning pain, I had to endure, Upon indecision, we could not sit. On behalf of us all, for sure.

So I made a decision: we'd go right, 'Hubert! Get back in, get back in!' As we neared the switch, with all my might, Sally urged gripping my skin, I gave it a good wack, and it switched, Trying to pull as hard as she could, The track ahead onto which we were hitched, Pulling me in as well she should.

'Short cut,' I announced, 'No, Sally, I must apply the brakes, The utterance onto which pounced, Otherwise we'll crash for goodness sakes,' Sir Martian with the following objection: I insisted with stubborn conviction, 'Left Hubert!' pointing in that direction, Our bone crushing demise being my prediction.

'Short cut...for goodness sake,' 'No, Hubert, trust me, we won't! 'Big mistake, Hubert, big mistake,' Unless you stay there, but please don't! Warned Sir Martian for whatever reason— Climb back in and we won't get hurt, Be it the stress or maybe the season— Here, let me pull you by the shirt.'

But it turned out he was right, 'But Sally, no,' I insisted, For it gave us an awful fright, But Sally, with her tug, persisted, To see the obstacle up ahead, And I was pulled back into the car, On the track I chose instead, Just in time, the wall wasn't very far.

We slammed into the wall, Right then and there, in her mind, Like a bat to a baseball, To return the pod, or else get fined. And just like last time, 'Now as I vas saying,' Gertrude continued, When Sally stopped on a dime, 'And I don't mean to pry or be shrewd,

We flew right through the hole, But vy are you back so soon? The mine car taking a toll, Before ze next full moon?' And just like the time before, Sally sighed with a breath of despair— Another spirally slide was in store. If she had to explain, she'd lose her hair.

We went round, and round, and round, 'Oh, it's a long story, Gertrude, Waiting for the spiral to be unwound— Not that you were the least bit rude, That is, go straight, or at least end, But I'd rather skip the pleasantries— Instead of this and that twisty, windy bend. Not interested in shooting the breeze,

The slide did come to an end eventually, You see, we still need to get home— And we felt it in our bellies sensually, Through space, we wish no longer to roam.' For once again, we were in free fall, 'Vell, darling, if I had a pod, Hopefully, the last wild ride, once and for all. Zis moment vouldn't feel so odd,

We landed on three old dirty pillows, But I'm afraid ve'll have to vork out, They felt soft like three pussy willows, Somesing else, somesing clever, no doubt.' It coulda' hurt a whole lot more, Gertrude was right, to be fair, But still, our bums were sore. For an odd silence filled the air.

'Ah, you have returned,' said Gertrude, But then, suddenly, out of the blue, 'Just as I expected,' not minding being rude, We felt something stronger than glue, 'Und your friends, I see you brought, We felt an impact that shook the ground, For zey are your friends, are zey not?' And our ears deafened from the sound.

'Uh, why, um, yes,' Sally said, After regaining our balance, Trying to restore focus into her head, Plus our standing talents, 'Yes, Gertrude, yes, my friends are they, Gertrude noticed a change in inertia, Let me introduce them to you, if I may: A change in momentum, enough to hurtchya.

This is Hubert, dashing and smart; 'I get ze most peculiar feeling, And this is Sir Martian who works at Walmart.' Zat wiz a collision, we are dealing.' 'It's true,' Sir Martian piped in, 'A collision?' Sally exclaimed, Putting on a most fabulous grin, 'With what? A poor bird now maimed?'

'It's just a part time job, 'Most likely no,' Gertrude replied, Working for a guy named Rob, 'Probably, with a planet, we did collide,'— Until I go back to school, that is, And then, Gertrude's eyes opened wide, Maybe learn to be a math whiz.' For a revelation hit which she couldn't hide—

'Vell, darling, ven you do, 'But of course,' she said, Come vork for us, von't you? Her face turning beat red, Ve could alvays use a math vizz, For she felt embarrassed to say: In zis here engineering bizz. 'Darlings, we goofed up today!

But now, darling, I expected you back, I mean, my crew and I; But not quite so soon, in fact, It almost makes me cry, I expected you to get home first, Zat somesing ve missed, Drink a soda to quench your thirst, And omitted from our list:

Zen come back to return ze pod, Ve Forgot to factor in,' You vill return it, no?—if so, nod.' She said scratching her chin, Well, what else could Sally do? 'Ze consequences of going faster, She nodded, and made a promise true, Wiz our turbo-rocket flame blaster:

Ze consequences are two-fold— Zat is, of course, if ve stand atop— First, ze Sun has less of a hold, Und don't fall making a belly flop— Ze Sun's gravity, zat is to say, Mount Really Hugely Humongously Big, Vich means ve are going astray— (Yes, zat's its name—it ain't no twig).

Ve are venturing out into space, If ve climb zat mountain, as I say, Because of our faster pace— Und stand at ze peak, ve just may, You see, darlings, ven ve speed up, Come wizin five yards of Saturn, As ve did in order to vin ze cup, At least wizin zat beautiful pattern,

Ve also pull avay from ze Sun, Ze pattern of its ring, zat is to say— Our orbit videns, vich can be fun, More beautiful zan ze light of day— But not on a day like today, Ve vill come wizin only a few yards, For zat only leads us astray. Of Saturn's ring—so be on your guards.'

For a risk not only do ve run, 'Wait just a minute!' Sir Martian insisted, Of losing zis race around ze Sun, 'Just so my confusion will not have persisted, But ve are bound to collide, Let me make sure this is absolutely clear: Wiz sings zat, in ze dark, hide— What you're saying, Gertrude, my dear,

Und zat brings me to ze second, Is that within a few hours from now, Of ze consequences I have reckoned: We will come within a five yard long cow, Namely zat judging by ze date— (That's a really long cow, I know, If I recall, it is Vinter, quite late— But bear with me, sisters and bro).

Pluto should be around ze spot, We will come within a very short range, Assuming I am mistaken not, Of Saturn's ring—the outer edge—how strange— Zat ve are headed, or at least vere, But only if we stand atop—what was it again? Before ve passed Neptune in a blur, Mount Really Hugely Humongously Big?—and then,

Und so, my darlings, you can see, And only then, will we be within, If you put togezer sree and sree, Five yards of Saturn's ring, flat and thin— Zat vat ve must have collided into, Is this right? Isn't this what you said? Vaz none ozer zan Pluto.' Can I please put my confusion to bed?'

'Pluto?' I exclaimed in alarm, 'Well, hold on now, wait a minute,' 'Is it OK? Did we cause it any harm?' I put my own spin on it: 'Unkown, Hubert, unkown,' Gertrude replied, 'Even if all that is true, 'But one sing is for certain, I do confide: Even if by a quarter to two,

Our course has now changed, We make it to that mountain peak, Our natural orbit is now estranged, The mountain of which you speak, Ve are now heading in a new direction, Five yards is still quite high, Und if I calculate our current trajection, Such that no matter how hard we try,

Ve should be heading in ze vicinity— We still wouldn't be able to reach, Out of ze vastness of all infinity— Saturn's ring—the task is no peach— Of zat planet ve all adore und love, For five yards is about as high, Ze one zat looms in ze Heavens above: As four people reaching for the sky,

Saturn is vat I'm talking about, By sitting on each other's shoulders, For I need not scream und shout— Using their hands as ankle holders; In but a few hours, ve vill be zere, Then maybe, the guy at the top, Or at least wizin ze breadz of a hair, Assuming nobody did accidentally drop,

For if my calculations are correct, Could, if he stretched his arms up high, If ze future I can accurately project, Touch Saturn's golden ring by-and-by,' Ve should come wizin five yards, 'Yes, darling,' Gertrude did reply, Of Saturn—if it's in our cards; 'Right you are—it is quite high—

Vhich is vy zat's exactly ze plan— It is efficient und vastly superior, Zat is to say, Hubert, my good man, To zat of any ozer planet's interior, Ze plan is exactly as you said: For ve can get from point A to point B, Vich, if I understand it in my head, In a matter of two hours, maybe sree—

Is zat, on zat mountain, I vill stand, Even if point A is on zis side, Und gripping each ankle wiz each hand— Und on ze ozer side does B hide. Zat is, ze ankle of ze one above, Can ze bullet train from Japan, Vearing, of course, a rubber glove, Get around faster zan ve can?

Maybe even two, von for each hand— Vat about ze Eurorail of Europe? Und just to be sure ve understand, Can it flow down ze track like runny syrup? Let me be clear zat a tower ve'll form, No! For out here amongst ze stars, Bum to shoulder, keeping our necks warm, Ve on Uranus host ze best mine cars!

Except me, of course, who vill stand, Und for our purposes at least— Vonce ve reach zat far away land, Namely, getting to zat great beast, Vere Mt. Really Hugely Humongously Big, Zat beast of a mountain, zat is to say— Resides at ze center—you dig?' It vill only take a 24th of a day—

'Wait just a minute!' Sir Martian insisted, Zat is, von hour, plus anozer for ze climb, 'Just so my confusion will not have persisted, Und zat, my friends, is ze exact amount of time.' Let me make sure this is absolutely clear: 'One hour to climb Mount Big?' What you're saying, Gertrude, my dear, I challenged, 'That I don't dig,'

Is that in order to get to Saturn, ‘Vell, Mr. Doubting Thomas,’ Gertrude said, About a million calories we must burn, ‘Don’t be fooled by ze name, you silly head, Trekking across the lands of Uranus, It’s not called Mt. Big because of its towering veneer, A journey indeed most heinous, 'But because it's ze biggest mountain on zis planet here.'

And then about a million more, Climbing 'til our legs are sore, To reach the top of Mount Big, Like climbing a mile high oil rig.

And then, if that wasn't enough, We must burn some more calorie-stuff, Climbing each other, that is to say, And the burden of what we all weigh,

Must be carried by the one on the bottom, Being careful not, like the leaves of Autumn, To drop us standing tall like a tree, For that would hurt, wouldn't you agree?'

'Javol,' Gertrude adamantly agreed, 'It vould hurt very much indeed, Und you have understood quite vell, I'd even say you've understand it well,

Except for von part, my Martian friend: Ve don't have to trek for hours on end, For to be honest, I'm razer surprized, Zat, at zis point, you haven't realized,

Zat ve here on zis vonderful planet, Have a transit system zat spans it— Ze mine cars are vat I'm talking about, Just in case you had any doubt.

Chapter 12: The Trek to Saturn

So we took about an hour, 'LEFT!' Gertrude commanded with a scream, To get to that great big tower, And in lock step like a disciplined team, That mountain a quarter the way, We all put our left feet forward, Around Uranus, and without delay. For that's all it took, this one word.

We took the nearest cart, 'RIGHT!' she bellowed next, And got off to a rocky start, And immediately we flexed, Twisting around tight turns, Our right leg muscle, And feeling the singing burns, Burning some fat and gristle.

From flames left and right, All the way up, Gertrude repeated, And ahead in full sight, These orders to which we conceded, Down steep declines, Right then left, left then right, Levitating our behinds, Pretty soon we were out of sight.

Then up inclines steeper yet, High up on the mountain, I mean, But this time we didn't fret, Where a wonderful view could be seen, For we had been through it before, The landscape of Uranus, covered in junk, And Gertrude was driving furthermore. Yet being so high up, no smell of skunk.

Soon a familiar sent filled our snouts, And if you looked up a few degrees, It was that of garbage without any doubts, High above the soothing breeze, And the light up ahead surely indicated, You could see a more awesome sight— That we would soon have evacuated, Might even give you an awful fright.

These catacombs twisting and winding, Something huge barreling towards us, And quite hot, we were finding, Something over which to make a fuss; But we'd already feel the cool breeze, It wasn't hard to make out what it was, Coming from ahead—it sure did please. We knew it was Saturn because—

We finally emerged above ground, Well, because it looked like Saturn; Before us, Mount Big did abound, The impression in our minds it did burn, The track ended right at its base, There was no question about it, And slowed to a halt at an easy pace, It was Saturn, we couldn't doubt it.

'EXIT ZE CART!!!' Gertrude loudly ordered, Good thing we were near the top, And over the wall by which we were bordered, Thanks to Gertrude who wouldn't stop, The four of us leapt, landing on solid ground, For only a few minutes more, For the force of the order certainly did resound. Would Saturn be five yards from the floor.

'CLIMB!!!' Gertrude bellowed again, That is, the outer edge of its ring, And immediately was exactly when, For our escape would it bring, We all obeyed Gertrude's order, Our escape from Uranus, that is, Like climbing a wall of brick and mortar. And all this climbing bizz.

'Here go my legs,' Sir Martian complained, But we had to act fast, 'SILENCE!!!' Gertrude's command reigned, For time would not last. For his life, Sir Martian obeyed, Gertrude sped up her commands, For if in one spot he stayed, And we even started using our hands.

He knew Gertrude would not be pleased, 'LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT! RIGHT!' And so with fear he was suddenly seized, Her orders almost gave us a fright, So as to not get in trouble, therefore, We climbed, climbed, and climbed some more, Sir Martian ascended the inclined floor. We climbed until our legs ached sore.

We climbed until we reached the top, How I would do it, I wasn't sure, And even then we did not stop, Probably just grab hold and endure, For then we had to climb each other, The strain of being tugged— We had to be linked—sister to brother; At both ends, for I would have lugged,

That is, the time had come, The weight of the two people below, To position each bum, Plus a tug from above, you know, Atop of a pair of shoulders, For even if I held on tight, A temporary set of bum holders. I'd still have to put up a fight,

'I vill go first,' Gertrude said, To stay attached to Saturn's ring, 'Since Uranus is vere I keep my bed— For at this rate, it would surely bring, Zat is to say, it is vere I sleep, Tremendous inertia, a powerful force, Soundly, zat is, wizout a peep, Which would yank me away, of course.

(Zough my husband says I'm quite loud, 'Everyone ready?' I asked aloud, Shouting orders as zough to a crowd, 'Ready!' Sir Martian said all proud, But I don't believe zat, 'Me too!' Sally assured me, I sink it's a lie so very fat.) 'Though I kinda have to pee,'

But zat's not ze point, 'You should’ve thought of that before,' Ze point is I cannot leave zis joint, I warned, 'for we don't have a lot more— Und so I must remain at ze base, More time, that is, about 10 seconds, Und vonce you are gone, do an about face. Maybe even less, as I reckons,

Zat is, I vill go back home, So hold onto Sir Martian tight, For I do not vish to roam, As he'll do to me, isn't that right?' Here on zis mountain peak, 'Yes sir, indeed,' Sir Martian replied, For leaving Uranus is not vat I seek.' 'For we're in for a bumpy ride,

'Oh, Gertrude' Sally replied, That's why I'll grip with all my might, 'If that's your wish, we shall abide, Onto your legs, Hubert, like a bite, But, well, it’s as if by a magic wand, And you do the same, Sally dear, That of you I've grown fond— For hurting me you should not fear.'

And as much as I wish, 'Okay, guys,' I gave them a prep, To snatch you up like a fish, 'I'll count down as a last step: I will respect your desire, Five... four... three... To stay grounded like a tire.' Two... one... weeeee!!! '

'Zat is very sentimental, my dear, I grabbed onto whatever I could, But ze time for action is near, I gripped on strong, as I should, So let's dispense wiz idle chit-chat, But the tug was more than I expected, Und form a tower erect like a top hat.' As though an extra person was connected:

And thus at a very fast pace, Indeed, there was an extra person, Sally climbed Gertrude at the base, For Sally caused our load to worsen— Followed by Sir Martian, third in line, That is, to increase by a few pounds, Then me, the top position being mine. And I'd soon figure out why from the sounds:

There we stood erect, 'Vat is zis!? Vat are you doing!?' Like a rod which did project, Gertrude bellowed in confusion stewing, Out the top of Mount Big, 'I'm sorry, Gertrude,' Sally said, Like an extremely long twig. 'But my shoe seems stuck below your head—

It was my responsibility, It must be the velcro you’re wearing, Being at the top, you see, For my shoes it seems to be ensnaring, To somehow get us all aboard, My shoes have velcro too, you know, Saturn, when over us it soared. On the straps with which I tighten them so.

I can’t seem to get them unstuck, I looked around, as I said, I guess it’s just my bad luck, I looked all around, behind and ahead, I guess we’ll have to bring you with us, And as far as I could see, And hope you don't make a fuss.' Feet galore were all around me.

'Vat?!?! Of course I make a fuss! There were a pair of feet, I didn't volunteer to ride zis bus! Which my eyes did meet, You are taking me avay from my home, When I looked to the left, For on Saturn I don't wish to roam!' And as though my vision was cleft,

Amidst all their bickering, They were also there on the right, And Sir Martian's snickering, Another pair of feet in my sight. I was trying to make out, There were a pair up ahead, Exactly what I smelt with my snout. And behind too... they were red.

For I could certainly feel, If fact, there were feet even here: In my grip, something quite real, The spot I looked when I did peer, I could have been mistaken, At a 45 degree angle, But what I smelt wasn't bacon, Between left and ahead—what a spangle!

It smelt—and felt and looked— Needless to say, we were surrounded, Like my hands were hooked, By sock wearing feet, we were bounded— Onto a pair of ankles wearing socks— Obviously, they each had a body— It was that which smelt like ox, Unless they escaped their owners, being naughty—

But it was my eyes which saw the feet— But that wasn't the case, The evidence could not be beat— They were all connected to a face, And my hands felt them too, Via legs, a torso, and a neck— But they also felt some goo. If they weren't, I'd say 'What the heck?!'

That is to say, slime of some sort, They all seemed to be screaming, For these feet obviously did consort, Most out of joy, or so seeming, With something quite disgusting, But the one I was anchored onto, Like a muddy swamp or mold festering. Seemed more like he wanted to,

It was probably for the best, Scream out of sheer terror, Therefore, that despite no behest, As if, from a miscalculated error, It spared my sense of taste, He had just landed out of the blue, A sample of this smelly paste. Into this seat, for I did construe,

And though it spared my hearing as well, And I certainly could not miss, There was a sound I couldn't quell, That what I saw was this: A yelling I couldn't block out, A bunch of people in a bunch of seats, For a voice did scream and shout. Each one dangling their smelly feets.

As if by a wild ride, one was ensnared, For someone like me and my gang, Someone who was terrified and scared, To grip onto and thereby hang. The someone who was obviously, The seats themselves were attached, Attached to these ankles, thusly. To a set of chains, for each one was latched,

What exactly were my hands doing, To four chains exactly, one per corner, Attached to a pair of ankles spewing, Like tacks in an advert hung by a store owner, A horrible stench and covered in slime? It was almost like the Sun Flare ride, Out of it, I couldn't make reason or rhyme. At your local carnival, spinning wild and wide.

I looked around a bit more, In fact, that's exactly what it looked like, In order to see what was in store, The Sun Flare ride, like the wheel of a bike, For us and our new situation, For that's exactly what I found: This new land, this new nation. Saturn's ring spinning round and round,

Was exactly like—nay, it was— A Sun Flare ride, just because, Because, well, I don't know, But it was obvious as I could see so.

It was certainly a marvel, A giant space-borne carnival— Saturn was—for we would soon find, As soon as this ride did unwind,

That carnival rides littered the ground, Covered Saturn for miles around, The Sun Flare, which constituted its ring, Was just one of millions Saturn did bring,

For there were roller coasters galore, Ferris Wheels, Marry-Go-Rounds, and more, Carny games and cotton candy, Teddy bears big and dandy,

It's why, on this post card, You'll find, if it's not marred, The image of Sally and I, Standing before a mile high,

Ferris Wheel with colors bright, With smiles to express our delight, Go ahead, don't hesitate, Flip it over again, I'll wait."

Chapter 13: The Great Snot Bubble

Well, I'd know the drill, By the time the ground came into view, For otherwise, Hubert would stand still, We could see the fairground true blue, Once again, I'd flip the card, It was at that moment when I understood, It'd be quite simple, not that hard. What Saturn consisted of, and it wasn't wood.

Once my memory would be refreshed, I suddenly knew it was one gigantic fairground— And with Hubert's words would it have meshed— A massive carnival is what we found. I'd figure I would continue to read, Gertrude, still grumbling, landed first, Quenching our curiosity which would bleed. Followed by Sally—Gertrude felt cursed—

"Now as I was saying, For Sally landed on top of her, To not be flung, I was praying, And the rest of us would too, for sure— For my grip was getting weaker, And Gertrude quickly figured this out— From each ankle to each sneaker, 'Oh, Schnitzel!' she did shout.

Were my hands slipping down, Sir Martian landed on top of Sally, And on my face it put a frown, And I on Sir Martian—I said 'r'aly?' But to my good fortune, Luckily, the feet onto which I was attached, I started to sense a distortion, Didn't land on us—as though a plan was hatched:

A distortion in the inertia, A plan to save us from being crushed, That is, in the force that would hurtchya, Or pummeled, or squished, or smushed— If it came at you as a wrecking ball, Whichever you prefer, Gaby, Or if you took a fifty foot fall, I'm not a word tyrant (usually, maybe).

For I need not repeat myself— Instead, those smelly slimy feet, Young Gabriel, small as an elf— Along with their body and the seat, We were going pretty darn fast, Landed in front of the mountain— And the inertia hit like a blast. The pile of us 4 (if you're countin')

But the inertia was becoming less, Then we heard a faint mumbling, Or so it seemed in my state of distress, Which turned into a loud grumbling, As though the ride were slowing, Then, like a volcano about to burst, With less violent winds blowing. The mountain violently shook—it was the worst.

My guess was the ride was over, And burst it finally did, As though from a four leaf clover, And like a crock pot blowing its lid, Our luck had suddenly changed, We were flung far and wide— And we would no longer be estranged, At least 3 of us were, I must confide—

From solid ground on which to stand, For there in the middle Gertrude stood, For certainly that would be grand, Screeching profanities that weren't understood— Given our current predicament, For if I said: 'Verflixt! Snurren! Stuhlgang!' Especially if it was dried cement. Would you understand such odd slang?

Soon enough, I was certain, But there Gertrude was, screaming every word— That closing was the curtain, Every word exactly, for my memory isn't blurred— On this particular ride, She was angry as a bubble, And soon our fears would have died. And we hoped it wouldn't double.

The ride indeed slowed down, But all of a sudden, she stopped— As if to come back into town, As if, by someone, her words were cropped— It slowed, and slowed, and slowed some more, And like a dear in head lights, So much that it became a real bore. Like a hang glider afraid of heights,

She froze and stood there staring, Well, I was caught by one, At something obviously quite glaring: And in fact was absorbed—not fun— 'B-B-B?' she stammered and stuttered, It sucked me right into the middle, And then 'Bill?' she finally uttered. Like chord vibrations settling on a fiddle.

Indeed, Bill it was, Such that I couldn't even breathe— Bill from Neptune because, And with panic did I almost seethe— Well, because of reasons he would explain, Unlike if I was stuck to the surface, Though he had to get over his emotional pain, Taking in the fresh air of space, with purpose.

For Bill was the one screaming, Like I said, I was suffocating, While through space he was streaming. In the middle where I was relocating, Everyone was screaming, as I said, But almost immediately, But only Bill out of fear and dread. I started to breathe expediently—

'Bill, is zat you?' Gertrude repeated, How so? How could that be? 'Gertrude?' he spoke from where he was seated, It's called osmosis, you see. 'Uh, yes, it's me... I think—' What is osmosis, you ask? And took a moment to blink. Explaining that is a simple task:

'Let me just get myself together, When a sponge soaks up water, For I think I'm now in calmer weather. Or ink soaked by a blotter, Okay, Bill, take a deep breath... Or knowledge by a child who's precocious Inhale... exhale... this is not death... That, my friends, is osmosis.

I'm fine, I'm okay, It's when molecules from liquid stuff, It's just that earlier today, Get sucked up by a substance more tough— I was standing by my trampoline, Like H2O molecules (water, that is), Until I witnessed what I had never seen, Get sucked into sponges (there's gonna be a quiz).

A young lady fell from Heaven, But in my case, it was S2N4Ot, And cost me eleven point seventy-seven— Getting sucked up by my skin, you see— Dollars, that is, in repair bills, Oxygen being carried by the molecules of snot, To my trampoline, and them's no thrills. And straight to my lungs were they brought.

But then, out of the blue, Also to my brain, the snot molecules went, I was seized by a snot bubble—it's true! A message did they wish to be sent— I knew it was a snot bubble because, A message of pure thought, a mind meld, It told me so, for quite intelligent it was— One which, within seconds, I beheld.

That is to say, it was smart, It reassured me, the snot ball did, Smart enough, that is, to start, That I was safer than a mother's kid— A conversation with me, A baby yet to be born, in fact, At least with my mind, you see; Snug in mother's whom, to be exact.

Let me explain—it was like this— For that's precisely what it felt like, Not a detail should you miss— Warm and cozy, swimming like a pike, Neptune sneezed—this I was told, And whatever happens, where ever we went, By the snot bubble—for Neptune had a cold— It reassured me our time would be well spent,

Quite common for an outer planet, For it would take care of me, Too far from the Sun to stand it— Feeding me food and even tea, The cold, that is, and thus, It would breathe for me, of course, Planets like Neptune have to fuss, And tell me jokes about Chuck Norris.'

Over frequent colds and runny noses, 'I hate to interrupt, darling dear,' And all other problems that poses, Gertrude would interrupt, grinning ear to ear, For it causes them to sneeze, 'But did zis lady, ze one you did mention, And shoot snot balls into the breeze, Ze one who, though without bad intention,

Broke your trampoline, look anysing at all, And now that I've adjusted to my surroundings, Like zat young voman zere standing tall?' And my heart has stopped with all the poundings, Gertrude pointed to Sally, perplexed as the rest, I now realize what happened to me, All looking at Bill with his still heaving chest. It's plain and simple, as I now see.

Bill rubbed his eyes and did stare, My friend the snot bubble, Having a good look at Sally with wild hair, Must have gotten into trouble, As sally whispered to me, Hubert: By virtue of hitting this seat, 'I recognize him, I do assert,' The one here, cold as ice, no heat.

Bill said: 'I recognize her, that wild hair, It must have hit at just the right angle, I know her from somewhere,' For me, the seat certainly didn't strangle, 'Now where would that be? I wonder... No, it didn't, for I did not land, But, oh, of course!'—It hit him like thunder! On my head or neck, you understand,

'She's the woman who tore right through, I landed on my rear, my butt, obviously, My trampoline! I swear, it's true!' Which, considering the worst, brings me glee, 'I know zat, Bill.' Gertrude replied, Right into the buckle, strapping me in, 'I knew it was her, this woman I spied,' That's when I started to frown, not grin.'

Bill continued, 'The moment I laid eyes, 'Hey Bud, the ride's over,' On her, my memory, which tells no lies, Said a carny named Dover, Recalled that pretty face, and told me, 'Make room for the next person, That it was her: that's her, you see,' You're only making the line worsen.'

'Yes, Bill, zat's vat I said,' Gerty slipped in, 'Yesseri, I'd recognize her, through thick or thin,' Bill went on, 'Nothing gets by me,' 'Sure, Bill, nossing gets by you, I see.'

'But what's this now?' Bill sputtered on, 'Hubert? Sir Martian?—From days long gone?' 'More like earlier this afternoon, Bill,' From Sir Martian, such words did spill.

'Bill,' I chimed in, 'Is it really you? How'd you end up here? Is your story true?' 'Of course it's true, would I lie?' Sir Martian and I gave each other the eye.

'He's telling the truth,' Sally did see, 'It makes total sense of what happened to me.' 'Well, that's not all,' Bill did continue, 'There's more, if listening is still within you,

For you see, just as I was getting cozy, And my world was starting to feel rosy, By the most bitter cold, I was suddenly seized, And wished like heck Neptune never sneezed,

For my snotty sanctuary was suddenly shattered, All over were S2N4Ot molecules scattered, The snot bubble had all of a sudden splattered, And to me, that really mattered,

For now, I was lost, hungry, and cold, And what was worse, something on me had a hold, That is, I was trapped, confined, Something got strapped to my behind,

Chapter 14: The Travelocity Gnome

'Oh, excuse me,' Bill apologized, For I know you well, Gertrude— Still feeling a bit surprised, You never stop talking, which is rude, He'd unbuckle his belt and stand straight, And so I have to interrupt when I can, And then move at a speedy rate. If I am to have say at all, man!'

'So,' would say Gertrude as they walked, 'You dare to call me rude? Through people, past stands, and talked, I vould chew you up like food— 'You understand vat zis means, don't you Bill? Zat is, if I vere blood sirsty und violent— It means your chances of vinning are nil. Of course, I'm not, but I vill not be silent.'

For who's at Neptune's helm now? 'That's the problem, my dear, Who's at ze wheel, a sleeping cow?' You're never silent, it is clear,' 'Gertrude, my dear,' Bill would reply, 'Oh, please, you are von to talk!' 'What you suggest is a far cry, 'Hey, if you'd let me, that would rock.'

From the truth, that is, 'Ok, enough!' Sally would intervene, For we have a girl named Liz, 'Let's start over with a slate that's clean, Whose skill is unparalleled: Obviously you two have history, She knows how to paint, knit, and weld. And that it's bitter is no mystery.

But her best talent of all, But now, there are more important things, The reason we made a good call, For some of us here are still Earthlings, In hiring her, that is to say, Stuck on Saturn with no way off, Is that she's the best pilot today. And that's not something at which to scoff.

She's driven stars, even black holes! I'm sure you two would agree— She knows how the job rolls, Despite not being like us, you see— So you need not fret, my dear Gertrude, Earthlings, that is to say, Things aren't as dire as you've construed. For you hail from farther away,

But now that you mention it, And have different homes from us, Who, at Uranus's helm, does sit? To which there is no bus, Obviously not you, it is clear, Nor plane, nor train, nor ship, So who, I ask, who my dear?' That will take you on a space trip,

'You sink ve vould have no one, Back to Uranus or Neptune, In my absence for Uranus to run? Not even to a nearby moon, You obviously have no clue, darling Bill, So we're all in the same boat together, How prepared ve are, for ve have a drill: Trying to get home through any weather.'

Ven I am not around to command, 'Except, darling,' Gertrude responded, Ve have a co-pilot ready at hand, 'Ze only reason I'm here, feeling despondent, Und if zat co-pilot is not around, Is BECAUSE YOU DRAGGED ME HERE!!! Ve have a co-co-pilot who vill abound, So don't put on zis innocent veneer.

Und if zat co-co-pilot is sick, I told you, darling, I vanted to stay, Ze co-co-co-pilot vill come in quick, I told you it vas not in my plans to stray, Und just in case, darling Bill, Avay from Uranus, my home planet long gone, Ze co-co-co-pilot is busy, ve vill—' But by your shoe, you dragged me along!'

'OK, I get the point,' Bill would interject, 'Oh, I know, and I'm so sorry,' 'Don't interrupt! You show disrespect!' Sally explained her side of the story, Gertrude would raise her voice, 'But really, I couldn’t help it, it was my shoe, 'But,' Bill would retort, 'I have no choice, That velcro sticks like super glue!

But if it’s any consolation, Yew see, gang, I'm stuck up he'e— It fills me with elation, He'e on this waull (I know it's queer)— That you got dragged along, Dewn't ask how I got he'e, Whether right or wrong, It's a long staury, I fea'.

For I’ve grown fond of you, But he'e I am, hanging from a hook, Your command, your knowledge, it's true, My coat stuck on it, so it would look, For you are an incredible leader, And in orde' for me to help yew out, And your knowledge does not peter, You'll need to win me with you' carny-game clout.'

It was that planetary turbo rocket booster, We all turned around and did look, Fiery red like the bill of a rooster, And indeed, there would hang from a hook, That impressed me most, A stout little man, about 5 inches tall, And of which you have much to boast, Hanging there helpless on the wall.

For it was such an engineering marvel, Upon closer inspection, we would see, That I'm still dazed amidst this carnival, That this little man would surely be, And being the engineering nut I am, None other than the Travelocity Gnome, Like Emeril, my mind shouted: BAM!!! The very one who roams far from home.

That's why I’m glad you didn’t stay behind, 'If ya wan'em, you gotta play,' If I were selfish, I wouldn’t rewind— A grimy looking carny did say, Rewind time, that is to say, '3 bucks a shot, you gotta pay, And leave you at home on this day, If not, come back some other day.'

But I know it’s not what you prefer, 'Good sir,' the gnome would reply, For if one thing’s for sure, 'This is not fair, you ca'ny guy, It’s that you made yourself clear: You can't just stuing me up he'e, You definitely don’t want to be here, Stealing my fueedom cherished and dea',

So again, I do apologize, Fo’ I was minding my own business, Really, I do, look in my eyes! Until, God as my witness, If I could make my shoe let go, You snatched me up without pe’mission, I certainly would, you know.' Just so you could make a commission,

'No, darling, I don't know,' Off all the money you cha'ge, Gertrude responded easy and slow, Gouging people small and la'ge, 'But maybe I can be persuaded, To play yo' silly games, To allow my resentment to be abated, That go by "ring-toss", and othe' names.

If you can somehow find a vay, But this is an injustice, I tell yew, To return me home on zis day, Yew have no right to keep me in this zoo, For its ze least you could do, Among stuffed animals, lions and bears, Considering I did ze same for you, And other creata'es covered in hairs.'

Ven, to you, zat pod I lent, 'Can it, gnome,' the carny rudely said, On vich a lot of money ve spent, 'Can yer whinin' and put it to bed, Und vich you still haven't returned, The only way you're ever gettin' free, Und so my respect you still haven't earned.' Is if one a' these folks wins, you see.'

'But Gertrude,' Sally did plead, 'Yew see the bind I'm in?' the gnome did ask, 'With all due respect, I must concede, 'If you don't play, I'll have to sadly bask, That your request I cannot fulfill, In this suspended state, For I can't make ships appear at will.' And, as usual, do nothing but wait,

'A ship, did yew say?' a voice startled us, Until the next pe'son comes along, 'If it's a ship yew need, I've got one, a real plus, And dances to this ca'ny's song, But you'll have to dew me a fava', And even then, the'e's no guarantee, Something that I will fo'eve' sava'. That they'll win, wouldn't you agree?

But the'e's something special in sto'e, We all responded with a blank stare, Fo' the five of you, something mo'e— As if we just didn't care, Mo'e, that is, than a porcelain gnome, But Sir Martian certainly cared, Fo' I could be you' ticket home. For his opinion he eventually aired:

Yew did say, didn't you? 'COOOOOOOL!' he bellowed out, That you and you' crew, 'Le'me try,'—he had no self-doubt— Needed a ship to get yew home? He stepped up to the plate, Well, who better than the Travelocity Gnome? 'Woaw! Woaw! Woaw!—Wait! Wait! Wait!'

Who better, that is, with whom to travel, The carny interrupted, 'Whadya think? Fo' with Travelocity, you’ trip will unravel, That I wouldn't raise a stink? With Travelocity, you'll never roam alone, 'bout the fact that you haven't paid? Fo' with my ship, I can get you home.' This ain't no free-for-all, it ain't no raid.

'That don't sound like a bad deal,' Three bucks a shot, ya gotta pay— Sir Martian said with zeal, Otherwise, turn around and walk away— 'Not a bad deal at all, But if ya pay up, the ball's yours— Allz we gotta do is throw a ball.' All 3 of 'em, if ya pay 6 bucks morez.'

'If ya wanna win that prize,' Sir Martian forked over the cash, Said the carny with edgy eyes, It was all he had from his personal stash— 'Ya gotta throw three balls, The one his mom gave him earlier today, And ya gotta hit them there wallz. When we crashed into Mars gone astray.

Not just anywherez either, 'There y'go,' said the carny smugly, Grab that ball and really squeeze 'er, 'Now don't make this get ugly— Aim for that circle right there, Just follow the rules like I told ya, The one with the 1000—not just anywhere. Get 3000 points and I will have sold ya,

If ya hit that circle with the thousand, That there gnome on the wall, My attention you will have arousened, As I keep my promises 'n all.' But that's not all—no sir, buddy bear— Sir Martian got serious, You'll only be one third the way there. The rules weren't mysterious.

You'll have a thousand points, my friend, He got into position with legs apart, But that's not enough in the end, Like a stance in some martial art. For if ya wanna win that gnome on the wall, He focused on the bull's eye, You'll have to pick up another ball. The circle marked 1000—need I ask why?

You'll have to throw it one more time, When he was ready—when he found his zen— Right in that circle, stopping on a dime, He wound his arm back and then... and then... Then you'll have two thousand points, He swung the ball as hard as he could, But I'm afraid that in these here joints, And before it hit, he understand,

That still ain’ enough—no sir, dimple chin— That this was a winning throw, For if that gnome ya really wanna win— For it was dead on, you know— You'll have to throw a third time, Smacked the wall right in the center, And again—whether reason or rhyme— Right in the bull's eye it did enter.

Ya gotta hit that circle, the same one, The whole gang cheered with joy, And then, my friends, the game is done, 'Not bad, little man,' said the carny looking coy, If ya get 3000 points, in other words, 'But ya need two more hits like that, That gnome can fly off the hook like the birds, If ya wanna win the gnome with the funny hat.'

I'll take him off myself, He gave Sir Martian another ball, Easily, being small as an elf, With which to throw against the wall. And I'll hand him over to you, Sir Martian resumed the position— Then with him, I don't care whatchya do.' Another bull's eye for which we were wishin'.

Once again, he wound his arm back, In his hands, Sir Martian took the gnome, And swung forward, ready to attack— And put him in his backpack with his comb— Again, it was a clean hit! The one his mom gave him, with the cash— Within the inner circle, it nicely fit. All 9 bucks, which he spent rather rash—

He felt a pat on the shoulder from me, But a wise investment it was, Plus a hug and kiss from Sally, Why you ask? Well, it was because... And seeing the carny's jaw drop to the floor, Because T.G. (i.e. Travelocity Gnome), Only encouraged Sir Martian to try once more. Was our ticket home.

'I see yer somewhat of an expert,' The carny, quite impressed, did assert, 'Do ya play much baseball, kid?' 'No, just years of harpooning squid.'

While the carny questioned this reply, Sir Martian geared up for another try, He swung back, he swung forward, This swing being his last, his third.

And wouldn't you know it? He certainly didn't blow it. He struck his target right in the center, With so much force, he even dented 'er.

Sally and I, plus Gertrude and Bill, Jumped with joy, overwhelmed with thrill— So did the gnome on the wall, At least he tried, being stuck and all.

'Well, I gots'ta admit,' the carny said, 'Ya really put that game to bed, I didn't think y'had it in ya, But ya proved me wrong, didn' ya?

Well, fair's fair—no pun intended— I promised that when the game ended— Assuming that ya won, of course— I'd give ya a prize—like a stuffed horse—

But it's that gnome, ya gotta admit, That y've had yer eyes on, ain' it?' 'Yes, yes, yes,' the gnome piped up, 'I'm what they want, so shut up!

Quit staulling and get me off this waull; I'd dew it myself, but I'm tew small, Yew know they want me—we've been ove' this— Or was that a conve'sation you did miss?'

'Hey gnome,' the Carny did reply, 'Remembering that I'd never deny, Fer I'm thrilled to let y'go— Yer whinin's brought me nottin' but woe.'

Off the wall, the carny grabbed the gnome— Hope filling him that he'd finally get home— And handed him to us, the gang of five: 'Glad to be rid of ya' while I'm alive.'

Chapter 15: The Life of a Gnome

TG started playing with the comb, By Gaby and the rest of the crew, Secure and comfy in this temporary home. Once they arrive in an hour or two?' He—that is, the Gnome—began to comb his hair, 'An hour or two?' questioned Sally, And all of a sudden smelt the fresh air. 'It's not like Gaby to dilly-dally,

He looked up and realized, Whereas we took the long way 'round, That he should really be surprised— On a direct course here, he was bound. For he was now free! He was! He probably already arrived and left, In someone's backpack because... Out of boredom or feeling bereft.'

Because someone won him, of course— 'Gaby wouldn't leave us,' Sir Martian said, And then he figured out the source, 'I agree,' I agreed, nodding my head, The source of the fresh air, that is, 'He'll either be here soon, For he was certainly a math whizz, Or he's here already, pro'ly since noon.

To have figured out that the pack was open, It's a big planet, after all, And down rushed a cool breeze with TG hopin', Saturn that is, a humungous ball, That he was tall enough to peer out— Which is why we owe it to him, So he tried, he did, sticking out his snout. To search to the outer rim,

'Say,' he finally said, 'Saury t'botha yew, Looking for him and the crew, But this comb is exquisite—so tell me, please do— For isn't that what true friends do?' We'e on Ea'th did you get it? 'I'm glad ze bonds of comradery you feel, And how much did you pay? Cash or debit?' Towards zis friend you speak of wiz zeal,'

'Huh? Who? Where?' Sir Martian did speak up, Gertrude spoke up with a practical tone, 'Oh, TG, it's you—on people, don't sneak up! 'Und I see your loyalty runs to ze bone, Well, Earth wasn't where I got it, But if I may speak for zose who know not, Mars was the place, and my mommy bought it. Zis Gaby, zis amazing astronaut—

She packed it for me for an emergency, Namely, myself and Bill— But you can use it if it's any urgency.' It brings us no thrill, 'Oh, it's no u'gency, my good chap,' Ze idea of staying in von place, Said TG giving Sir Martian's shoulder a slap, Ve'd rather be up in space,

'I'm just guateful for you' geneuocity— On ze first flight out of here, That is, on behalf of myself and Travelocity— Back home sometimes zis year.' Not just for this comb, divine as it may be, 'Gertrude's right,' Bill concurred, But for winning that game and setting me fuee.' 'Though I appreciate your every word,

'Well, if you have a ship, as you say, I too understand the virtues of loyalty, And if you drive us home on this day, For it is not owed only to royalty, Consider that repayment, evening the score, But to friends old and true, And then you will owe us no more.' Like your friend and his trusty crew,

'Do remember, Sir Martian,' I inserted, But to wait around for those we don't know, 'With destiny we must have flirted, Why, that's a place I just won't go. For we have arrived on Saturn Maybe on a compromise, we can agree, —Despite making a wrong turn!— Why don't we hash one out and see,

The very place we were to rendezvous, What I suggest,' Bill continued, With our fearless captain and his crew! 'Is that for the sake of me and Gertrude, Don't you think we should stick around? We follow Mr. Gnome to his ship, That is, just in case we are found? And at that point, if you're still hip,

On the idea of staying put, 'Well, I didn't exactly lose it,' You can stay grounded with each foot, TG excused himself, not flinching a bit, But be forewarned, for at that point, 'I just don't know whe'e it is, Your ticket home will leave this joint.' Fo' it's a long stau'y, t'is.'

'Speaking of which, where is it— We all braced ourselves— This ship of yours, where does it sit? 'I was bo'n into a pack of elves, Sir Martian questioned the gnome, Close relatives to gnomes, elves are, 'The ship with which you will fly us home?' My motha', a gnome, married an elf from afar.

'Well,' the little gnome replied, TG began, his memory becoming nostalgic, 'It's um... um... oh, look at that ride!' 'I was born,' he continued, 'very allergic, We all looked—it was a merry-go-round— To the hector of the bees—that is, honey— Kinda amusing but really didn't astound, So thank goodness I didn't run into any—

'Uh, that's nice,' Sir Martian went on, Newww, I did't—for since I was a lad, 'But you were saying about a ship? Am I wrong?' The thought of travelling made me glad. 'Uh, er, oh yes, my ship,' TG would continue, I thought, I thought, and I thought some mo', 'Well, it's somewhe'e around this venue, About travelling he'e and the'e, to worlds galo',

It's um... it's... that is to say... From No'th America to South America, Yew know, at this time of day, From the mountains of Japan to Canada, The sunset is really go'geous, isn't it? And everywhe'e I'd goew, He're on Satu'n... let's stop and sit.' Whethe' to Spain or Mexico,

'You're stalling, little man,' Gertrude accused, I'd get someone to take my picta', 'Und by zis, ve are not amused.' As a permanent fixta', 'I suspect Gertrude is right,' Hubert added, Of my many worldly travels, 'With red herrings, your answer seems padded.' And the history which it unravels,

'Won't you come clean?' Bill contributed, When I look back into my past— 'For might I remind you, you have stipulated, Fo' the years certainly seemed to last— That you indeed have a ship, and in fact, Anyway, as I was saying, You made a promise with which you are backed— From home I so wished to be stuaying—

That is to say, you owe us a ride, To travel away from home—to travel period— So if you have something to hide, Would never grow weary—or even weariered— Now is the time to come clean, It was aulways my dream, in othe' wo'ds, Time to be honest, I mean.' To travel fueely like the birds.

'Oh, aull right!' the gnome confessed, But sometimes the world is not enough, 'I'll tell the truth, fo' that would be best— One sometimes yearns fo' othe' stuff— Though I do have to say, I didn't lie, Like visiting other planets like Mars, I do have a ship that flies through the sky— Or just travelling to the stars.

It's just that, well, to be honest, So one day I decided to take a rocket, The ship is gone from here—it's the gonest— Climbed aboa'd, I did, into the cockpit, The gonest of all ships—plain and clean— And took off to explo'e the astral sky, Fo' it's gone from he'e, nowhe'e to be seen.' To see things that would make me say "Oh my!"

'Wait a minute!' Sally would protest, But not long into my jou'ney, unfo'tunately, 'You mean to say that on your request, I ran lew on gas—it worried me, scorchingly— We spent 9 bucks on you just because, The fault was mine, of course, Of the promise you made to us, which was: And it buings me great remo'se—

That you had a ship and would fly us home, The embarrassment, that is to say, But now you tell us, while holding that comb, Even to this very day. That you don't know where it is, But I was in luck, I was, That you lost it in all this confusing frizz?!' Why you ask? Well, because...

Because I was flying right by Jupite', And to my good fo'tune, Quite fast acco'ding to the speedomete', Unless it was a disto'tion, So almost as a knee je'k reaction, Or over my eyes, someone pulled the wool, I slammed on the breaks, creating some tuaction, The fuel gauge seemed to read full.

And hugged the curve very tight, And what's mo', what was truly amazing, As I turned the wheel with aull my might. What in my mind is still blazing, I came in fo' a landing, Is that the'e in the ignition, Despite not understanding, Was that fo' which I was wishin':

That Jupite' was a desolate place— The keys we'e left the'e, Not a single soul or human face, As though fo'gotten without a care. Fo' miles and miles and miles around, Well, it was aull I could do not to stare, Though a couple of poodles and a greyhound, And to hold down my raised hair.

Have been spotted from time to time, So what did I do? Or so I'm told—whethe' reason or rhyme. What do you think, you, you, and you? But not I, not me, I stuapped myself in and turned the key, I saw no doggies, unfo'tunately. And before I knew it, I was grinning with glee—

I saw no one, not a soul, Fo' I was back up in space, Instead there was a gaping hole, As though catching up in a race, Whe'e the'e would have been civilization, Making up fo' lost time— Great structu'es, a monumental nation. Could anything be mo' sublime?!

Needless to say, I could not refuel, With a full tank, I had enough, As though fate were being especially cruel. For a smooth ride, not rough, Sewww, I just wonde'ed around, All the way to Saturn, To see whateve' could be found. Even then, with more gas to burn.

I wonde'ed fo' about an hour, Coming in threw the clouds, When a wonderous sight my eyes did devour: High above the joyful crowds, I saw an ewld broken down shack, And amidst the odors which I smelled, And around the left side of its back, My eyes suddenly beheld,

The'e was what appea'd to be a ship; Reams and reams of parking staulls, In the wing, the'e was a rip. Fo' miles around, no ceiling, no waulls, It appea'd to have crashed, In fact, they reached far as the horizon, Threw the waull into which it had bashed. The range was even fa'ther than Verizon.

Well, I was a mechanic in my youth, And if you think it was easy, And a handy man—it's the truth— To find a place to park, a vacancy, And as a rule, I always carry— Think again, my new found fuiends, A gift from a guy named Perry: The lot was full to its bitte' ends.

I carry a tool belt on my pe'son, Well, I knew my luck was out, With which a bad situation will neve' wo'sen. I knew I had to find anotha' route, Fo' with a bit of duct tape and a screw driva', Anotha' place to land, that is to say, I can fix anything, no one being the wiser. From the parking landscape, I had to get away.

So with a ha'ness and a cuank, So I flew fo' hours and hours, I pulled that ship out of its bank. Through sun shine and showers, I stitched up the wing, Until one day I saw land— And made it look like bling. Er, that is, a corn dog stand.

I even gave it landing pads, Right beside a guy selling pizza, Really, I did, my comrades, A guy saying "Nice to meetcha'" Fo’ it really was a silly cueata’, With a big enough grin, Landing pads, it did not feata’, To invite hungry pizza love's in.

Then there was the apple bopping stand, And waking up on that waull. Bopping ewnly with you' mouth, not you' hand, How much time had paussed, afte' aull? And next to that was the Old West Salloon, Fo' if I knew that, then at least, With things to shoot like bank robbers or a racoon. I could guess how fa'way is that beast—

And in the background was a wheel, That beast of a ship—mine, I mean— A Ferris one, that is, made of steel, Fo' the longe' I was out, it can be seen, Beside that was a couple of rolle' coaste's, The fa'the' he must have taken me. With cars looking like a train of toaste's. This is good logic, don't you agree?

The'e was a merry-go-round and bumper cars, But even if I knew the time— And something like a rocket ship to Mars, How much had paussed, precisely as a rhyme— Rides that went high and low and up-side-down— That wouldn't tell me in what direction, Yep, I'd definitely got to Carnival Town. The carny travelled, into what Saturnian section.

But the question still did remain: So you see, my fuiends, you see my plight? How was I going to land this plane?— How not even I can catch a flight? My ship, I mean, for the parkade was gone, Off this planet and find my way home? And the list of parking spots now wasn't long. How on Satu'n, I must fo'ever roam?

I didn't want to squish anyone, But I didn't lie, did I? And landing on a carny stand didn't seem fun, A ship I still have, by and by, Landing on a ride was out of the question, It's parked somewhe'e he'e—this I know— I wouldn't conside' it even as a suggestion. Somewhe'e on Satu'n, amidst this ca'nival show.

Finally, I spotted an open space, I just can't be that precise— Right behind a tent—that was the place! Fo' if I could, that would be nice— It seemed like a back alley of a so’t, In spelling out its exact location, Whe’e no one went, not even to cavo’t. But what does it matte'? I'm on vacation!'

Sew checking my blind spots with extua care, I decided to pa’k my ship down the'e. I landed on flat ground, thank goodness, Crushing nothing, which would be pure rudeness.

But here's the catch, here's the thing, As soon as I stepped out: BING!!! I was knocked on the head and blacked out, I didn't even have time to scream o' shout.

Next thing I knew, I was hanging on the waull, Realizing it slowly—I was unconscious, after aull. I hung there fo' a good long while, Until you guys came and made me smile.

'Til this day, you can see the scar, Induced by what felt like a metal bar— The crack on my fo'head, I mean, Fo' I'm made of resin, glistening clean.

Who was the culprit, you ask? Well, figuring that out is no task: It was the carny you dealt with ea'lier, The surly one—no, even surlier!

The real question that stumps me, And even sometimes makes me gwumpy, Is what happened in the time between, Being knocked on the head I mean,

Chapter 16: The Time Machine

Sally picked up the gnome in frustration: 'Are you suggesting,' Bill piped in, 'Well, guess what?! We're not on vacation! 'That we just need to ask where he's been? And I have a right mind to welt you again, Where the carny was lurking about? On the other side of that there noggin, and then—' When, during a break, he found you out?'

'Patience, darling, patience,' Gertrude budded in, Bill pointed to TG, and looked at him, Gently taking the gnome from Sally with a grin, 'Well, I suppose,' said the gnome looking grim, Then proceeded to squeeze him some more, 'That could be a cou'se of action, And shook him frantically to the core: Thew I doubt it will bring much satisfaction.

'VERE IS ZE SHIP!!! YOU VILL TELL US NOW!!! I doubt he'd tell us even if we begged, TAKE US TO IT!!! TAKE US SOMEHOW!!!' Fo' I think I have him fai'ly well pegged: 'I-I-I-I w-w-w-would,' TG managed to get out. I predict he'll ask for a few bucks mo’, Having made him speak, Gertrude ceased to shout, Before he divulges information galo’.'

'But I need yo' help— 'And I got no more bucks,' said Sir Martian, Please don't shout, please don't yelp— 'Spent all 9 on a game that was fun, Fo' I think if we worked togethe', Out of my pocket, they were drawn, We can figu'e out whethe', And now they're all but gone.'

My ship is over the'e, 'Enough wiz ze speculation!' Or pe'haps the'e, that's whe'e, Gertrude explained the situation, Or maybe the'e—yes, it's the same direction, 'Vy don't ve just go and ask? But fu'the' out, a much fa'the' projection. Is zat such a hard task?

The point is, I'm sure we can figu'e it out, If he vishes to charge us money, But we have to work togethe'—not scream and shout— Ve vill simply say: "Look honey, I have to count on you, as you count on me. Ve ain't got no more cash, Fo' as Sally said, we're in the same boat, you see.' Ve spent the last of our private stash."

'The gnome's right,' I concluded, Und zen zat vill be it, 'No sense in sitting around feeling brooded, Ve vill just have to sit, We have to think of a way, Back at square one, wouldn't you agree? Hopefully before the end of the day, Nossing gained, nossing lost, you see.'

Of finding out where TG's ship is parked—' 'Gertrude's right,' I concluded, When suddenly, in my mind, an idea was sparked, 'Let's go ask the carny to whom I alluded, 'Say, Mr. Gnome, but didn't you say, And get a simple yay or nay, That in your mind, there to stay, And that will be the end of the day.'

Is the identity of your kidnapper, you know— And so at the drop of a hat, Namely, the carny we met a moment ago— We did just that— Well, if this is true, as you say, We went and asked that carny, Then that carny knows—he just may— Trying our best to be blarney.

That is, where your ship is parked— But just as TG predicted, He must, of course, for it is marked, From his stand, we were evicted, Right in his memory of snatching you, For he did ask for more money, For if what you say is true, And we did say 'Look honey...'

He must remember where you were, But it was in vain, When he snatched you up, even in a blur, For it was such a pain, And he must remember how he got back: To get information out of him; For those memories mark out our track.' It sure didn't come at a whim.

Can you believe how much he wanted? So use that voice to let me know, The hole in my wallet would leave me haunted! To what year you wish to go, Twenty bucks is what he asked for, Just give me the time and date, I had twenty cents, but no more. And I'll make sure you're not late.'

In fact, even all together, 'Vell,' Gertrude said, 'Zat vaz rude; Despite the breezy weather, Interruptions put me in a bad mood; We had diddly squat— But now zat it is over, let's resume, A wealthy bunch, we were not. Solving ze problem zat over us does loom.'

So we walked away, 'Now, wait a minute, Gertrude,' And then by a clown did stay, I said, 'the problem to which you allude, We all sat in the lotus position, May just be solved by that very interruption, In a circle on the ground—as though fishin', For if we assume no corruption,

Though without rods, or any bate— Within that man's words— No, instead we sat in a circle and did wait— That is, if like the birds— We waited for another great idea— He really can fly us back in time, An idea by which we could say 'see ya,' And he can stop us on a dime,

See ya, that is, to Saturn, At exactly the minute we choose, When suddenly, our ears did burn, Then certainly, we can't lose— For a loud sound blasted from some speakers, For you see, all we have to do, And then I saw: it was from a man in sneakers! Is travel back a day or two,

'Step right up! Step right up!' And then go back to the carny's stand, Said the man, our thoughts he did interrupt, And wait—which may be boring and bland— 'Come all ye who dare to venture, For it won't be exciting or a thrill— For I reveal my secret clincher: But we wait—we wait and wait—until...

I reveal... "The Time Machine," The moment is at hand— Polished up and squeaky clean. That is, when he leaves his stand— For once you step inside, And that's when we have to be clever, You're going for a wild ride. For we must follow him to wherever—

It spins you 'round and 'round, Wherever it was that he went, Where you'll stop, you won't be found, Wherever it was that he smelt your sent, For once you reach 88 miles per hour, Mr. Gnome, where he knocked you out, You'll disappear, plucked like a flower, And snatched you up, the obnoxious lout.

Plucked from here, that is to say, For if what you say is true— Plucked from now, from this very day, Like one and one being two— For you will no longer be here, Then wherever the carny leads us, Not in this place, not in this year, Your ship is parked, like a bus.'

For a reason is it called "The Time Machine," 'My wo'd, young chap,' TG said, Running on fiery coal and steam, 'That's brilliant, yew sma'ty head, For at 88 miles per hour, Fo' you've even got it spot on, The spacetime continuum will devour, It was about tew days o' one,

Both you and your friends, When I, as a one man crew, And send you round the bends, Flew in from yande' blue, The bends of time, that is, And landed in a dark and shady place— For that's how it works in this biz, From which I'm still distraught—look at my face!!!'

The biz of time travel, I mean, 'Exactly!' I exclaimed, 'A day or two! For you may be sent back to 1919, For all we need to do, If that is your choice, Is hop aboard that "Time Machine", But you do have a voice, And force time to wean—

Stop time, that is, from moving forward, For time can be sped up, he knew, And the past, force us to move toward, From one o'clock to a quarter to two, And stop at that specific time, You can get in a matter of seconds, Right before the carny committed his crime.' That's right, seconds, not minutes, as I reckons.

'I must admit, Hubert darling,' For to get from one to two, Gertruded replied, sounding charming, Takes a full hour, it's true, 'Zat your plan is wors considering; But what Einstein figured out, Let's follow it instead of bickering.' Is that, without a doubt,

So we did—consider it, that is to say, The faster you go, the faster time goes too, Not bicker over it, not on this day, It speeds up, like a bullet out of the blue, And all our considerations lasted a second, So if you go fast enough, then even you, For just doing it now was right, as Gertrude reckoned. In only seconds, can get to a quarter to two.

We stepped right up to the Time Machine, But that's not the question, Just as the carny told us to, I mean, For if I may make a suggestion, And after waiting half an hour in line, I'd say that travel to the past, After listening to several kids wine, Is finally possible, at last.

About being hot, or bored, or sick, Thanks to my latest invention, I say, Or the awful taste of a lollipop they did lick, For it is the leading proof today, It was our turn to climb aboard, That I figured out what Einstein could not, Finally!—Thank the Lord! Though a genius he was in thought:

'Howdie strangers, Fred's the name, How to travel to the past, And travellin' through time's my game,' How to make a single day last, Said the time travelling carny named Fred, If one were only to repeat it, His neck, from the sun, burnt red, Over and over—who could beat it?

'So what time,' Fred asked, Who could top my invention, that is, 'Is it my privileged task, For a leader am I in this time travel biz, To send you folks back to, Surpassing Einstein and Steven Hawking, 1800 perhaps? Or maybe 1992?' Even the invention of the nylon stocking!'

'No sir, my friend,' I did reply, 'Well,' I said with a dose of skepticism, 'We want to go back to a time very nigh, 'I know physics, Einstein and Time-Travelism. Retrospectively, that is to say, And what you say defies all logic, That is, two, or even just one day.' In fact, it sounds like magic,

'Back in time a couple days? For there was a reason Einstein did doubt, That I can do, without even a haze, That which you praise and shout, That is, without a mental blur, For if the faster you go, For you'll know when you're there for sure. The more time goes not slow,

For I have perfected my technology, Then how is it possible, good sir, I've surpassed even Einstein's psychology, To reverse time in a blur? That is, his intelligence, For even when standing still, For I'm smarter than him, hence: Time moves forward, if you will.'

The Time Machine, my latest invention, 'Not at 88 miles per hour,' Fred replied, Polished up with a shiny complexion, 'For this is my secret, what I have spied, For Einstein could never have thought, For under a microscope did I view time, Of what, to the world, I have brought. And what did I discover, friends of mine?

Einstein knew that time could bend, An infinitesimal hole, a rip in time, Stretch, compress, and rend, Too small to see with your eyes or mine, But was it possible? Time travel? But it's there, my friends, trust me; He knew that the future could unravel, Without a microscope, your notice will it flee,

And if you accelerate past it— 'Well, we certainly don't want to rip you off,' 88 miles per hour that is—even a bit— I said, clearing my throat with a cough, Say, for example, from 87 to 89, 'But we've got nothing to our name, Being careful not to get a speeding fine, We've got neither fortune nor fame.

You'll skip right over it, But maybe we can make an arrangement— Like a pot hole that on the road does sit, Something to commence this engagement— But if you stop precisely on that spot, This engagement of time travel, I mean; Staying at 88 miles per hour and budging not, Let's work out something like a team.'

Then my friends, the magic will happen, An awkward silence followed that point, For you'll find, even if rappin', Making me wish we could escape the joint, Along with your favorite hip hop tune, For none of us could think of an arrangement, That very quickly, very soon, To commence, like I said, this engagement.

Time will reverse, time will go back— I thought, Sally thought, and we all thought, That's the point at which time does lack— Even the carny thought... we thought a lot. That is, doesn't exist, the rip I spoke of, But none of us could think of anything, The hole so infinitesimal, fleeting like a dove. No ideas to the table could we bring.

But trust me my friends, 'Oh, fiddle-dee-bugs!' TG did exclaim, Once around the bends, 'To give this up would be such a shame— Does my invention take you, This comb, I mean, so exquisite, Round and round 'till you turn blue, But maybe I could part with it.'

You will hit 88 miles per hour, 'Well,' Fred the carny did reply, And that's when it will devour, 'Allow me to inspect it with my eye, You and everyone else aboard, For if it's exquisite as you say, Like a heavy eater who does hoard, I may consider it your due pay.'

All the food at the buffet, So TG handed over the comb, Except that on this day, Looking rather sad for a gnome, You're the buffet and time is the eater, And indeed Fred inspected it, Don't resist, for you can't beat 'er. While in his chair he did sit.

Just let the rip suck you in, 'It's not so exquisite, friends of mine, And you'll go where you've already been— ...it's absolutely and utterly divine! Some time before, that is, Where did you get such a fine gem, For that's the way in this time travelin' biz.' Are there more? Where can I get them?'

'Oh, what are we waiting for,' Sally urged, 'I got it from my mom,' Sir Martian said, 'On one carny we've already splurged, 'Works quite well with the hair on my head; Why not on this one too? I think she got it at Wall Mart, Let's travel back a day or two!' You can try there for a start.'

'Splurge indeed we did,' Bill inserted, 'Indeed I may,' Fred did say, 'On that carny with which we flirted, 'But this comb will suffice for today. But with what are we going splurge now, You may hop aboard this ride— For if this is a free ride, I'll say WOW!' Don't be shy—step inside!'

'Free? Are you kidding?' said the carny, So step inside we did, 'If this ride's free, then my name’s Barney, To see what secrets it hid; And since it's not, then by Modus Tollens, It was like a flying saucer, We can conclude this ride would've been stolens. Round on all sides of 'er,

That is, you will have ripped me off, But flat on top and bottom; Gettin' a free ride without having did cough— Colored like the leaves of Autumn, Cough up the cash, that is, It was splashed from head to toe, To earn a seat on this ride—like, gee whiz!' With red, orange, and yellow.

The inside wasn't much different, For I could feel the inertia on my back, Inside The Time Machine, where we went, And my vision almost went black, For there too was a mix of colors, From the blood rushing from my head, Red, orange, yellow, and many others. I thought I might pass out, as if dead.

Against the walls, round like a ring, But the deafening screams from the other kids, Were straps which, onto us, would cling, Kept me awake, from closing my eye lids. For it was clear from the looks of it, A couple looked ill, and one barfed, That that's where we were to sit. Cotton candy which he previously snarfed.

Well, not sit—we'd have to stand, And soon it happened, at least I thought, We'd lean back against the wall and, For in some strange vortex were we caught— Buckle our seat belts, strap ourselves in, A swirl in space, I mean to say, And soon after, we started to spin. As if space and time gave way,

It was rather slow at first, To some kind of warping, Which would make this ride the worst, A kind of bending and forking, If that's the fastest it ever got, For things seemed to twist and stretch, But was it the fastest? I think not. Like the soul of a horrible wretch,

For we could feel the acceleration, People's faces seemed long and thin, And I could see the anticipation, I couldn't tell a frown from a grin, In the kids' eyes—that is, other riders— The whole room was like a hall of mirrors, Anticipation and fear—like they'd seen spiders; The kind that distort your mouth, nose, and ears.

But it's a fun kind of fear, And just as I no longer recognized the place, The kind that makes you scream and cheer, Just as I couldn't make out a single face, The kind that feels more like a rush, Just as I thought I was going crazy, Like holding someone on whom you have a crush, The ride started to become lazy—

While watching a scary movie on a date— That is, it began to slow down, That's something you can't really hate— And I slowly came back from crazy town, For when the show's over at a quarter to ten, I slowly regained my senses, You kiss her goodbye and say 'Let's do it again.' And began to let down my defenses,

Indeed the ride sped up, For I started to feel relaxed, With his hands, Sir Martian formed a cup, Our speed no longer waxed, And with them, covered his face, It now began to wane, Wishing he could get out of this place, And soon, so did my pain.

TG too, sitting in Sir Martian's backpack, The room was still spinning, For it felt rather squishy to be in that sack, And my ears started ringing, Not only pressed up against the wall, But When the ride finally stopped, squished by Sir Martian and all. And off it, we could have hopped,

But most everyone else was having fun, Except I just couldn't tell, I certainly wasn't the only one, At least, not very well, But soon the ride got intense, Whether the spinning was the ride, And it kept me in suspense, Or my dizzy head—so I sighed.

For I knew we were going fast, But then the door did open— But how much longer would this ride last, A sight for which I was hopin'— Before 88 miles per hour was reached, And in poked a familiar head— For I couldn't tell which speeds we'd breached, The one belonging to Fred.

What speed were we at? What mile per hour? 'Two days ago!' he said to the crowd, We must have used up enough power, 'That's us!' Sally said out loud, To be going at least 44, 'Let's get off, gang, And probably a little bit more. Let's not stay here and hang!'

We unbuckled ourselves, we did, And tried to stand like a 1 year old kid, Wobbling a bit and almost falling, But ardently following Fred's calling.

Before we stepped off, I looked back, Into the room almost pitch black, And I noticed no one else getting off, To which I almost did scoff.

'What? Did y'all pay for two rides?' I questioned the people on all sides, 'Na,' said an old woman near the door, 'We're just going back to 1934.'

Chapter 17: Operation Total Mayhem

With that, we left the Time Machine behind, TG, I mean to say, And then, of course, tried to find, Snatched him up earlier today.' The other carny—not Fred— 'No problem,' I replied to Sally, The one who sold us TG instead. 'Let's keep going down this alley,

Which really wasn't hard, Once we're at the carny stand, For the carny was only a yard, We'll glance at the wall and, A yard away, that is... well maybe two— And if we see TG hanging there, ...Ok, a bit more than two, it's true. We'll know Fred didn't take care,

The point is, we knew where to go, To calibrate his machine, And we certainly didn't go slow, To tune it up, I mean. For we had no idea, none at all, If that's the case, The time we had to reach the carny's stall. We'll return to that place,

On the way there, Sally said: Where the Time Machine does sit, 'Uh, Hubert, I hate to worry your head, And ask Fred to send us back a bit, But according to my watch, A bit more, that is to say, That machine should be bumped a notch, Back 22 hours ago, plus a day.

For I don't think it's two days ago, We'll do this over and over again, More like two hours—maybe it's slow— Until Fred gets it right, and then, The Time Machine, that is to say, And then we'll be there, two days ago, For it's certainly been less than a day, When hopefully, on the wall, TG won't show.

Since we boarded that ride, All this, he should do for free, And that's a fact my watch doesn't hide, For we paid him that comb, you see, So I don't think it's up to snuff, So he still owes us 22 hours and a day, Even though he gave it a lot of buff, At least, that's what I'll say.'

Fred, that is, and the Time Machine, 'By the looks of it, Hubert,' Is the ride which I mean— Bill spoke up and did assert, Certainly, it is a technological wonder, 'That 2 hours was just enough, But I think Fred did blunder.' For if you look amongst all that stuff,'

'You mean to say,' Sir Martian said, Bill pointed to the wall, 'That that there carny named Fred, The one lining the carny's stall, Sent us back only two hours ago? The very carny we were looking for, Not the two days we ordered-to-go?' For we had arrived at his door.

'Yep, that's exactly what I'm saying,' Well, almost, that is to say, Said Sally, in the breeze, her hair swaying. We were still a few yards away, 'Let's not worry about that now,' But close enough to be in sight, I said, 'Let's just think about how, If only he looked a bit to his right.

How to accomplish our mission, Indeed the wall to which Bill pointed, For this ain't no time to go fishin', Was, with prizes galore, anointed, Fishin' for clues on what went wrong, But among all the cluttered mess, Or what time it is—that old song.' Something was missing, I must confess.

'But Hubert,' Sally protested, 'You won't see TG,' Bill continued, 'If you listened to what I suggested, 'For unless I've misconstrued, You may realize we're likely too late? What it means that he's not there, The carny probably already snatched the bate; I'd say 2 hours was rather fair.'

'Indeed, Bill, indeed,' I replied, Alls ya have to do, 'Now is the time for us to hide; Is play my games, only one or two, Let's all jump into that dumpster there, I gots several from which to choose, And from that spot, at the Carny, stare.' With variety like this, ya can't lose!

'Uh, Hubert,' to me Sally did appeal, Throw a ball at a target, 'I hate to be the squeaky wheel, Or if yer like my sister Margaret, But I've had about as much as I can take, It might be ring toss ya prefer, Of stewing in garbage, for Heaven's sake.' That game's a thrill fur sure.

'I know, my dear,' I sympathized, But if not, I got plen'y more, And then, with respect, emphasized: Maybe horse shoes will wins ya a high score, 'But it's the best spot to hide, Or maybe darts is yer game, For who would suspect that inside, To me it's all the same.'

A garbage bin of all places, On that note, he ceased to preach, Were six people's faces, Realizing no one cared for his speech, All peering over the rim, For on deaf ears did his words spill, In order to spy on him.' And so to continue, he didn't have the will.

I pointed to our good friend, 'Time fur a break, I guess,' he said to himself, The carny who did tend, Putting the purple dino back on the shelf. To kidnap helpless gnomes, In the back corner, he opened a door, Just trying to get back to their homes. And then we couldn't see him no more,

'Trust me, darling,' Gertrude reassured, For he passed through only to disappear, 'Alzough ze smell may be quite absurd, Closed the door, he did, behind his rear. Garbage can grow on you— I took that as our cue to move, Mold quite literally, it's true.' To hop out of our dumpster groove.

With a sullen look on her face, 'He's on the move,' I said, Sally gave in and reluctantly did embrace, 'Code red!' said Sir Martian, 'Code red!' The prospect of stewing in more smelly debris, 'Code what?' inquired Bill, With Bill, Gertrude, Sir Martian, TG and me. 'Code red! Don't sit still!

So without further ado, We gotta move! We gotta go! We plunged into slimy goo— Code red means don't go slow! We leaped into the dumpster, that is, I heard it in a movie once, The slime, I could tell, was cheese whiz. So obviously I'm not a dunce.'

But we didn't let that bother us, Bill just shook his head, We kept low and didn't swear or cuss, And didn't worry about the code red, About the smells which did appall, He leaped up, like the rest of us, In fact, we didn't speak at all, And dismounted the dumpster like a bus,

So as not to draw attention, Sally cursed and she swore, To our attempts at intervention— Because of the banana peels galore, Intervention into the carny's affairs, That covered her head to foot— Into TG's ship and its about-wheres. On this day, she was certainly hard put.

We just peered over the edge, But she flicked them to the ground, As if behind a leafy hedge, By a groundskeeper to be found, And watched our friend the carny, And never thought of them again, Enticing customers with a stuffed Barney, To which she said to herself: 'Amen!'

A purple dinosaur, that is to say, On our way, I gave clear instruction: Calling out to them: 'Hey! 'Of this, let's not make a production, This here dino could be yours, Let's keep things simple and under control, If ya' wins enough scores, Let's not dig ourselves into a hole.

On the carny, we need to spy, As for me and my situation, On him, we need to keep a watchful eye. With the others, I began communication— What I suggest is that we climb up there— I mean, With Gertrude and Bill, Onto the roof of his carny stand is where. Immediately, my words began to spill:

We'll climb atop and look behind it, 'Ok, here's a plan that's fool proof: Crouching low so he doesn't find it— We need to get up onto that there roof, That is, the spot where we're at— So what I propose is this, But we have to lie low, lie flat, My dear brother and sis':

For if he sees us at all, Gertrude, onto my shoulders you will climb, Our whole operation will fall, Then we'll be in a position that's prime, So always remember to lie low, For then you, Bill, will be able, And for goodness sake, don't go slow.' To climb a human tower that's stable—

We dashed towards the carny stand, Stable enough for you to reach, Forgetting, of course, to have planned, The top, which will be a peach, How to get up there, onto the roof, Then you can grab Gertrude, Which, on our part, was a major goof. And hopefully without being rude,

But we tried anyway we could, She will grab onto me with each leg, In fact, we tried every way, understood? Hopefully without crushing me like an egg, No? Well, let me explain, noble captain, And with your strength, Bill my friend, What, at that point, was happenin': You will lift us, connected end to end.'

Not knowing how to climb the carny stand, 'Lift you both? Are you kidding? We took separate measures into hand; I'll be glad to do your bidding, Sir Martian figured, on his part, But I gotta say, I ain't that strong.' That the back wall was where to start. Bill warned, his face looking long.

So he just started to climb, I replied: 'You underestimate yourself, Taking one step at a time, Just climb up there like onto a shelf, One step onto a stuffy or a prize, And pull with everything you've got, To the poor carny's demise, All I ask is that you give it a shot.'

For in the sport of rock climbing, So Bill, with reluctance, agreed, One ought not to grip on something, And with this plan, we did proceed, Like a prize or a stuffy colored blue, Onto me, Gertrude did climb, For those don't typically stick like glue, Taking one step at a time,

Thus, Sir Martian made a mess, And once she parked her derriere, Dropping stuffies due to the stress, Onto my shoulders behind my hair, From the weight he placed on them, It was Bill's turn to climb this human tower, Not to mention the dirt he got in the hem. Using all his strength, all his power.

Sally, on the other hand, Meanwhile, Sir Martian was stuck, Grabbed a ladder from the next stand, Having nowhere to go, he was out of luck, But not without that stand's carny, For there was this barrier called a ceiling, Noticing and getting alarm-y: To which he clung with an apprehensive feeling,

'Hey, you there!' he shouted in alarm, There he dangled not knowing, But Sally, with the ladder under her arm, Which way he should be going, Ran back to the original stand, For there was no hole through which, And onto the ground, the ladder did land, He could climb through and ditch,

She set it up, that is to say, All these stuffies and carny prizes, Leaned it against the wall, there to stay, Those furry creatures everyone despises, And, as fast as she could, begin to climb, Especially the gigantic teddy bear, For she was definitely pressed for time, Which got caught on his shoe down there.

He certainly couldn't go back, That the rip had reached the end, For all the stuffies that, as if on a rack, Of the carny stand—as far as it did extend, Hung there, helping him to climb, Where it couldn't tear no more, Were now on the floor, covered in grime. And downward, Sally no longer did pour,

And letting go was out of the question, So with a final surge of effort, Dropping down, that is, making connection, Her strength, Sally did assert, With the ground below his feet, And climbed onto the roof; For it was made of hard concrete, Of her determination, this was proof.

And would certainly hurt his bum, Bill had managed, meanwhile, If on it he landed—it'd hurt and then some— To pull Gertrude up with style, So he had no choice but to just hang, And I, still anchored to her, With nowhere to go—oh dang! Could now grab hold, for sure—

'Way to gew, Einstein,' TG taunted, Grab the beam, that is, I could grab it so, The last thing Sir Martian wanted, And I did, which allowed Gertrude to let go, 'What are you going to dew now? And now that both were on the roof, Rip threw the roof somehow?' They could pull me without a goof.

As for Sally, she barely made it to the top, But as soon as they tugged, When the carny caught her like a cop, They were de-rugged, Or rather, he caught the ladder, That is, the rug was pulled from under them: And pulled it out from under her. The tent, once again, ripped at the hem.

But lucky for her, she managed to grip, Bill and Gertrude fell through the hole, Onto the tent—which caused it to rip— Leaving me hanging like a marionette doll, You see, out of nylon was the carny's stand made, All of us, in fact, Which meant it would rip as if cut by a blade, Were left hanging in the act,

If stretched too hard or put under pressure, We hung from the beam, And Sally's weight sure was a stressor, Quite similar, it would seem, So it ripped, at least a little bit, To the beam along which, Making Sally shout: 'Oh, poop!' Sally's rip one would have to stitch,

She tried climbing higher, but to no avail, Except our rip was only so wide, For the more she climbed, the more like hail, Wide enough, I must confide, Sally fell, due to the fact, For Gertrude and Bill to fall through, That integrity the tent material lacked— But not much wider than that two-man crew.

For the more she climbed, the more it ripped, So there we were left hanging, And the more strongly she gripped, Like a bunch of buffoons dangling, For it was ripping right along the seam, Me facing inside the tent, That is, along the horizontal beam, Causing the beam to become bent,

The one that connected the ceiling, And Gertrude and Bill facing outward, With the wall that was pealing, Contemplating the dilemma we had incurred, And the more Sally climbed, Never had we been so close to each other, The closer she got to the stand's behind, Like triplets in the womb of a mother,

For that was the direction, Cheek to cheek and noses almost touching, In which the rip's projection, The awkward silence made us start blushing, Was heading under Sally's weight, But by a familiar voice, the silence broke, And before it was too late, A voice belonging to a familiar bloke:

The ripping stopped, 'Hubert? Bill? Gertrude?' said Sir Martian, Just before it dropped, Wondering if this was a visual distortion, Sally to the ground, 'Sir Martian?' I questioned right back, For looking up, she found, 'What are you doing hanging there so slack?'

'What am I doing hanging there? That is, Gertrude and Bill, you see— What about you, you big brown bear?' For they followed close behind me— 'I'm not a bear, you silly gorilla? All of us lying low, Quit calling me names, will ya'? Straddled along this beam so,

'Sorry Hubert,' Sir Martian continued, Along which our bellies rested, 'It's not like me to be so rude, And our arms and legs were invested, But I'm really annoyed, you see, Gripping on tight, that is to say, For I'm stuck here and I have to pee.' Avoiding rips and tears in this way.

'Well, just hold it a bit longer, Ahead of us, Sally I saw, Wait for me to get a little stronger, Which certainly put me in awe, For I think I can muster the strength, For I noticed she had in mind, To climb higher at any length. The same strategy, the same kind,

You just wait there for a minute or two, That of straddling the beam, And I'll climb to the roof and get to you, The very same one it would seem, We all will—me, Gertrude, and Bill— That is, the one along the rear, We'll finish this maneuver, we will.' Which is why we met up with her here.

So I maneuvered myself along the beam, We met in the middle, that is to say, Moving sideways, like a crab it did seem, 'Greetings,' she said, 'How are you, today?' I got to the corner of the carny stand, 'I'm fine, my dear,' said I, And onto the next beam I secured my hand, 'What brings you here, by and by?'

That is, the beam along the side wall, 'Oh, you know, Hubert,' Along the top of this carny stall, Sally did assert, The one 90 degrees from the front, 'This was your plan! It was really quite the stunt. Don't you know that, man?'

As I moved my way to the rear, Bill and Gertrude followed near, Pulling the exact same stunt, With moans, sighs, and a grunt.

Once we were there, at the back, Having tried hard not to crack, The beam along which we clung, Ourselves we, onto the roof, flung—

Well, flung is probably a strong word— It's not like we had the agility of a bird— But we did manage to get there, Without climbing a single stair.

I climbed onto yet another beam, This time trying not to rip the seam, That is, the fabric the tent was made of, Straddling myself upon it high above,

Above the carny whom I could see, The carny who was now right below me, I kept low, straddled as I said, As though snug in a comfy bed,

Except comfy, this bed was anything but, In fact, it felt like being stuck in a rut, Being straddled along this beam, The one along the rear with my team,

Chapter 18: Déjà vu

So we peered over—I felt like a spy— TG from the past, that would be, Looking down upon the carny guy, Not the one from the present, you see, Who was leaning against the stand, For that TG, do remember, With a stick of gum in his hand, Was snug and warm, like a burning ember,

When suddenly, out of the blue, Snug inside Sir Martian's backpack— Down came our ship—it's true— That is to say, like inside a warm sack That's right, our ship, I said, — Hanging from the ceiling, do recall, Not the one belonging to Fred. With Sir Martian, stuck there and all.

The one we crashed into Jupiter, I mean, At this point in time, however, Not the doggy ship all covered in bling, We forgot about that, but whatever, I mean, the one you're riding, For focused, our attention now was, Through space, that is—gliding. On TG from the past because,

No, it was the one from Jupiter, Because we wanted to know, And we weren't stupid—not even stupider— How this would all go, For if you think for a bit, This deal with the carny and TG, You'd realize, we should expect it, So we watched with intensity.

For didn't TG say earlier on, TG didn't see the carny at first; That he found our ship, long gone? The angle at which he parked was the worst, That he found it in the doggy shack— For away from him, he was facing, Crashed!—as though from an attack? And between them, there was much spacing,

Of course he did, I'm telling the story, But as soon as the carny figured out, So trust me, he did, don't you worry. What, out of the ship, did just now spout, So we kind of expected it all along, He realized this was a golden opportunity, And I knew I wasn't wrong, To give something to the carnival community—

To have put two and two together, That is, to the crowds, to his customers, Right under this windy weather, To travelers from afar and new comers— The weather the ship created, He could give them a new prize, As it landed here, its travels abated. Something they could win, after 3 tries,

I put two and two together, I say, Three tries of throwing a ball, And realized that landing in this bay, Against a target on the wall, Behind the carny tent, I mean, Or a ring, or a dart, Was TG himself, arriving on the scene. Or who had the best fart,

We watched quietly from the roof, Any game would do, in fact, So did the carny, no longer aloof. For one thing his wall lacked, The ship landed only yards away, Was a porcelain gnome like the one there, A look of surprise, his face did betray. The one with the shiny glass hair.

The roar of the engines grew quiet, So the carny looked around and grabbed, Like a crowd that ceased to riot, The first thing he saw so as to nab, The carny stood there, curious to see, TG in his blind oblivion, What surprises might, from the ship, break free. For this was one chance in a million,

Then on the underside of the ship, For how often does it happen— The ramp lowered—a long strip, I ask you, Gaby my Captain— Along which TG was seen, That the Travelocity Gnome shows up, Seen to be walking, I mean. On your door step like a lost pup?

So the carny certainly knew, For I need not remind you, What it was that he had to do: Of TG's story, if it be true, He grabbed the first thing he could find, Of how this ship he found, Which was a rock, and from behind, And used it to get off the ground.'

He snuck up on TG and then, 'Yes,' Sally continued with excitement, After five seconds exactly was when, And then as if struck by enlightenment— He wacked him across the head, Expressed the following realization, And TG fell over as if dead, Which filled her with consternation:

But he wasn't dead, of course— 'But where is he? That gnome? Not like a marriage after divorce— Did he wonder off? Did he roam? For he was knocked out, that's all, And for that matter, where's Sir Martian? Destined to be hung up on the wall, I hope their condition didn't harshen.'

The wall of the carny's stand, 'I'm here! I'm here!' Sir Martian said, Carried there in the carny's hand; Coming around the corner beat red, Straight to the door, the carny went— Red from all the running he had to do, For he had to work and pay the rent. Panting and sweating, it's true,

Through the door he passed, You wouldn't believe what happened to me,' And after a moment that didn't last, And TG poked out his head for all to see, We all heard him scream and shout, 'And me tew, fo' I was the'e, yew know, For mad as Hades he was, no doubt: Watching ove' Sir Ma'tian like a crow.

'What in bloody carnations happened here?!?! We we'e hanging the'e, yew see'— Oh my God!!! Oh my dear!!! Sir Martian interrupted very rudely— Who tore up my tent?!?! Who I ask, who?!?! 'Shut up, let me tell the story,' Who knocked down my stuffies, brown and blue?!?! To which TG said: 'Oh, I'm sawry.'

This'll take me forever to clean up!!! 'We were hanging there,' he continued, To fix, to mend, to stitch up!!! 'From the carny's ceiling, where we stewed, I reckons' maybe an hour or so, Nowhere to go, and couldn't drop down, During which I'll cry woe!!!' To be found by the carny, that clown,

'Ok, now's our chance,' I said; And as soon as he walked through the door, I leapt off, not landing on my head, TG said into my ear—quietly, not with a roar: The others followed suit, of course— 'Pretend you' a stuffy?' Very dangerous, something I don't endorse. 'What?' I said looking rather puffy—

'You mean to tell me,' said Bill, 'Pretend—oh, he'e he comes,'— After stabilizing, not making a spill, And in came the carny with his thumbs— 'That all this time, after all we went through, And right away I acted like a stuffy, The ship was right here?! Tell me it ain't true!' A rather weird one, looking scruffy.

'Uh, Hubert?' Sally did question, I put on a happy grin, 'This ship is an exact reflection, And stayed still as a pin, Of the one we crashed on Jupiter, Stuck in a cushion on a table, And at the risk of sounding stupider, That didn't move, being stable.

I'm going venture a guess: I wobbled a little back and forth, This is that ship, I do stress.' Swinging a bit South, a bit North, 'My thoughts exactly,' I replied, Until I became perfectly still, 'I knew it the moment it was spied, And held on with all my will.

By these my very eyes, Still with that teddy bear, For unless it is a disguise, Attached to my shoe down there, It is the very ship we lost, But the carny didn't seem to care, At such an immense cost. For at me, he didn’t even stare—

For stuffies surrounded me, But I had seen enough, I decided, I was almost camouflaged, you see, And slipped back to whe'e I resided, Hidden in a forest of fuzzy creatures, Back into the backpack, that is to say, As if among a crowd in the bleachers. Back into the backpack, the'e to stay.'

So he hardly noticed, the carny did, 'Don't interrupt,' Sir Martian continued, In fact, he almost blew his lid, 'For that is incontestably rude— Over his tent, the damage and the mess, Now as I was saying, friends of mine, Which, at the time, caused him much distress. I was almost ready to whine,

So after an hour or so, From the strain of hanging there, He repaired it, not going slow, Until a woman with black curly hair, It took a lot for me, And glasses as thick as peanut butter, To hold on, and not go pee— And chubby enough to make you stutter,

I mean, to hold on for a whole hour, Came waltzing up to the carny stand, Took a lot of musculature power, Waving a wad of cash in her hand; And the fact that I really had to pee, "Oh, what an ado'able lookin' beah, Didn't exactly help, you see. With such cute fuzzy-wuzzy hair,

But lucky for us—TG and I— I jus' gotta have it, deah, He caught some customers walking by, And I won't shed a single teah, The carny, that is, he propositioned them, If I have to pay a few bucks mo'e, Clearing his throat: "Ah-hem! And win that ugly Ma'tian eye-soa'."

That's right, as I was sayin', While that comment enraged me so, If any of these games you be playin' While I suppressed my anger down low, You could win a big blue stuffy, The lady handed over the cash, Maybe that one up there, lookin' puffy— Making her decision rather rash,

And... uh... I'll throw in the bear, But rash as it was, it paid off, But only 'cause I'm fair— For before you could even cough, For I'll give ya' a fair chance, She took all four shots, To win that bear hangin' from his pants: Giving everything she gots,

If ya' pay a couple bucks more, And all four times, she struck gold, I'll let ya' have, not three, but four— The bull's-eye that is, or so I'm told, Four shots that is, four tries— For behind me, I couldn't exactly look, And if ya wins all four, by surprise, But the carny's words, I certainly took:

I'll include the teddy bear, "Woaw! Not bad, lady, not bad at all! With that... that there— You sure know how'da hit that wall, Uh, puffy lookin' Martian doll, For that was a perfect score, Two bucks more I asks, is all."’— Not a single miss—four outa' four!"

‘And then I poked out my head,’ So the carny, impressed as he was, TG started talking instead, Took me down from the ceiling because, ‘Just tew see myself on the waull, Because of what just occurred, Which turned out to be a bad caull, And so followed through with his word.

Fo' it's the most eerie thing— To the lady, I was handed over, One might say it's even distu'bing— And like a puppy named Rover, To see one's double on the waull, Who was tired of walking, O' really, anywhe'e at aull. And put up an incessant barking,

But lucky fo' me, I kept my sanity, She carried me under her arm, Fo' I was still out cold, you see— And I felt out of the way of harm, That is, the me on the waull, And a bit more relaxed too, The one tew hou's younga' and aull. For I could finally undo,

The knots in my muscles soar, That is, aboard the ride, climb, And the kinks and aches galore, And then travel back in time, And once the pain began to melt, Until at the perfect moment we arrive, Once relaxed I finally felt, And then, with all our might, strive,

I squirmed and wiggled— To get to the carny stand and then, And the poor lady, she giggled, Rendezvous with the women and men— From the tickling I caused her, That is, our friends, Hubert and Sally, For I was causing quite a stir, And the rest waiting in the back alley."

"Let me go, lady!" I demanded, "Brilliant!" TG did exclaim, And onto the ground I landed, "To Fued's Time Machine let's aim!" For my sudden speaking out, To which I said: "Oh but wait," Scared her so as to shout, And for a while I did hesitate:

To panic and scream, "We don't have a comb," Like having a terrible dream, But did that upset Mr. Gnome? And she dropped me, she did, No, in fact he seemed in bliss, Causing me to land on my lid. Happy, unphased, for he said this:

"So what do we do now? "No weuries, my good chap, We've gotta get back somehow," Good fo'tune faulls into our lap, I asked with some consternation, For while we we'e caught there, To which TG replied without hesitation: Unde' that lady's a'mpit hair,

"Well, he'e's a wild and cuazy idea, I managed to snatch a little puize, Which doesn't take an encyclopedia: While eating some of her fuench fuies." Why dewn't we just waulk? And what did TG snatch, you ask? Instead of sitting he'e to taulk." Was it a watch, a pair of spectacles, a flask?

"But don't you see?!" I said, No, in fact, it was a comb! "Our chances of rendezvousing are now dead! Away from her purse, it did roam, For myself, I do convince, With the helping hand of TG— That it's been an hour since, Literally—in his hand it was, you see,

We were hanging there like a bat, For he snatched it from her purse, And I'm sure they haven't sat, —I hope we didn't inherit a curse— On their bums just to wait, For stealing, I mean—that would suck— For us being so late." In fact, it would be really bad luck.

"You mean Hubert and the rest?" But anyway, we had a comb, TG asked, his arms across his chest, And now we could go back home— "Yes," I replied, "I'm sure they're gone, Er, back an hour ago, I mean, By now since it's been so long. And then run back to where we've been.

Our only hope is to find Fred, So we did exactly that, The carny who, with a smart head, We ran to where Fred was at, Figured out how to time travel, And asked if we could climb aboard, For with him, a solution will unravel, An act we could now afford.

That is, a solution to our predicament, But not before finding a place to pee, A solution as solid as cement, For I had to go really bad, you see, For all we have to do, But of that, I'll spare you the details, Is go back an hour or two, My good friends, males and females.

Back in time that is to say, Anyways, it's beside the point, So I suggest, if I may, For we certainly didn't disappoint, That we give Fred another visit, Fred the carny with our offer, And in his time machine, sit, Which he used to fill his coffer.

Back in time we went, Back an hour ago we were sent, Back to the time just before, We climbed above the floor,

The floor, that is, of the carny stand, Climbing the wall with foot and hand, Climbing on stuffies and prizes, To the ceiling which was both our demises.

But this was certainly not a demise, For we knew it would be quite a surprise, For you all to see us here right now, And make you say 'Oh, wow!'"

Chapter 19: Decision Time

‘Oh, wow!’ said Sally in surprise, While dejected TG did look, Standing there with wide open eyes, Notice of the bear, Sally took: ‘So, Sir Martian, what you mean to say, ‘What's that?’ she asked point blank, —And correct me if I'm wrong, eh— ‘Uh, well to be quite frank,’

Is that behind this very wall, Sir Martian did reply, Is another you. Is that a bad call?’ ‘It's a stuffy, but don't ask why, ‘Not bad at aull,’ TG did interject, It ended up stuck on my shoe, ‘And if pe' chance you will recollect, For I don't recall stepping in glue,

You might recaul that I'm the'e too, Such that things get stuck— In fact, the'e a'e three of me, it's true, Like dirt, dust, or muck, One he'e befo' you, speaking now, Or even this teddy bear— And the'e a'e two mo', if you'll allow, To my shoes down there.

One hanging on the waull, I mean, I'm not stuck to it— Anothe' cu'led up like a baul, Well I am, but just a little bit— Snug inside Si' Ma'tian's backpack, But I mean: if you want it, it's yours, Tuying ha'd not to have a panic attack.’ Or even any of you fours.’

‘Forget about them,’ I said with impatience, ‘Oh, I want it! I really, really do!’ ‘For we are blessed with a familiar acquaintance: Sally jumped up and down like a kangaroo, The real Sir Martian and TG himself, ‘It's such a cute little thing, The one from Mars and that little elf.’ Brown and fuzzy, the little darling.’

‘I'm a gnome, thank yew vewy much,’ ‘Then it's yours,’ Sir Martian decided, Said TG who wasn't an elf as such, And to her, the bear he provided; ‘But yo' right, we'e he'e, But while all this was going on, So what is the'e to fea'? Focused I was on TG's face, looking long.

Those othe' guys', those copies of us, ‘No worries, my good gnome,’ Will rendezvous with you, so what's the fuss? I said, ‘We'll fly you back home, In fact, they'll become us, eventually, For it's the least we can do, Fo' I've experienced it, quite sensually.’ Short of inaugurating you into our crew,

‘Well, if that's all now settled,’ In fact, why not? Into the discussion Sally meddled, For we owe you a lot, ‘Let's focus on the situation at hand: For bringing our ship back, That is, on what just recently did land, The one we, for so long, did lack,

On what seems to be our long lost ship, Not to mention the great job you did, The one that, in the wing, was a rip, Fixing 'er up—way to go, kid! The one that on Jupiter we crashed, So it's only fair, I say, And into an old shack we bashed.’ That we inaugurate you, if it's ok,

‘Yo' ship?!’ TG exclaimed, Into our crew—at least for now— At the ship his finger aimed, Until we get you home somehow.’ ‘Why, that's my ship! ‘Und ve do know how, Hubert my dear,’ Fo' I found it and fixed the rip, Said Gertrude, grinning ear to ear,

Found it... in a shack... on Jupita'— ‘Fo it is ze same how, Oh God, I now feel even stupida', Zat stands before us now, It is yo' ship, isn't it? Ze same how by vich Bill und I, Even though in the cockpit I did sit.’ Vill get to our homes, by und by.’

‘I certainly hope so, Gertrude,’ And must insist that I stay, Into the discussion Bill did intrude, Waiting for Gaby, if per chance he may, ‘And while not to spoil all the fun, Still arrive and expect us here, I really must remind everyone, So that we may reunite, peer to peer.

That it was at this juncture, we decided, Any of you may choose to go, That we would choose, before we divided, But I think members of the crew know, Whether to leave this carny joint, That a duty befalls us all, Or heed to Hubert's cogent point— To answer this most pressing call,

Namely, that we ought to wait, To stand by our captain and await, For this 'Gabriel' who, in hours late, His arrival, even if he's late; Is expected to arrive on the scene, The rest of you may go, And explain to us where he's been.’ If for home, your hearts bleed so,

‘Javol, my dear Bill,’ Gertrude did reply, But I choose to stay, ‘Und if you vill recall, silly guy, And hope that, by you, that's OK.’ Ve did conclude wiz zis for sure: ‘While your point,’ said Bill in response, Zat if your intentions are still pure— ‘You did quite well to ensconce,

Zat is, of remaining loyal to Gaby— I must point out, just in case, Zen it is for sure—not maybe— You were thinking at too fast a pace, Zat you must make a choice, To realize this important implication: Und you must express it viz your voice, That while the rest of us leave this nation,

Vezer to come or to stay, We will be stealing your ship, Und hope zat on anozer day, About which we recently got the tip, Anozer ship of some kind vill come, That it doesn't belong to TG but to you, Und pick you up off your bum, And the rest of your loyal crew,

Und take you to vere you vant to go, The very crew you now beckon to stay, To a place cold und full of snow, Behind so as to abandon, if I may, Or someplace blazing wiz heat, The very ship which you now claim, Or somevere between—vich can't be beat. To be yours—this one here—the same,

Zat is, in case your captain doesn't come, So if we—Gertrude and I—use it to get home— In case he already arrived, sinking: “Ho hum, I mean, Gertrude and I, plus this here Gnome— Hubert isn't here, I don't see his face, It will quite clearly defeat the whole purpose, Too bad, might as vell leave zis place.”' Of reclaiming your ship if you don't come with us.

‘Gertrude, you're absolutely right,’ Might I suggest, if I may, I replied, ‘For we should not lose sight, That while you remain here to stay, Of this decision we now must make, At least one member of your crew, For now is not the time to make a mistake. Drive us home—even if not you!’

I can appreciate that you, you, and you,’ ‘An interesting thought,’ I had to confess, I pointed to the newest members of our crew, ‘For you certainly know how to clear up a mess— ‘Want nothing more than to get back home, I mean, you're right, after all, Especially you, I would think, Mr. Gnome.’ For your logic is right on the ball,

‘Why, yes I would! How did yew know?’ One of us, maybe two, Said TG, missing Earth left long ago, Will stay here like glue, ‘But I still feel,’ I did confess, While the other, maybe more, ‘A deep loyalty to Capt. Gaby nonetheless, Will, through the skies, soar,

And it's true that even though, And drop off you three, For certain, I very well know, Wherever your homes may be, That there is a slight chance, Which, considering the state, He's been here already, I take a stance, That we left them in of late,

Could be absolutely anywhere, Maybe there, or there, or even over there, Needless to say, it could take a while, For you'll have to travel more than a mile.’

‘I'll go. I wanna get outa here,’ Sir Martian did volunteer, ‘I'll drive Gertrude, Bill, and TG, To wherever they want to be.’

‘Excellent!’ I replied, ‘Then here on Saturn I'll reside, Here to await the arrival of Gaby, Which shouldn't be long now, maybe.’

Chapter 20: The Mad Dash

‘Oh, then I'll stay too,’ 'Well, Sir Martian, as you were saying,' Said Sally, eyes wide and blue, I continued, my attention no longer straying, Hugging my arm tight as though, 'It would be great if you could strive, She just couldn’t let go, To get these three home while you drive,

‘For think of all the fun, Er, I mean, these two that is, We can have under the Saturnian sun, For I fear TG is up to some strange biz.' Think of all the fun rides, Sir Martian turned his head to look, And all the games Saturn hides, Into his backpack, into TG's nook,

For all we have to do is explore, That is, the place where he hides, And we'll find them and so much more, That backpack in which he resides— Like—*GASP*—looky there!!!’— For Sir Martian was surprised to see, Something electrified Sally's hair! Upon looking to where TG would be,

For it stood up on its ends— Should he have stayed put, Like the jolt that a shock sends, That he didn't, for he was on foot! A shock of electricity, that is, In fact, Sir Martian heard his voice: Or a soda pop with too much fizz— 'Oh,' he heard, 'Yo' name is Joyce?'

And before I could ask, Sir Martian turned around, Upon what her eyes did bask, And TG, he immediately found, She was off and running, For he must have snuck away, Towards something she found stunning: During all the confusing disarray,

It was a cotton candy stand, And was now talking to a couple, Opposite of where TG did land, Got there quick on the double, And upon looking at the sign, One whose name was Joyce, evidently, I understood why she made a b-line, And the other: 'I'm Joe from Bentley,

Straight for that place, At Bentley Motors, we're anything but ordinary, For it was obvious on its face: Our cars are the finest, they're extraordinary! The sign read: ‘The Candy Storm,’ We strive for excellence, to be the best, Plastered on clouds in a swarm, We're number one, better than the rest,

Clouds, that is, ominous and dark, We care here at Bentley, With winds and rain looking stark, We treat our customers quite gentle, For it must have been the bolt of lightning, The customer always comes first, we say, Sizzling, cracking, looking quite frightening, So come drive a Bentley today!

That attracted Sally so, Anyway, nice to meet you Mr. Gnome, For Sally, that girl, we all know— It's good to meet someone far from home, We know, that is, how she does love, Earth, that is, for we're from there too, Electricity and lightning from above, For we're tourists just like you.

So obviously, she couldn't resist, And to answer your question: sure! Which is why I got the gist, No problem! We'll take your picture.' Of what it was she was up to, And at those words, TG struck a pose, And didn't worry, nothing further ado. While to his eyes, a camera Joe rose.

So my attention I turned back, ‘Sir Martian, listen to me— Away from the Candy Storm shack, We don't have time, you see,’ To resume the conversation, I said with a sense of urgency, About each his and her destination: As though this were an emergency,

‘I have an idea, but we must act fast, For this ain't no mere candy stand— For the time we have will not last— We offer a jolt, ready at hand! We must get into that picture there, Just take a bite of our cotton candy—just one— Let's go now, come on, don't just stare!’ And if lightning’s your thing, you’re in for some fun,

I didn't have time to explain, For a charge does our candy hold— But nonetheless, like a crazy train, And that's a warning—you've been told!— Sir Martian and I began to move, For only from the finest storm clouds, Immediately, we got into the groove: Thundering over the greatest crowds,

That is, we began to run, Did we pluck our cotton candy, And not so much out of fun, For that is certainly quite dandy, But because we had to get there, When to buyers one wants to sell, Quick as a bunny, a hare! Whose thirst one can only quell,

For Sir Martian got the gist— With a jolt of electricity, The urgency, he did not miss— For those buyers, you see, The urgency of my plan, Are just like you and me: Which I would explain later, man. Lovers of electricity, don’t you agree?'

At the same time, we took a dash; 'Oh, I do!' Sally replied with excitement, Unfortunately, we did it rather rash, 'For electricity can provide enlightenment— For into each other, we did bash, Literally! It lightens up our lives, And to the ground, we did crash. With light bulbs, toys, and my car which drives.'

In fact, we were tangled up in knots, 'Then, m'lady, let me offer you a sample, For somehow, our arms and legs got caughts, Which, to entice you, is more than ample, They were all twisted and mangled, The finest line of our sugary cotton, Around each other, they were tangled, That my hard working staff has gotten—

That is, like a liquorice stick, For a brave bunch they are, Or a helix, or a cyclone thick, To have plucked it from afar, His arms wrapped around mine, From the most fierce storms of Saturn, And our legs too, which wasn't fine. From that place where storms are a pattern—

Needless to say, we couldn't move; That is, the storms that repeat, So difficult did getting up prove, Every season from the heat, That we just rolled around on the dirt, The storms of the tropic, that is, For what more could we do, I assert. From the Equator, they sizzle and fizz,

Meanwhile, we could hear a voice: For that is the hottest place on Saturn, Joe from Bentley's, husband of Joyce— Where the blazing sun does heat and burn, 'I'm about to do it,' he said, And causes storms not only of wind and rain, 'I'm raising the camera to my head!' But thunder and lightning to shock your brain.

Obviously, we had little time, But they were brave, I say, For whether reason or rhyme, My staff, for on Monday, We absolutely had to get untangled, A special excursion, they took, To get unstuck, unknotted, unmangled, To the Saturnian tropics, that special nook,

Meanwhile again, Sally was enthralled, And reached up to the Hurricane clouds— She was so happy, she almost bawled, Above the people, above the crowds— For not only was she in candy Heaven, And plucked just bit of fuzzy whiteness, But for a taste of electricity, she was revin'. And with it, captured a bit of brightness—

She stood there at the Candy Storm, Lightning, that is, with which it shines— Listening to a guy named Norm: Like the rosy red from the finest wines— 'It's electrifying! It's electrifying! It does, I say, for look!'—he held it out, You can trust me! I ain't lying! As proof so that Sally wouldn't doubt,

The truth which he was telling, We resumed our hurried pace, A sample of his cotton candy swelling— Towards that particular place, Swelling with lightning ready to burst free, Where the picture was about to be taken, For it lit up flashing like a Christmas tree, And from which it could not be mistaken,

'Alls I had to do,' said Norm, That his voice was heard, Joe's from Bentley, 'Was to add sugar to that awful storm, Which said quite softly, quite gently: At least to this sample, I mean to say, 'Almost ready now... here we go... Strawberry in particular, but just today, Just have to get focused, you know...'

For I'm experimenting, trying it out, 'Hey Hubert,' said another voice, To see if this flavor, my customers will flout, Into my left ear, the one of choice; Which is why I give it to you free, It was Sally, for she had caught up; For your reaction is all I want to see.' Running alongside us, she did interrupt:

'Well,' Sally replied, 'how can I react? 'You gotta try this cotton candy, Unless I taste it?! It's a fact! It's divine, to die for, marvellously dandy!' So give to me, I say! And she stuffed the rain cloud from the South, Let me taste it Norm! Let me! Today!' Right into my face, right into my mouth,

Sally snatched the sample from Norm's hand, Right away, the shock got me, And bit into it right where she did stand, It ran through my entire body! And the minute it touched her lips, In fact, it sent me bouncing around, She started wiggling her hips— Like a bouncy ball a cat found,

She danced, that is to say, And started swatting at, But not because any music did play, When suddenly, on Sir Martian I sat— But because of the rhythm of electricity, I tripped, that is, I fell, Which pulsed through her body immediately, And before either of us could tell,

She wiggled and she jumped, What was happening, we were down again, She giggled and she thumped, We hit the ground hard—but then, but then— With the pounding of her feet, But then I bounced right back to my feet— For it made her dance to the beat— Must have been the energetic electric heat—

The beat of her heart, that is to say, I bounced around a bit more, For it beat three times as fast, if I may, All over the fairground floor, And caused her to dance around— In fact, I knocked over a ferris wheel, A new treasure chest of fun, she found. Sparks did fly, the gears did squeal,

She even started dancing with her teddy bear, And the whole thing came crashing down, The one she got from Sir Martian back there, Destroying much of this carnival town, She did the Charleston, yes she did, But that wasn’t all—no siree— And the teddy bear too—I do not kid! For the next thing I hit, you see—

'A gotta take this back to Hubert, Was a roller-coaster ride—yes it was— And to the rest of them, I do assert, And it flew off the track because, For they've gotta taste this new dessert, Because I bashed into it with much force, And so with my friends, I must flirt,' For I couldn’t help it, of course,

She ran away from the Candy Storm, I couldn’t help all this meyham and destruction, Away from the electric swarm; It wasn’t my fault, this chaotic production, And ran to find me and the rest, For it was the raging charge lodged into my mouth, For we had to try it—this treat, the best! Which incidentally bounced me back to the South,

At that moment, Sir Martian and I, I pulled out the cotton candy and got myself together, After our ten millionth try, And said to Sally 'A tasty bit of sugar coated weather, Managed to get ourselves unfurled, But this is neither the time nor place; From the tangles into which we were hurled, Please come with us though—and keep pace.'

My focus, I then resumed, 'I'm here, I'm here,' he said, And towards the picture we zoomed, Getting to his feet, shaking his head, Sally tagging along just because— 'Did I miss the picture? Did I? Because, well, why not, her reason was. I sure hope not; I'm so not camera shy.'

'Ok,' said Joe from Bentley, 'Oh my,' said Joe from Bentley, 'You can smile whenever you're ready, Looking at us quite intently, Until then, I'll be waiting— 'Are these people bothering you? For your smile, I'll be anticipating.' Are they, Mr. Gnome? Who are they? Who?!'

TG looked like he was getting ready, 'Er, uh, I'd ratha' not say— As Joe from Bentley held the camera steady, Just some chaps I met ea'lia' today— But something caught TG's eye, But pay them no botha', my good fuiend; Something on the ground; he said: 'Oh my, Now that cameua which, to you, I did lend,

Would you look at that! I'll have it back please, with the photo— A candy apple, plump and fat, Toss it to me like a hot potato!' And, oh, how scrumptious it looks, Joe from Bentley fulfilled his request, Scrumptious, at least, in my books.' Saying 'Oh, uh, sure, and to you, all the best.'

So lacking the will to resist, He handed TG the photo and the camera, TG bent over to—well, you get the gist— And then disappeared, like a chimera, He picked up the apple of candy, With Joyce, into the crowd, And said, 'My, isn't that dandy, And couldn't be heard amongst the noises loud.

Just a few spots o’ dirt, 'Well, can someone now tell me,' And those hairs I'm sure won't hurt, Said Sir Martian to the other three, And all those scraps of papa', 'What this is all about? So tiny and ha'mless, like particles of vapa', Some odd mischief, no doubt.'

Why, it's a treat fit fo' a king, 'No mischief,' I said at last A sweet taste I'm sua' it will buing, 'And not just for a wild blast, To my mouth and then some, But for this item right here!' Like flava' packed bubble gum.' I snatched from TG standing near,

He held it up and stood straight, The photo in his hand, Making sure to correct his gait, And though looking quite bland, And before biting into that tasty treat, I held it up for the others to see, He remembered to smile nice and neat. The picture of Sally, TG, and me.

And right at that very minute, For there was Sally, holding the teddy bear, The picture, we got in it— And me with my frizzy grey hair, Sally and I, that is to say— Holding the the cotton candy with an electric punch, Not a minute too late on this day. And TG, eating a candy apple for lunch.

'Smile,' I said to Sally, All striking a magnificent pose, At this point just outside the alley. The one you very well knows, Though a bit confused, she did what I said— The one on the front of this post card, She smiled, that is, raising her head. The one I sent you with this kind regard.

Joe from Bentley finally took the picture, 'Uh... so?' Sir Martian did question, As focused as a bishop reading scripture. For he didn't even entertain the suggestion, Out of the camera, like toast from a toaster, That more than a photograph, this was, The photo popped, like a tiny poster. So much more than that because:

Then suddenly, out of the blue, 'Because, it's a postcard! Sir Martian came crashing through, Figuring that out isn't that hard, Like a barreling land rover, For look, won't you? He knocked us all over, And you too, Sally, you too!'

I took two steps towards them, 'Why, that's brilliant, Hubert!' So they could make out this fine gem, Sally ignited and did assert, For it really was a postcard!— 'And I assume, 'cause it makes sense— Of that fact, they were suddenly on guard, Unless I'm really, really dense—

For they could see in the corner up there, That you plan on writing something, The postage right above my frizzy hair, Certainly more than just one thing, And on the same side, right below, For though Gaby will surely recognize us, Was the address section, you know. He may just be confused, and plus:

'Don't you see?' I continued— What else ya' gonna do with a postcard? I had to explain so not to be rude— You're supposed to write something, a kind regard, 'TG's camera is far from ordinary; A how ya' been, greetings and salutations, It pops out postcards that are extraordinary, Or on the new baby, congratulations!'

Where else do you think they come from? 'Well, of course, Sally dear,' These postcards of his? From his bum? I replied to my friend and peer, No! He produces them himself, 'For I have every intention, The clever little elf, Of explaining to Gaby our abstention,

He produces them from scratch, From his half of the crew, And sends them home, sometimes in batch. And why we have yet to rendezvous, Isn't that right, Mr. Gnome? For this is crucial for sure, About these postcards you send home?' Otherwise the postcard will just be a blur,

'Yes, if yew must knew, A blur of confusion, that is, You a'e right, which goes to show, Like the chaos of foam and fizz, That you're sma'ta' than the average bear, That erupts from a bottle of soda, Now give me my picta' back! That one the'e!' Or like the teachings of Master Yoda.

Well, it was his picture after all, No, I want to be clear, So I gave it back, and didn't stall, My good friend Sally dear, And just so they all understood, I want to explain to Captain Gaby, I resumed my speech the best I could: Where we've been and where we are, and maybe,

'You see everyone, here's my plan, Where we'll be when we all meet up, We need some way of contacting the man— For on that goal, I will not give up, Captain Gaby, that is to say, And the way to ensure that is, For though on Saturn I plan to stay, To explain, on that postcard, all this biz.'

The possibility remains, you see, So you see, my Captain and friend, That he came and left at half past three, That's why to you, this postcard I send, So just in case of that possibility, It is why I sit here in the cockpit, I'd like to request, without hostility, Of our ship, just waiting for a bit,

That we send this postcard along, Writing our trials and tribulations, With whoever, from Saturn, wants to be gone, All the scares and excitations, For so long as we address it, Everything we've been through, To Captain Gaby, I will stress it: And all that's still going on too.

He will get it eventually— I write this in anticipation, For sure, not just potentially— That you get it without complication, So along the way, Mr. Gnome, And that it ties up all loose ends, Or when you get back home, Filling in the holes and mending the bends,

If you would be so kind, And to let you know, If a mailbox you do find, That Sally and I will not go, To drop it off and let it be, We will not leave, that is to say, For the mailman to find, you see?' We will not leave Saturn, not today.

And though Sir Martian I trust, To return to us, insist I must, That it will probably take forever, For Uranus and Neptune are wherever—

They’re lost in space, that is to say, Left careening just yesterday, Probably left the solar system by now, For Sir Martian to find them, I don’t know how.

Needless to say, it could take a while, So one last request I ask you with a smile, That you please come and rescue us— Please don’t make us take the bus."

Chapter 21: Mercury (a.k.a. The Great Reunion—Part I)

And just as I would be finished reading, To wipe away all dat mustawd? Sir Martian would be outside screaming— And de ketchup wiv which it is clustewed?" He'd seem to be alarmed at something, "I tink he needs more dan a hanky, Bustew," As if there were some danger lingering, Rex would join in, "Fo he wooks kinda lacklustew."

For he'd be frantically pointing out the window, "He does indeed," Spot would poke his head out, Straight ahead, that is, speaking a lingo, Jamming up the window like a clogged up spout, That I just couldn't make out, Leaving no room for another doggy head, Because of how he did scream and shout. Which is why they'd be ejected instead,

So I'd turn my head to look, When, that is, Puddles and Sparky, At what Sir Martian obviously took, Would poke their heads out, causing anarchy, To be a cause for concern, Or at least, a bit of disorder— And pretty quickly, I'd learn, Oh, how I'd wish I had my camcorder—

That we'd be about to crash! For the other three would fall to the ground, And we would! SMASH!!! On top of Franky, starting with the greyhound— We'd crash right into Mercury— Buster, that is, followed by Rex, then Spot, It'd be a glorious blaze of furry! Who'd look up at the twins and say "Tanks a wot!"

Sir Martian wouldn't crash, lucky guy, "You' wewcome," they'd say in tandem, For he was in the next lane, which is why, For sarcasm would have been lost on them, He'd whiz right by Mercury, and then, "And you mustn't fo'get you' smokey stand— Turn around to meet up with us again. He'e, let us give you a hand."

While he'd be doing this, we'd have disembarked, They'd disappear and come back in a second, Our ship, now in shambles and permanently parked; With the hot dog stand, I'd have reckoned, I'd swat away the stars around my head, And would drop it out the window, Until all that'd be left, glowing white, blue, and red, Not to float in the air in limbo,

Were the ones in the Heavens up there, But to fall hard and fast, Shining on the Mercurian landscape, forlorn and bare, Right towards Franky and the doggy cast; For there wouldn't be much to this desolate planet, The dogs would scatter in order to avoid, Just rock, craters, maybe a bit of granite. Being crushed and utterly destroyed,

I'd be followed by Immanuel and Icy, But Franky would be caught in the middle, Then the smell of something spicy, And therefore it would be no riddle, Would start emanating from the side window, What would happen to him, And out would pop Franky, covered head to toe, For his fate was certainly grim:

In mustard, ketchup, and buns, He'd be smushed, he'd be pinned, Plus a whole swack of hot dogs, tons! He certainly would not have grinned, And after a few seconds more, If upon waking up that morning, He'd be launched to the Mercurian floor, He had gotten at least a warning,

By Buster poking his head out, That at the end of the day, Accidentally, of course, no doubt. He'd be kept at bay, Franky would shake his head and wipe his face, Pinned to the Mercurian ground, Trying to orient himself to this place. Unable to get himself unbound.

"Woff!" Buster would yelp out the window, The rest would return—easily, being on their feet, Looking at Franky down below, While Puddles and Sparky would climb down to meet, "You all wight, Fwanky? The other doggies, now looking around, Do you need a hanky? At their new surroundings to which they'd be bound.

"Now what in de bwazes is dis pwace?" You figure out why, Spot would say, bewilderment on his face, Why, that is to say, cutie-pie, Plus his fists on his hips, Why it's way cooler to chat, And covered in potato chips. Than to wonder aimlessly <— yeah, that.

"One minute, we we'e having fun, I mean, come on dude; Pwaying poker—I a'most won!— I don't mean to be rude, And de next—CWASH!!! But be more positive, more upbeat, All cove'd in welish and ho'se wadash! Like, I mean, think on your feet.

And now we find ou'selves on dis stwange pwanet! You can totally do it, man, But why?! I need to know! Fo' I won't can it!" I mean it! You totally can! "Me neider," Rex would pipe in, You're a philosopher, full of ideas, "Fo' it was me who was about to win; Ideas juicier than a thousand tortillas.

Just a mino' cowwection, Spot, Why, you should, like, lead this group, Fo' I tink you want to be mistaken not." This brainstorming session, I mean, this soup, "You we'e about to win?!" This soup of bodacious ideas and rad thoughts, Would say Buster with a doubtful grin, For philosophical genius is what you gots!"

"Not unwess yo hand could beat mine, "Why, thank you very much," Which is doubtful—I feew it in my spine!" Immanuel said, blushing and such, Puddles and Sparky would laugh together, "For it seems you too can be, And then say, like birds of a feather: A one-man inspiration crew—at least to me.

"Dat's reawy funny, you guys, For you're absolutely right, But it shouldn't be a su'pwise, Admit that, I very well might, Dat it was we who would win, But if I lead this group in thought, Dis game we we'e pweviously in." I must first ask: why not?

"Fo' I had a woyaw fwush of cwubs, I did," Why not wait for Sir Martian, Puddles would say, for she would not kid, Like awaiting a darshan, "So did I," Sparky would add, A messenger from the Heavens, "And if dat don’t make sense, too bad!" For unless I've gone sixes and sevens,

At which point, they'd all start to bark, I think that's an idea that's sound, To which I'd respond with the following remark: For then we will have found, "QUIET!!!... there, now that I've got, The rest of the crew—save Sally and Hubert— Everyone's attention, please bark not, But that's better than nothing, I do assert,

Let's get ourselves together, For then we’ll have another ship, And figure out whether, And won’t have to sit here and sip, We can get ourselves off this rock, From cups of tea—that is, if we had them— So come on, people, let's talk." For what else ya gonna do to kill the boredom?

"Talk?!" Immanuel would almost shout, So let's just sit here and wait, "What is there to talk about? For I certainly believe in fate, We're marooned here on this desolate planet, I believe, that is, they are fated to land, Talk is cheap, we might as well can it! In fact, I see them now, ready at hand."

Oh, how dismal is our state, And Immanuel would be right, he would, To wonder aimlessly is our fate, For close to the spot where we'd have stood, It is obvious that this was ordained, Sir Martian would soon land, For by determinism has our path been stained!" Sir Martian and the rest of the band—

"Determa-what?!" would question Icy, That is, Bill, Gertrude, and TG, "That sounds, like, mucho dicey; All together we'd soon be, I mean, I wouldn't wanna walk that path, And with at least one ship still intact, Because, well, you do the math, We’d have a way off this planet, in fact!

But in trying to land, he'd hit my head, Vat's your excuse, heir Martian? Sir Martian, that is, but I wouldn't be dead, Since ven did your driving skill harshen? Just a minor bruise is all, If I am to be a member of your crew, A bump on my noggin, round like a ball. You'd better shape up, it's true."

Then he'd hit Sparky, "Yeah, yeah, at least we're safe and sound," Causing a lot of barking malarkey, Would say Sir Martian, his feet touching ground, But he'd bounce right off, "And who's to thank for that? Me! Sparky letting out a cough, That's right, I got us here, you see."

From being winded in the stomach, "And where exactly is 'here'?" Bill would ask, But was he hurt? No way, Mac. "Figuring that out should be our first task." He'd just say "Dis cwazy dwiva', "I wholeha'tedly concu'," would concur TG, Is Cwazier dan Lady Godiva!" "Fo' this place is a total mysteury,

Next, Sir Martian would back into Frank, It might help if I poked my head out, It would be like getting hit by a tank— Of this backpack, no doubt, Franky's hot dog stand, that is— Then at least I could scope out the scene, For it certainly meant bizz— Check out my surroundings, I mean,

It showed Sir Martian's ship, But why do that when I'm sew cozy, As if shooting from the hip, Snug in this backpack, all rewsy? Who had the stronger suit of armour, Neeew, I think I'll stay he'e, The stronger metal, like stone of marmer, And accept the mysteury so queea'."

And it would make a dent, "But it's no mystery," Sir Martian would say, In Sir Martian's ship, for it bent, "Didn't you see the sign a mile away? The nose, that is, of Sir Martian's ship, It said: Mercury—1 light minute— He'd say to himself: "Get a grip! That would make this Mercury, wouldn't it?

Grab control, self, steer the wheel, But enough of that silly frilly foo, Don't make them give you another spiel— Let me introduce you to the crew. Mom and dad, that is, another lecture, In fact, there they are now, Which would be long and boring, I conjecture. Along with a hot dog stand somehow."

Just for the sake of that boredom, My heart would fill with joy, Just so I don't have to stand it, well um... Like finding a long lost toy, Learn how to drive, self!— To see my old friend again, Don't land on Gaby, small as an elf!" Plus a woman and a couple men,

Sir Martian would get it together, "My old friend!" I'd shout to Sir Martian, And despite the windy weather, "To see you fills me with elation! He'd manage to land the ship, What's going on? How you been? Thus ending a lengthy space trip. But of course I know, I mean—

Out of the hatch would pop Gertrude, I mean, it's all in that postcard, Mumbling something kinda rude: Man, you're trials must have been hard. "Zat's ze last time I ride wiz you! I'm glad you made it in one piece, To sink I vould be a member of your crew?! And that our separation can finally cease."

Vy zat's utterly redicoolous, We'd meet and embrace each other, It's vorse zan riding wiz Saint Nichoolas, With a pat on the back, like brother to brother. For ven I did zat, it vaz a bumpy ride— After all this time, this ordeal would be over, All ze ice und snow, ve did slip und slide— What luck! Like that from a four leaf clover.

Und ze howling vinds und ze cold, "I see you've collected a new member," Not to mention ze slay, creaky und old— Franky catching his attention like a glowing ember. But at least, zat's a good excuse, "Why yes, indeed I did, For it couldn't be helped, ze abuse. And so have you, it would seem, kid.

At least two from the looks of it, We'd cross your path, that is to say, Maybe three, one stirring in your backpack a bit? And we'd turn around right away; So why don't I introduce my crew to them," That's when you saw us. I'd clear my throat: "Ah-hem... And I handed over the post card thus."

Allow me to introduce myself, I'm two years old, and small as an elf. I'm a cute little boy named Gabriel, And so I fit cribs and onesies very well.

And this is my crew whose names I will assert— Some of which are absent, like Sally and Hubert, But as for the ones that are here, The ones you can see so very clear,

These are Teddy and Immanuel with the top hat, And that’s Icy, Queen of Mars—isn't that phat?! The dogs were in the back room, And as a formality, I will resume,

This well rehearsed introduction, For as the captain, it is my function. From left to right, and front to back, From top to bottom, from white to black,

That's Buster, Rex, Spot, and Puddles, And finally Sparky who likes cuddles—" "Hey, dat's pwivate," Sparky would interrupt— I'd resume my intro rather abrupt:

"Oh, and I almost forgot, That there's Franky, who seems caught, Under his hot dog stand, Maybe someone should give him a hand."

"Yo' da'n uight I'm caught, In fact, I'm duipping snot, Fuom my nose, and I can't wipe, Fo' my hands a'e caught, I guipe."

While the doggies would come to his aid, Another introduction would be made, On Sir Martian's part, that is to say, For he had to introduce his crew today:

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," He'd say with a twinkle in his eye ball, "Now let me introduce my crew, To each and every one of you.

I'm Sir Martian, but you know that, These 3 behind me are where it's really at: That there's Gertrude and this is Bill, And this here is TG if you will.

That's short for Travelocity Gnome— The very one who roams far from home. In fact, that's where we were headed, Not knowing that we'd soon be wedded,

Chapter 22: The Rockin’ Dead

—But suddenly, we'd all jump, "Well, where's it coming from?!" From a sound that made the ground thump, Would ask Sir Martian, in the air his bum, It'd be too loud and obnoxious to miss, "I don't know," I'd reply, looking around, And it would go something like this: But all I'd see was us, the ship, and a grey hound—

"HELLO MERCURY!!! ARE YOU READY TO ROCK!!!?" That would be Buster, and the rest of the doggies, A crowd would roar and give us a shock, Covering their ears—those things lacked by froggies— "I SAID ARE YOU READY TO ROCK!!!?" For especially sensitive are doggy ears, Would repeat the voice like work of a clock. If they didn't cover them, they would shed tears.

The crowd would roar again a deafening roar, "It's but a desolate landscape," Immanuel would say, As if emanating from Mercury's core, "Nothing for miles—near or far away— "THEN LET'S ROCK!!!" the voice would have said, Except for a few craters here and there, Then would come a blast that would wake the dead. Especially that big one, big beyond compare!"

It would be the sound of a guitar, "Big indeed," I would state, An electric one that couldn't be far; "Let us get closer to investigate." The sound would be awful, like a screeching cry, "Vonderbar idea, captain Gaby," And would make you go: "Why, God, why?!" Gertrude would concur, "but maybe,

Then worse than the sound would come the lyrics, Just maybe, in case it is an attack, For in my ears, I'd wish I could lodge sticks; I suggest ve stay down on our back, They'd speak of metal, darkness, and death, Or our front, vich ever you prefer, Of fire and brimstone, until out of breath: Just don't stand up—zat's for sure."

"♫ Darkness and death, ♬ ♭ darkness and death, ♪" they'd go, So we'd crawl on our bellies, some on our backs, "♬♪ The world is on fire, it's frozen in snow; ♪♪ Trying hard amidst the chaos to relax— ♬ Oh how I burn, oh how I freeze, ♫ We'd crawl towards the crater up ahead, ♮♩ No one will let me do as I please!!! ♪♫♪" To see it from a different vantage point instead.

"GET DOWN!!!" would admonish Gertrude, And what would we see, peering over the edge? Pulling us to the ground, there to be glued, Why, the sight would hit us like a hammer of sledge! At least Sir Martian and I, that is to say, A rock concert, it would be— But the rest would immediately obey, Clear as day, we would all see.

For she'd certainly have, Gertrude I mean, Lining the sides of this crater so vast, A commanding voice, like a queen, Would be thousands of people having a blast; It would be louder than the blaring sounds, All gathered 'round the center, they'd be, Of the terrible music blasting somewherez 'rounds. Gathered 'round the stage, believe you me.

"Stay low," she'd continue, "Ve're under attack! On the stage, at the center, "What?!" over the noise, Bill would yell back, Surrounded by bouncers who'd let no one enter, "I said ve're under attack, you silly head! Would be four medieval looking dudes in black, Stay still or you might be dead!" Covered in metal studs, front to back,

"Stella might eat bread?!" Bill would question, And their hair would be something else indeed, The noise being too loud to hear with precision, As if they'd be from a different breed, "Ve're under attack, Bill, ve're under attack! It'd be long and wieldy, crazy and wild, Just don't move, just watch your back!" With spray would they undoubtedly be styled.

"I don't think, my dear," Bill would suggest, And their faces would be anything but plain, "That it's an attack, for I think at best, Not just from the look of pain, It's just a music concert, though awful I admit, From scrunching their lips and squinting their eyes, But I don't think we need worry, not one bit." As they'd sing their lyrics with awful cries,

But from all the makeup and paint, He would take a deep breath, Colored black and white, enough to make you faint, And nearly leap to his death— That is, if you weren't used to that kind of thing, He'd jump onto the crowd, that is to say, As if the only rock star you knew was Sting. Twisting onto his back, into the fray.

One guy would have a star around his eye, Like a couple rafts in the ocean, Another would look like a cat—oh God, why? Guided by the waves in ongoing motion, And on their feet—could it be? The crowd would veer them this way and that, Indeed it could—for you see, Pretty soon, they'd forget where they'd be at,

They'd all be wearing, so it would seem, But after a while, it would become clear, Platform shoes—silver and shiny, they'd gleam— For when to the stage, Bill would draw near, Giving them the advantage of a few inches more, On stage, they'd have launched him, So as to tower a bit further above the floor. If someone wouldn't have caught him—

So there they'd be, rocking on stage, A bouncer would grab him by the heel, Strumming their guitars with passionate rage, As he'd fly by him like tape reel, Twisting and grinding their bodies all 'round, And yank him back down to Earth, Spewing out the most hellish sound, Or Mercury, for what it's worth.

When all of a sudden, the ground would give way— "Looks like we got a trouble maker," The ground, that is, where Gertrude would stay— The bouncer would say, so unlike a Quaker, The soil under her back would not be solid, "You know, we gotta place for people like you, Which she'd think was absolutely squalid. A place here on Mercury, it's true,

A chunk of the crater's edge, in other words, For people who think they're above the crowd— Would disintegrate, like a flock of birds, No pun intended—point is, you're not allowed— Scattering from a tree and flying away, You're not allowed to go on stage, In one place, therefore, she wouldn’t stay, And the fact that you tried fills me with rage!

She'd trickle down the slope, Why I ought to take you out back, And like an oblivious dope, And stuff you in a sack, Bill would be next, And pound on you 'til you cry, For his luck would be vexed. In fact, I think I will—why shouldn't I?"

He'd be right beside Gertrude, Meanwhile, Gertrude would be close by, In the spot where the ground was crude, And would overhear the bouncer ask why; And so it would give way under him too, She'd tell that Bill was in trouble, Compelling him to utter "Oh, poo!" And would have to do something on the double.

They'd slide together as we'd watch; "LOSLASSEN MICH!!!" she'd scream, They'd slide until they became a blotch, And like a well-oiled team, A blur in our visual field, Everyone would shut up all at once, And upon joining the crowd, they'd yield. Even the band would stop their stunts.

In fact, Gertrude, being on her back, "LOSLASSEN MICH RIGHT NOW!!!" she'd repeat, Would be picked up like a sack— And immediately they would drop her on her seat; She'd slide atop the crowd, that is, She'd get to her feet right away, Inadvertently crowd surfing—that's show biz. And command: "Let that man go, today!!!"

Bill would just bump into a dude, The bouncer, stunned as he'd be, Who'd look back in a bad mood. Would obey the command, most certainly; He'd growl, giving Bill a fright, He'd release his grip, letting Bill go, Then turn around putting Bill out of sight. Ending Bill's trials of woe.

Bill would get up, looking for Gertrude, "Wooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwww!" Trying to spot her above the crowd so lewd, Would exclaim the vocalist amidst the show, And when he'd see she was crowd surfing— "Dudes, it looks like a commotion, Or as the Smurfs might say, "crowd smurfing"— Er, some kinda bogus notion,

What's happenin' bro? "Aw, crikey, yew can dew betta th'n that," Why'd you interrupt our show?" Would say the keyboardist, looking like a cat, Bill would look up at the man on stage, "Well... ok," would say Bill hesitantly, "Who me?" he'd ask trying not to enrage, As he'd prepare to strum again intently,

Anyone else after his close encounter, He'd raise the pick above his head, With the scary looking bouncer, And like a massive heap of led, "Yeah you, man," would reply the base player, He'd bring it crashing down upon the strings, "Don't be such a hater." Hard enough that even Earthlings,

"Do you wanna come up on stage?" Back on Earth could hear the sound— Would ask the vocalist trying to gauge, A new passion Bill would have found— Bill's true motives, his mental state, For he'd start to like it, he would, Which would be confusion at any rate. And without even thinking if he should,

Bill would reply: "Uh... not really," He'd raise his arm once again, "What?!" the vocalist would say to poor Billy, To take another strum, and then— "I said not really!" Bill would say it again, The most awesome thing would happen, "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!" would shout the vocalist—and then: Something that would wake anyone who was nappin',

The crowd would shout and cheer, Bill would play a solo on the fly, Almost deafening Bill's ear— Don't ask how, don't ask why. He'd try one more time: "I SAID NOT REALLY!!!" It would just happen, it would just come out. "WELL, COME ON THEN, SILLY!!!" Making the crowd scream and shout.

The vocalist would reach out his hand, It'd be amazing, it'd be brilliant, And pull Bill onto land— Bill's secret talent would be resilient, Metaphorically, that is to say, Resilient, that is, to imperfection, From the sea of fans, to his dismay. Resilient, even, to indigestion,

So on stage, Bill would get yanked, If in his gut, Bill would have felt it, Without even being asked or thanked, For even then, he would have dealt it, For his participation in this act, This beautiful solo, as I say, But there he'd be—on stage—a fact! For this was one hell of a day.

And once there, he'd be handed a guitar, The crowd would roar, they would cheer, By the bassist, the second rock star, For such a solo to hit the ear, Into Bill's hand he'd shove the thing, Would compel anyone to applaud; Looking all silvery and shiny, with bling, Not to do so would be very odd.

"Well, play somethin'," he would beckon, "Awwwriiight dude!!!" would say the vocalist— The vocalist, that is, I'd reckon, To compliment Bill would be his gist— "Go ahead, dude, strum a chord, "I never knew I had it in me!" Don't be shy, don't make us board." Bill would reply with jubilant glee,

Bill would be petrified at first, "Well, it's there dude, no doubt!" He'd think this was just the worst, The drummer would shout, He'd look at Gertrude down below, "Yeah, man, like totally," Who would signal: go on with the show! Would say the bassist excitedly,

So from the fret he'd grab the pick, "What's your name, dude?" And with a hearty hand, the chords he'd flick, The vocalist'd say not to be rude, And out would come a deafening sound, "Bill," would reply Bill, Followed by cheers from the crowd all 'round. Feeling a bit self-conscious still.

"Is that?" I'd have to ask, "Well, Bill, allow me to introduce myself, "Yep," all would say as they'd bask, The name's Slate, much taller than an elf, In the sound of Bill's first performance, Even without the platform shoes, man, As he'd play at the seat of his pants. For I can reach really tall—I sure can—

And that there's my main man Ace, "So y'all sit tight and we'll be back," Who's totally wicked on the base, The crowd would cheer in the darkness black, And the keyboardist over there, Awaiting the moment when they would re-engage, The one with the wily hair, Returning, that is, back on stage;

That's Duke, keyboardist extraordinaire, "Like, where are they going?" (He also runs a shop: The Scrumptious Donaire), Would ask Icy without knowing, And finally, behind me is Biff, our drummist; How long they'd be gone for, Don't mistake him for the dumbest, Whether an hour, two, or even more.

For he's totally smart and stuff, "I don't know, my dear; And if that's not enough, I don't know how far or near," He's awesome at figure skating, Would be Immanuel's educated guess; Which is why I'm totally debating, "Probably near, so don't stress."

Turning our gig into an ice show— "But in any case," I would add, Seriously, man! Totally, like, y'know— "It would be terribly sad, Wouldn't that be wicked? Wouldn'it? If we just up and left right now, That's what should happen, shouldn'it?" Before they returned somehow.

"Uh... yeeeaaah," Bill would sarcastically say, So as the captain of this crew, "Can I go? Or do you want me to stay?" I say we wait for those two, "What's yo' rush, bloke?" would say Duke, As long as it takes, I say, "D'we make yew sick? Wanna puke?" We won't abandon them today."

"No," Bill would say, "it's not that—" Meanwhile, back stage with the band, "Well, com' on then, let's go chat," In the dressing room they would stand, Ace would say inviting Bill along, And then sit down on couches and chairs, For before they'd sing the next song, Throwing away all their worries and cares.

There'd be an intermission, Bill would look around the room, A chance for them to recondition, And spot a poster of a tomb, Their musical instruments and vocals, A grave stone, that is to say, In order to entertain the anticipating locals. Kind of spooky looking, dark and grey,

"Wha' abou' yo' babe there?" Like in a cemetery with fog on the ground, Would ask Duke with the wily hair, And pitch black in the sky all 'round; "My babe?" would question Bill, Surrounding the tomb stone would be, "I sink, darling," would spill, The band, the four guys, plain to see.

From the mouth of Gertrude, They'd be posing, looking all goth, "Zat he is referring to me, razer rude, Colorless, like a creepy looking moth, For I am no man's 'babe', sank you very much; And atop the poster above each head, I am a madam, a lady, a mademoiselle und such." It would say: "The Rockin' Dead".

"Well, do ya wanna come?" "The Rockin' Dead? Is that your name?" Would persist Duke, "Well, um," Would say Bill, trying not to sound lame, Would reply Gertrude with hesitation, "Darn rights!" would say Biff, And after a second of reluctant consternation, "If y'don't like it, y're a stiff!"

She'd agree and climb on stage, "Calm down, man," would say Slate, Still with a slight hint of rage, "Remember, these are guests, don't hate." From being called a babe, that is, "Dude, I'm not hatin'! But would soon forget about that biz. Why you always gotta be debatin'?!

"We're gonna take a little break now," Y're, like, always debatin' with me, man— Would announce Slate somehow— Everything I say, you like, shove it in a can!" And that somehow’d be through the microphone— "I don't shove it in a can," Slate would reply, What else would he use, an ice cream cone? "We just sometimes disagree, so don't cry."

"Sometimes?" would ask Biff, "Wooooaaaaw", they'd all say unanimously, "More likealways,you stiff," Except Bill and Gertrude who, simultaneously, "What? I'm not stiff?" Slate would retort, Would look at each other as if to say: "What kinda come back is that, sport?" It ain't that great an idea, eh?

"Oh," Biff would reply, "so I'm a sport now?" "So, like," he'd continue, "That's no' even an insult, yew cow!" "If it's OK with you, Would interject Duke, adding his two cents, Can we, like, uh, borrow your spaceship? "Yeah, man," would add Ace, his tone intense, We'll totally return it after our space trip."

"Usually when someone calls you a sport, "Hmmmm..." they'd both say together, It means friend, or something of that sort." "I sink it depends on ze weazer," "Aw, man," Biff would say, "it's mutual, Gertrude would reply with Bill's concurrence, Y're all against me—as usual." "Plus in order to give you our assurance,

Finally, after all the bickering, Our fearless captain, ve need to consult, And amidst Bill's snickering, Our fearless captain, less zan an adult, Gertrude would speak up, Ozervise, ve'll give you promises, Like a yappy little pup: Over vich you should be Doubting Thomases."

"ENOUGH!!!" to Biff, she'd below out, "Hey, babe, that would be great!" "Don't make me scream und shout! Old Biff would reply before too late— You're all acting like babies! That is, before she would change her mind, No buts, doubts, or maybes! And before Bill would respond in kind.

Now, you invited us back here. "So it's settled then," would add Slate, Vas zere a reason, darling dear? "You guys can go talk to your mate, Vas zere somesing you vish to tell us, Y'r captain dude who flies y'r ship, Or can ve return to our ship wizout fuss?" See if we can, like, borrow it for a trip."

"Well, uuuuuuh—" Biff would begin. "Uh, I guess, sure," Bill would reply, But then Slate, with a grin, And then whisper to Gertrude: "Why? Would interrupt him, Why did you get us into this mess? And say on a whim: Why did you cause us undue stress?"

"You say you have a ship? "Oh, buck up young man, Or do you pay me service of lip?" Go wiz ze flow, stick to ze plan," "No, it's true, we have a ship indeed," Gertrude would silently snap back, Would say Bill, "Why? Are you in need?" Trying to keep Bill on track.

"Well, it's always been my dream," "All right, dude and dudette, Slate would say to the entire team, Here's the plan, don't forget," "After the last song we sang, Would continue Slate all excited, To end our show with a bang, "It's a plan to make us all united,

Hear me out, boys and girl, You go back to your fearless captain, I want to throw the crowd into a swirl, Tell 'em somethin' crazy's happenin', I want to wow them, to blow their minds, Tell 'em he can be a part of our show, I've wracked my brains for ideas of all kinds, That's quite an honor, you know.

But a spaceship—oh, man, wow! What he needs to do is this:" That totally takes the cake, and how; Slate would continue, dressed like KISS— What we should do, at the end of the show, The band, that is, with Gene Simmons, Is board a spaceship and just go— The one liked by all the womens—

Take off, that is, leave them in a daze, "What your fearless captain needs to do, Fly away into the sky, into the haze, Along with you and the rest of y'r crew, And I wanna stand there at the doorway, Is to fly low to the stage, Waving to the crowd as we go away." Right when we finish our last song: Rage,

He'll know when to start the ship, I heard he stole the idea from a hot dog vendor, When he hears the words spill from my lip: And reaped the rewards, the glory, and the splendor, '♪ Rage! Rage! Rage! It gets worse with age! ♪♫ He benefits from the genius of a hard working soul, ♬♮♩ Rage! Rage! Rage! I make minimum wage! ♬' And from that, our rage has taken a toll."

It's a song from our past, sis and bro, "Well, geez, dudes," would reply Bill, When we were making a wage so low." "That certainly doesn't sound like a thrill, "It's true," would add Ace, But if we can return to the topic at hand— "We used to work at such a bogus place, That is, how our crew can help your band—

A place called Schmizzle's Burger Hut, I'd say, well, we'll think about it, Our manager was such a douchebag nut, On the idea, Gertrude and I will sit, He paid us minimum wage, We'll contemplate it, I mean to say, Which, to this day, fills us with Rage!" We'll need a few hours, maybe a day."

"Hence," would say Duke, "dude and dude’e, "Dude!" Gertrude would interrupt, Writ'n this song’s been no regre'." "Ve don't have a day—I mean, 'tsup? "In fact," Biff would pipe up again, Wazzup wiz your sinking, man? "What really boiled my blood about Ben— I mean, seriously, get wiz ze plan!

Ben Schmizzle, that is, our boss— Ze concert vill be over in about an hour, Is how he would never ever floss, I sink your brain needs a cold shower, But the 2nd thing which made me mad, Ve must make a decision somehow, Was how it was so not rad, Ve must come to a consensus now."

That he put me in charge, "Frickin' rights, babe!" Biff would say, Of making the famous burger so large: "I suggest you go with the plan, eh?" The Release-the-Greece Heart Attack— "Vell, of course you vould suggest zat," Dude, I tell ya', that's so not wack!" Gertrude would say eyeing Biff like a rat,

"The Release-the-Greece Heart Attack?" "It's your plan, vat else vould you suggest? Would ask Bill, being sure not to lack, Zat we refuse like a rude guest?" Any information these guys would convey— "So you agree!" would utter Slate, No way would he miss this info, no way! "Then it's settled! That's wicked! That's Great!"

"Yes, the Release-the-Grease Heart Attack," "Well, wait just a minute—" Bill would hesitate, Biff would repeat, "better than the Big Mac! "So all that's needed now," would push Slate, But the effort it would take, "Is to give your captain the scoop: The toil and sweat required to make, Wait for the signal and then swoop,

Such a burger is beyond belief— Swoop in just above the stage, I wasn't even allowed the relief, Just before we wrap up with Rage, Of eating one myself, when I got hungry— Our number one hit song, Especially when faced with something so sundry— Been number one for so long.

As sundry as juicy pickles and ripe tomatoes, Swoop in low and open the side hatch, And a greasy burger to go with fries made from potatoes, And lower a rope which we'll catch, Bursting at the seams with yummy ingredients, Up we'll climb, upwards and onwards, But we had to maintain obedience, Up to the hatch door, mark my words,

We had to follow orders, And once we're all inside, For we were watched by camcorders, With the hatch door still open wide, Thus, I had to do my job, I'll hang myself out for one last view, Which totally made me feel like a knob!" And salute the crowd, flying into the yonder blue."

"You know what I heard, dude?" "That's right," Ace would concur, Would interrupt Ace trying not to be rude, "Just remember the signal, as it were, "I heard that Ben stole the idea, The lyrics, how do they go? And I don't mean from no encyclopedia; Com' on, this is a test—you need t'know."

"Er, uh," Bill would contemplate, "Rage, rage, rage, hate, hate, hate—" "No, no, man," Gertrude would interrupt, "Veren't you listening? Are your ears corrupt?

It goes: 'Rage, rage, rage, it gets vorse wiz age, Rage, rage, rage, I make minimum vage.'" "You got it, sis!" Ace would approve, "You listen to her, man, she's got groove."

Bill would sink in his chair, And with a sigh of irritation, lose another hair, "Vell," Gertrude would go on, "It looks like before ve're gone,

Ve'll be picking up a few more passengers, So long, zat is, as we act like messengers, Carrying your message back to our fearless captain, Gabriel, zat is, let him know vat's happenin',

I'm sure he'll agree to all your terms, He seems decisive, not like ze worms, Und he'll decide: Yes! Yes, to ze plan! I know zis despite having only just met ze man."

"Awesome!" Slate would say, "Tubular!" would say Ace amongst the fray, "Bodacious!" would add Duke whose hair was wily, "Gnarly!" would say Biff finally.

"Groovy!" would pipe up Bill, As a knee jerk reaction, as a frill, Before sinking back into his shell, Remaining silent like dried up hair gel.

Chapter 23: The Encore

In any case, this idea, this plan, Ze sought of Sir Martian driving? Would be that with which they ran, To avoid zat, vouldn't you be striving?" They'd run back to me and the crew, "I have no qualms agreeing with that," To relay the message and speak true, Bill would agree at the drop of a hat,

No lies, no exaggerations, just the facts, "For with Sir Martian at the wheel, Gertrude would begin by saying "Relax, Our ride has been all too surreal, Captain Gaby, don't fret, don't spaz, All too bumpy and crazy-like, Zey just vant a little dazzly-dazz. Like a two year old riding a bike."

Somesing spectacular to end zeir show, "Well, this two year old," All ve have to do, you know, I would speak up loud and bold, Is fly our ship over ze stage, And with my hands at each hip, At ze end of zeir song Rage—" "Will be driving this ship,

"Yeah, Rage!" would add Bill, I'm sure Sir Martian will abide, "It goes: 'Rage, rage, rage, I wanna kill! For he knows I'm the captain on this ride, Rage, rage rage, it makes me feel ill!' Isn't that right, Sir Martian, my man? Right, Gertrude? Right?" but she'd remain still, My number one lieutenant on this space van?"

For a good five seconds, she'd remain silent, "Absolutely!" Sir Martian would reply, Though she'd feel rage and almost violent, "Besides, it's your ship by-and-by." She'd keep her calm though, "It was mine, at least fo' a while," And just look down low, TG would pop his head out with a smile,

Shaking her head and holding her nose, "But I suppose I must accept it, Disappointed in Bill, one of her bros, The fact that I could never have kept it, But just to clarify the situation, Fo' if what these fools tell me is true, And to redeem Bill of any condemnation, The ship must belong to yew.

Which she'd feel like dishing out, And who am I to a'gue with my captain, She'd calmly and politely not shout, Fo' if indeed this is what's happenin—, That Bill was understandably mistaken, That we'a being inaugu'ated into you' cuew, And would then explain the real bacon, Then my captain you a'e, shiny and new."

The actual lyrics, that is to say, "I suppose that applies to all of us," So that I'd be well informed on this day, Bill would add, "So let's board this bus, And know exactly when to take my cue, And pledge our allegiance to captain Gaby— To blast off towards the stage with my crew. No ifs, buts, not even a maybe—

Obviously, the ship aboard which we'd climb, For if what Sir Martian says is true— Would not be a wreck like mine— All his boasting about being a part of the crew— No, we'd climb aboard Sir Martian's ship, Then you must be a worthy captain, Mr. Gabriel— About which Gertrude would start flapping her lip: Thus, to serve you, I am willing and able."

"Oh no, I'm not going anyvere viz you— "Und I second zat notion, You Martian boy, green und blue— For I need no lotion, Not vile you are at ze helm, To slip into ze role, For your driving does overvhelm— Of a part of ze whole,

It overvhelms me wiz fear und dread, Ze whole crew, zat is to say, Zat I vill lose my pretty head. For just yesterday, Vouldn't you agree, Bill my dear? I remember Hubert und Sally, Wouldn't it fill you wiz fear? Almost forming a rally,

Over ze fact zat, to you, zey are loyal, And let me just say, Und ze rendezvous, zey did not vant to spoil, To all of you today, Ze possible rendezvous wiz you, I mean, That an honor, it would be, For all zis while, on Saturn have zey been, To have you work with me.

Avaiting your arrival, wiz loyalty und patience; So to you, I give many welcomes, Und zat says somesing zat makes sense, Now let's get our bums, Vat it says, captain Gabriel, Into our ship, and embark on our mission, Is zat you have formed a crew zat's stable, Our mission of waiting—ready in position."

A crew zat vorks, zat functions, Well, we waited and waited and waited galore, A crew zat attends all your luncheons, Then we waited and wait and waited some more, Or vatever it is you orchestrate, Until we heard a blast from the speakers, Und zey von't be tardy or late, That would knock you outa your sneakers:

Zey vill obey your every command, "Rage! Rage! Rage! It gets worse with age! Zey vill stand by, ready at hand, Rage! Rage! Rage! I make minimum wage!" To serve you und heed to your vill, "That's our cue!" I'd announce, Und zat's somesing for vich many vould kill, "Onto the ignition, pounce!"

So as one leader to anozer, We'd rise into the air, You earn my respect, my brozer, And at the stage I'd stare, Und zerefore, I have no qualms, I'd hone my focus, that is, Dropping my command from my palms, And fly towards show biz.

My leadership role, zat is to say, When we'd get right above the stage, For I trust zat, come vat may, While The Rockin' Dead sang Rage, I need not vorry about vat vill happen, We'd turn around, do a 180, For wiz you as our fearless captain, At which point, I'd see a pretty lady,

I know zat, in good hands, ve are, A young girl with a pretty smile, For vezer you take us near or far, In the first row, stretching a mile, Vezer into danger und peril, Reaching to the stage and screaming out: Or into a situation more sterile, "♥ I LOVE YOU!!! ♥" she would shout.

I pledge my allegiance to you, But I'd distract myself from distraction, Captain Gaby, if into your crew, And prepare myself for action, You vill have me, faithful und true— Whenever that would be, that is, Oh, und Bill und TG—zem too." Whenever would end this show biz.

"I couldn't agree mo', It wouldn't be long, the end, Fo' I need not shout or ro'," For only in one more second, TG would announce to the crew, The song would end with roaring cheers, "That you command respect, it's true, And that's when I would command my peers:

"In fact, I am even willing to fo'go, "Open the hatch and lower the ladder!" My voyage home, you know— Immediately, Icy would attend to the matter, I'm willing, that is to say, Being the one closest to the door, To follow you, if I may, And lower the ladder almost to the floor.

To the ends of the Ea'th— "Well," Slate would say to the crowd, The place of my birth— "You've been awesome, tubular, and loud! Though it's ironic, wouldn't you say? THANK YOU MERCURY!!! GOOD NIGHT!!!" That from Ea'th, we'a moving away?" And with that, he'd climb aboard the flight.

"Sure," I would concur, He'd jump on the ladder, I mean, "Though I understand, for sure, And then climb like a mean machine; That which you are sayin'— He'd be followed by Duke and Ace, No word games we be playin'— Then Biff, tripping a bit on his shoe lace.

As they'd climb, "Well, if it's more that you want," The crowd'd cheer something sublime, Slate would say, no longer trying to taunt, In fact, all at once, they'd cheer, "Then climb aboard, y'all!! Loud enough to burst the ear: Don't hesitate!!! Don't stall!!!"

"ENCORE!!! ENCORE!!! The crowd would shout and cheer, WE WANT MORE!!! WE WANT MORE!!! And would proceed from front to rear, ENCORE!!! ENCORE!!! To climb aboard the stage, WE WANT MORE!!! WE WANT MORE!!!" Still pumped from the song Rage,

Slate would hear their chants, They'd climb the stage and then the ladder, And looking down at them like ants, Like raging lunatics or the Mad Hatter, He'd stop in his tracks, All three thousand of them, And after clearing out his ear of wax, From the music, their adrenaline would stem,

He'd put his hand to his ear, One by one, each fan would climb aboard, And shout to all far and near: In a seamless flow, like a giant horde, "WHAT?!?!" then climb some more, Stuff themselves inside, they would, Just to hear: "ENCORE!!! ENCORE!!!" Finding room any way they could,

After another step plus three, Well, what else could I do? Slate would pause again to see; Even as the captain of the crew, He'd put his hand to his ear again, I can't just stop a mob in their tracks, And shout "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!" and then... So I'd hold my breath and try to relax.

Then continue the climb, After a while, it would get rather crowded, While at the same time, As if submerged in sardines, we'd be shrouded, Hear the crowd roar: We'd all be squished and smushed, "WE WANT MORE!!! WE WANT MORE!!!" We'd be cornered, we'd be pushed,

Slate would finally enter the ship, In fact, right up against the windshield, Followed by Duke, Ace, and Kipp— My face, as if against a force field, Biff, that is—his stage name, Would be pushed, would be squished, For "Kipp" would never have won him fame. Something I would never have wished.

But in any case, they'd be inside— But there I'd be, unable to move, Quite a cozy place to hide— For jam packed this place would prove, But outside, the chants would continue, And out the window, I'd be forced to look, And Slate would not forget this venue, And all I'd see would be a blowing Chinook,

He'd hang is body out the door, Tumblweeds rolling across the barren crater, While the crowd kept pleading for more. The fans having said "See ya later," "YOU WANT SOME MORE?!?!" he'd shout, Before climbing aboard my ship, The crowd would cheer all about, Tagging along for a space trip.

"DO YOU WANT SOME MORE?!?!" Well, it would be a fair bet, Slate would repeat with a roar, Having failed to spot a single soul yet, "YES!!! YES!!! WE WANT MORE!!!"— That everyone would be aboard the ship, Shaking Slate to the core. Which would be ready, at the seams, to rip,

"III CAAAN'T HEEEAR YOUUUU!!!" But just to be absolutely sure, Would taunt Slate to the zoo, I'd try to get everyone to concur: The zoo of fans down below, "So, everyone all aboard?" To which they'd repeat themselves so: "YES!!!" would say the horde,

""ENCORE!!! ENCORE!!! "No one's down below? Still climbing?" WE WANT MORE!!! WE WANT MORE!!! "NO!!!" the crowd would answer in good timing, ENCORE!!! ENCORE!!! "Then can someone please close the door? WE WANT MORE!!! WE WANT MORE!!!" Oh, but first pull the ladder off the floor."

Some guy named Steve would do as I'd say, Icy, the Martian queen, He'd reel up the ladder all the way, And Immanuel, that silly bean, Then he'd try to shut the door, Would be digging themselves out, But would need help from at least four, From the mounds of fans, no doubt.

Four other people, four other fans, After poking their heads out, Each one tugging the other with their hands, And taking a breath deep enough to shout, So as to overpower the pressure within, They'd pull out the rest of them, Of a few thousand people, fat and thin. Like carrots held at the stem,

But the door would finally be closed, Being pulled from the moist dirt, Leaving us not quite so hosed; Thank goodness no one would be hurt! The next step would be, Icy and Immanuel would simply resume, To get more wiggle room, you see. Their membership in my crew, here in this room,

So I'd say: "Now, listen up everyone! "Heh-heh... raaaad," I know you all are having fun, Would say Slate looking not so bad, But we gotta make more space, Looking at Icy with a smile, Especially around my cute face! Making her blush for a short while,

At the rear and to the right of my ship, But she'd shy away coyly, There's a door whose handle you can grip, And not because his hair was oily; If anyone's close to there— Immanuel, who beside her would stand, And there must be—you guys are everywhere— Would, on the other hand,

Please grip the handle and open the door, Just give Slate a disgruntled look, But be careful: you'll be thrown to the floor, Then would, as if by a fishing hook, So brace yourselves, boys and girls, Stick his nose upward in the air, For when the pressure in this room hurls, "Hmm" he'd say in a snobby flare.

You guys through the open door— "So you must be the captain dude," Well... need I say more? Slate would say to me, kinda rude, But don't be afraid, don't be shy, "Allow me to introduce myself, Anything's better than this, by-and-by." M'name's Slate, little elf,

Well, someone would have obeyed my command, And that there's my main man Ace, Because, once again, I'd be able to stand, Who's totally wicked on the base, I'd be able to stand on solid ground, And the keyboardist over there, I'd even be able to move around. The one with the wily hair,

A lot more sparse, it'd seem to be, That's Duke, keyboardist extraordinaire, Only a few people, including me, (He also runs a shop: The Scrumptious Donaire), Would be left standing around the room, And finally, behind me is Biff, our drummist; And in the next, the rest would loom. Don't mistake him for the dumbest,

So that's where all 3,000 would be— For he's totally smart and stuff, In the back room, you see— And if that's not enough, Well, it'd be more like 2,932, He's awesome at figure skating, For up here with me and my crew, Which is why I'm totally debating,

Would be the rest, the other 68, Turning our gig into an ice show— Not including Biff, Ace, Duke, or Slate— Seriously, man! Totally, like, y'know— No, not them, The Rockin' Dead, Wouldn't that be wicked? Wouldn'it? They'd be here too—I'd count each head. That's what should happen, shouldn'it?"

Now, you know how I said, After taking some time to think, If I recall with my head, I concluded that would stink, That my crew was up here with me? But I didn't say it out loud, Well, I lied, for you see... Instead, I said all proud:

"Welcome aboard, make yourselves comfy, And with that, the Rockin' Dead, I hope tight spaces don't make you grumpy, Would retire to the back room instead, But I'm sure we can find room, Instead of staying here to chit chat, For you and your band to loom, For the fans would be where it's at.

But why don't I start, Behind them, they'd close the door, For my own part, In order to play their encore, With my own intro— Which we'd feel through the floor, It's well rehearsed, you know: And pretty soon, we'd hear them roar:

Greetings! Allow me to introduce myself, "Rage! Rage! Rage! It gets worse with age! I'm two years old, and small as an elf. Rage! Rage! Rage! I make minimum wage!" I'm a cute little boy named Gabriel, Though it'd be loud, it'd be tolerable, And so I fit cribs and onesies very well. And therefore wouldn't be any trouble.

And this is my crew whose names I will assert— We'd be able to focus on our mission, Some of which are absent, like Sally and Hubert, Which was to go fishin', But as for the ones that are here, Fishin' for Hubert and Sally, The ones you can see so very clear, On Saturn—no time to dilly-dally.

These are Teddy and Immanuel with the top hat, And that’s Icy, Queen of Mars—isn't that phat?! The dogs are in the back room, But as a formality, I will resume,

This well rehearsed introduction, For as the captain, it is my function. From left to right, and front to back, From top to bottom, from white to black,

Or whatever order they're in, Even if that's fat to thin, There's Buster, Rex, Spot, and Puddles, And finally Sparky who likes cuddles.

Oh, and I almost forgot, With them is Franky, who's caught, Making snacks with his hot dog stand, Which the doggies eat from his hand.

And that's Sir Martian—betcha didn't know that— But these 3 behind me are where it's really at:" "Hey!" Sir Martian would shout, Feeling verklempt from the clout.

"That there's Gertrude and this is Bill, And this here is TG if you will. That's short for Travelocity Gnome— The very one who roams far from home."

"Hey dudes and dudettes, Hope there's no regrets, 'Bout us boarding y'r ship. For letting us, you sure're hip.

Now though we'd love to discuss, You'll have to excuse us, For we've got an encore to perform, For the fans back there, a wrestles swarm."

Chapter 24: A Few Moldy Buns

"Attention!" I'd say into the intercom, Franky's hot dog stand would do the trick, "This is your captain speaking, da bomb! For it was lean, mean, and really slick; If everybody's all comfy-cozy, How could he cook hamburgers and hot dogs, And feeling all peachy and rosy, Without fuel, even if just burning logs.

Let's blow this popsicle stand, "Franky," I'd say into the intercom, And on Saturn, let's aim to land, "Yeah, what's up, cap'n?" he'd say with calm, Our mission, for those who don't know— "I need you to do something for me, Namely, those performing in a show— I need your hot dog stand, for you see:

Is to rendezvous with our good friends, The engines don't have enough juice; Sally and Hubert, and make amends, I need to put your hot dog stand to good use; For our inadvertent segregation, I need to use whatever power you got, Which caused much angst and frustration. I need an extra boost—will you help or not?

Our mission, in other words, "Why, of cou'se I'w help, cap'n, Is to fly like the birds, It's de leas' I can do, bein' stwapped in, Towards Saturn and then, Stwapped into you' ship, dat is to say, Make our crew whole again. 'Cause you welcomed me just yeste'day.

So crank the voltage and rev the engine, So I owe you a favou, Engage the booster rockets without cringin', Fwom dat, I will not waver, Let's give 'er all we've got, If my hot dog stand you need, Should we hold back? I think not!" Den my hot dog stand you'll have indeed."

Well, to take off, we'd certainly try, "Good to hear, my good man," Taking off through the astral sky, I'd reply into this tin can, But the engines wouldn't seem enough, For that's all the mic would be, Like they just didn't have the right stuff. A tin can strapped to a string, you see,

The ship would creek and it would shake, After all, I'm just a two year old, But it just wouldn't soar for Heaven's sake; Not some techy genius, who's been told, It seemed like something'd be tugging us down, How to build an actual intercom, Something big and heavy, like a bejeweled crown. For a can, plus the help of my mom,

Then it would don on me—of course! Is all I'd need to communicate, We'd need several times the power of horse, With members of my crew, mate, If we were going to lift off the ground, And it would work, I tell you, Now that 3,000 people more we'd have found. For my command, Franky would do:

For have you ever tried, He'd rip out the grill from his cart, To lift a crowd of fans a mile wide? It'd take so much strain, he'd fart; It's impossible, I tell you— But in the end, he'd get the job done: Even with a mighty ship and trusty crew. He'd plug it in, and not just for fun;

Well, what could we do? He'd plug the grill into the hyperdrive, I wouldn't want to stick like glue, And all of a sudden, the ship would come alive, Stuck to the Mercurial ground; It'd receive a jolt, we'd all feel it, No, I wouldn't want to stick around. From Franky's grill, the ship would steal it.

But then, the most brilliant idea, But it wouldn't be quite enough: Would come to me like a subpoena, The engines would become a bit more tough, In the back room, where doggies would play, But they wouldn't have the right stuff, We'd have more power than the Sun at mid-day. To say to Mercury: bugger off!

It certainly wasn't the power of an A-bomb, "What about," Spot would speak true, So I'd question into the intercom: "De 10 miwwion potatoe chips colowed bwue? "What's happening, Franky? What's wrong?" De ones we paid a dolla' fo', And to make a story short that would be long: Surely a coupwe miwwion, if not mo'e,

Franky would say, sounding a bit sour: We can spawe, 4—even 5—miwwion bags, "I'm afraid she don't have de power" Is worf one dollar pwus a few dirty wags," "We've got to have power, Franky!" "I agwee, Spot," Sparky would jump in, I'd insist trying not to sound cranky. "But may I suggest dat we begin,

"I'm givin' 'er all she's got, capt'n, Wid Wex's shawe, fo' he's aweady had a ton, Like strummin' a guitar from Eric Clapton, A miwwion or so, so I say he's aweady had his fun." But I don't 'tink she can take any more, "But dat's not fair," Rex would retort, I'm givin' ya de trut', de score." "And it doesn't even make sense, sport,

Well, I wouldn't want Frank's grill to break, Fo' if you get wid of the west of my shawe, So I wouldn't insist for his sake, And keep whateve' you guys have to spawe, I'd sit there trying to think, Den in de end, you guys wiww have mo'e dan me, And into deep thought I'd sink. It's just dat you'ww get it later, you see."

Then an idea would occur to me: "Weww, dere's no way I'm getting wid of my shawe," If extra power we couldn't free, Puddles would say, defending each doggy hair, Then maybe we'd need to lose some weight, "Fo' I'm keeping my chips on de shewf, Maybe get rid of something we'd hate. And I'ww bite anyone's hand—even Gaby de ewf—

"Franky," into the intercom I'd say, If dey twy to take my chips, "Is there anything with which we can do away? Or even just touch dem to deir lips." Anything you and the dogs don't care for? "Me too," Spot would agree, Anything you can dump to the Mercurian floor?" "Fo' I paid 20 cents, you see,

"Well, cap'n" Franky would reply, Fo' my faiw shawe of dose chips, "Le'me just ask the dogs by-and-by. So I wiww fight, wiv bof thighs and hips, We'll figu'e somet'in' out, To pwese've my weww earn shawe, And den give you a shout." Fwom dose who would dawe,

So Franky would consult the dogs, To steaw what's wightfuwwy mine— Asking them not to be hogs, Dose bwue chips sacwed and divine." To let something go, "And if anyone tinks," Buster would add, So that we could get on with the show. "Of twowing out my shawe, too bad!"

"Dere must be somet'in' we can do wid'out, "Same hewe," Sparky would concur, Maybe a colla' or a chew toy, no doubt? "Fo' I bewieve in commitment fo' sure, Or maybe some snacks dat no one likes, And I'm committed to my shawe of de chips— Somet'in wid which you have guipes?" Dese a'e words of truff dat spiww fwom my wips!"

"But Fwanky," Puddles would respond, And due to irreconcilable differences, "Of evewyting you have, we a'e fond, One needn't make any inferences, I don't want to get wid of a single smokey, That the usual barking would ensue, Or one fwench fwy or one burge', okie-dokie?" Barking to no avail, it's true.

"My sentiments exactwe," Sparky would say, Amidst the doggy howling, "De chips and de pizza's gotta stay—" And each doggy face scowling, "And all de fixin's too," Rex would add, Franky would look down at his cart, "For you know I'w be extwemewy mad, And suddenly notice something rather tart,

If you twow out de welish or de mustawd, Or so it'd make him feel, at least at first, Dough I wouldn't mind if you twew out de custawd." But then he'd realize that this wasn't the worst. "Why would Fwanky have custawd?" would ask Buster, In fact, what he'd spy would be the solution, "Just sayin', Buste'; who knows what's in his snack cwuster." To all this doggy noise pollution:

There in his cart was a bag of buns, And dat means we get to tuavel, Long forgotten for many years—tons! Which means mo'e options will unuavel, He'd forgotten they were there, Options like finding a anoder venue, Forgotten so long, they'd have grown hair! One in which we can find buns fwesh and new,

Hair growing out of spores of mold, Or mo'e chips, or mo'e smokies, or mo'e pizza, Never had he seen buns so old; In fact, any snack dat pleases ya'! It'd be a tragedy, at least at first, But we gotta get off de g'ound, And it would have been the worst, Do you aguee? Is my reasoning sound?"

If all that mattered was the bottom line, Puddles would look at Spot, For losing money in this business wasn't fine, She would look perplexed, quite a lot, But in this case, it would be fine indeed, Spot, in turn, would look at Buster, For on blue chips galore, the doggies could feed. Buster of all doggies in the cluster.

"Woaw! Woaw! Woaw! Stop yo' holle'in!" Buster would look at Rex quite intently, Franky would halt the doggy arguin', Who'd also look perplexed, evidently, "Evuybody calm down, evuybody jus' welax, And then look at Sparky, I got a solution, I got yo' backs. Who, out of the doggy hierarchy,

Just look at dis, will ya? Would look back at Puddles, I'm sure it will trill ya:" Thus encircling one of their many huddles, The moldy buns, Franky'd pull from his stand, Puddles would look back at Franky, He'd hold them high up in his hand. And say in a tone not so cranky:

"You wanna toss de buns, Fwanky?" "Fwanky, my dear, we accept yo' pwoposal, Rex would say, "Dat'd make us cwanky! You may add de buns to de gawbage disposal." What if I wanna hambu'ge'? "Excellent!" Franky would ignite, Whadya gonna use? A block of suga'?" "Den let's put dose buns outa sight."

"No, Rex," Franky would reply, "Cap'n," Franky would say into the intercom, "Use a block a' suga'? Why would I? "We have a puan, and it's de bomb— I got plen'y of buns, don't fwet, Not a bomb, but de bomb— It's jus' dat, to info'm you, I reguet, You know, just so'z not to ala'm—"

But moldy, dese buns have become, "Hey, man," I'd reply into the intercom, And I tink you'd have to be weally dumb, "Even if it was a bomb, To eat hambu'ge's on moldy buead, So long as it boosts us off the ground, Fo' dat'd make you sick, if not dead. I'd be happy just to be space-bound."

So you guys can keep yo' blue chips, So Franky'd carry through with the plan, You can savo' eve'y one dat touches yo' lips, In fact, he'd do it one better, man; But dese buns he'e, well dey're a lost cause, Rather than throw the buns out, And dough we will miss dem, dere a'e laws, Which'd be starting to smell like trout,

Laws of culinary etiquette, laws of good taste, He'd throw them right into the grill, Dat tell us buns like dese would feel like paste, Where they'd burn and burn until, A guoss, moldy paste dat taste like scum, Not only would they lose weight, Worse dan a smelly, poopy bum, But the extra fuel would satiate,

So de way I see it, my doggy fueinds, The hungry engine's lust for fire and blaze, Is dat dese buns have seen deir ends, Pushing us off Mercury in a haze, And so we have to trow dem out, For we wouldn't fail, we wouldn't blow it, But dat's no reason to scueam and shout, We'd be up in space before you'd know it.

Fo' yo' blue chips, you guys get ta keep, Which, at night, will help you sleep, And besides, if a bit of weight we lose, Den leaving dis joint is de option to choose,

Chapter 25: Worm Holes, Elvis Presley, and the Realm of the Dead

At this point in our journey, An apple in which the worm would've resided, We'd set our course, not for Fernie, But of this news, in me no one would've confided, Fernie, BC, that is—in Canada— So I admit, this is just a guess, No way, man, not there—uh-uh, no, nada! What's for sure is that we'd be in a mess,

We'd set our course for Saturn, And that at least a worm hole it would be like, Which the Sun, like a brightly lit lantern, This tunnel, like a water dyke, Would be blocking, obstructing, impeding; Which we'd be careening through, Any time soon, it would not be receding. Me and my loyal crew.

So what would we do? And the worst of the worse, Well, I'll give you a clue: Was certainly a curse, What would you do if, For this worm hole, this spacetime tunnel, A big guy named Bubba, standing stiff, Was spiraling us, like into a funnel,

Stood there blocking your way? Straight towards the Sun, Would you just stand there all day? Which certainly wasn't fun. Or would you simply walk around, But not to worry, not to panic, And continue to wherever you're bound? Chill, relax, eat some bannock;

You'd walk around, of course, For you see, when a worm eats a hole, You wouldn't need a lot of force, Like the burrowing of dirt by a mole, Just a simple turn of direction, Through the very fabric of space and time, No pressure, just a suggestion. He eats his way out of the grime,

But since I'd be the captain without question, The grimy physical world, that is to say, It would be more than just a suggestion; And into a realm above the spacetime fray— I would command: "Go around the Sun!"— That is, a realm outside time and outside space— Yeah, that ought'a do it—job done! It sounds absurd, but it would be the case.

But as soon as we'd set our course, In a realm without time, As soon as we'd gallop away like a horse, Things are pristine and sublime, As soon as we'd make it a few yards, In a realm without space, Fate would have it in her cards, There's no room to stick your face.

That we'd get sucked back in, The only things that can fit here, We'd get pulled as though by a pin, Are apparitions and ghosts—oh dear! Stuck into us like a hook; For you see, what that entails, Our goose, would it cook? For us behind the spacetime veils,

Well, we'd soon find out: Is that ghosts we'd certainly be, For this is what would happen, no doubt: Not dead per se—but oh my, oh me— It would be as if we were sucked in, We'd be among the dead, or at least, Into a worm hole, that is, thick or thin, In the realm of the past-on and deceased.

It'd be as if, out here in space, So long story short, we'd be safe, A hungry worm was thrown, whose face, For though the heat would surely chafe, He'd have stuffed with a scrumptious meal, Our comfortable 20 degree cocpit, A meal made of spacetime fabric, for real. And my comfy chair where I'd sit,

Why would a worm be in this exact spot? We'd be safe from burns and scars, I don't presume to know—no I do not— For through even the hottest stars, But if I were to guess, I'd say, Our bodies could pass through without scaith, Someone would have thrown, just yesterday, For how could you harm a ghost, a wraith?

So indeed our ship would continue, What the ghost of Elvis Presley, Towards the Sun, but we'd just pass through, Would be doing aboard our ship was, frankly, We'd stream straight towards the center, Not immediately obvious, no it wouldn't be, Through the surface, into the furnace, we'd enter, But that question wouldn't be on our minds, no siree.

We'd pass through screaming and shouting, He'd strum a chord on his guitar, as I said, For though safe, we'd still be doubting, And sing a song that'd make you bop your head, The fact that we and our ship, It was certainly the distraction we'd need, In virtue of falling into the spacetime rip, So that, on the flames, our fears wouldn't feed.

Would have entered the realm of the dead, He'd sing: "♫ Well, I don't care if the Sun don't shine, ♬ Thus ghosts would we be instead, ♩ ♪ I get my lovin' in the evenin' time, ♭ Instead of living physical bodies, ♫ ♯ When I'm with my baby, ♪" Like shoes, shovels, and port-o-potties, Would this be for real? Well, maybe.

Any of which, if you threw into the Sun, "♫♬ Well, it ain't no fun with the Sun around, ♪ Would burn up (watching that would be fun), ♭♮ I get goin' when the Sun goes down, ♬ But throwing ourselves into flames burning hot— ♪♪ And I'm with my baby, ♫" he'd continue— Why, that wouldn't be so fun—certainly not. A pleasant distraction for me and my crew.

But thank goodness, our bodies would be gone, He'd go on playing his song, But hopefully, not for that long, While our ship, headlong, Just long enough to pass through the Sun, Would be delving deeper into the Sun, Which, at least presently, wouldn't be fun. But at least we'd be having fun,

We'd be screaming and shouting, like I said, "Thank you... thank you v'ry much," Fearing we'd die, though we'd already be dead, His gratitude he'd express and such, For it'd be strange feeling, indeed it would, After which we'd resume our screaming, To see flames all around where we'd have stood, For into the flames we'd still be streaming.

Yet feel cozy and cool, unscarred, unharmed— "Woaw! Woaw! Woaw!" the King would yell, That in itself, would have me alarmed— "What's with all the screamin'? Please, do tell." If it wasn't for the fact that, "Huh?" we'd all turn our heads to look, Distracted we'd be by someone fat: As if our attention was grabbed by a hook.

Who would this fat man be? "The screamin', what's with all the screamin'? Are you asking? Are you asking me? With fear and dread, you folks are teamin'. Why, it would be unmistakably, Are y'all afraid of the flames out there? Unquestionably, undoubtedly, Elvis Presley! 'Fraid it might singe your hair?

That's right, the King, the Big E, Don't y'all know y're dead? The Memphis Flash, the one and only: That not a hair off y'r purtty little head, Elvis Presley—believe you me! Not a single one'll be burnt away, For there he'd be in all his glory! No sir, no ma'am, not today.

As though Scotty beamed him aboard, Not if y're dead like me. And on his guitar, he'd strike a chord, Ghosts, as it were, y'see? His ghost guitar that is, for you see, F'r if y're dead, y'can't get more dead— An apparition, a phantom, would he be. Nothin' can harm ya, not even flames bright red."

For it is a well known fact, Well, we'd be speechless for sure, That sometime after his final act, Our utter confusion would be pure, Elvis Presley, dearly beloved, died, For all these events, all this chaos, Kicked the bucket, bit the dust, and many cried. All the stress, would leave us at a loss,

So it's no surprise that here he'd be, A loss for how to react, Among the dead, or in the realm thereof, you see, What to say, how to feel in fact, For only a ghost can see a ghost, But as the captain of the crew, A skill about which the dead can boast. I couldn't just sit there and stew,

I'd need to take action, From crashin' into the Sun, Within seconds or even a fraction, And y'r ship too, hon, I'd say the first thing that came to mind: So what that means, boys and girls, "Dead did you say? As in, leaving life behind?" Is that the cause of all these frilly-furls,

"Yeah, dead," would reply the Big E, This random, confusing, chaotic event, "Passed on, deceased, kicked the bucket, like me— Is that you must have been sent, Or don't y'all know? Aren't you aware? Through a rip in space and time, Heh! Y'ain't, are ya? You folks there. Like a wormhole, whether reason or rhyme."

F'r if we're havin' this conversation, "Wow, Mr. Presley, you sure are smart," It means y'ain't on no vacation, Sir Martian would say before he'd fart— You've gotta be dead, passed on brotha', An awkward silence would fill the room; Otherwise we couldn't see each otha'." So would a stench like a terrible fume,

"OH MY GOD, WE DIED!!!" Immanual would exclaim, "Aaanywaaay..." I'd break the silence, "We died on impact—the Sun is to blame!" "So I guess we're free from harm and violence, "Nonsense!" Gertrude would add, But for how long, Mr. Presley? "My good man, have you gone mad? For how long, heavens to Betsy?!"

For if ve vere dead, vouldn't you sink, "Now, don't you folks worry, Zat quicker zan ze eye can blink, We ain't in no hurry, Our ship would have been destroyed, All wormholes gotta end, By ze Sun, as if hit by an asteroid?" All wormholes gotta send,

"Well ma'am," EP would reiterate, Send whatever they swalla’, "I can assure you, y're all late, Into their spacetime bellies halla’, The late crew of this ship, you are, Out the other side, Dearly departed in this burning star." Across the great spacetime divide,

"If this is true," Immanuel would say, So y'all just sit back and relax, "That we died some time earlier today, Don't let the flames tax, Yet here we still are in our ship, Y’r nerves and y’r fears, This kind of gives me a tip, Just perk up y’r ears,

That, in some strange way, Lemme play y'all somethin' sublime, Our ship died too on this day." Somethin' to pass the time, Bill would look perplexed by this idea, Somethin' to ease your mind, "Don't be ridiculous; even if we said 'see ya,' Somethin' to leave your worries behind,

To the world earlier today, Why, by the time I'm done, Would our ship come with us? Nay! You'll be outa the Sun, For it doesn't have a soul, Spat out the other side, In fact, the very idea makes me LOL!" Of this wormhole spannin' wide,

"That, good sir," Mr. Presley would disagree, Y’all will return to your physical bodies, Is folly, a misconception, for y'see, Back among the livin', among the hotties, Everything has a soul, even y'r ship, Handsome men and handsome women, F'r I should know—ain't that a trip?! Among all them you'll be swimmin',

Though y'r right—at least on this point by-and-by— So let me ease your troubles, That clunky things like ships don't 'die', Make 'em go away like poppin' bubbles, But they can pass on, transition, they can skip, By playin' y'all a little somethin' somethin'," To other dimensions, as though through a rip, And to sing, the King did begin:

A rip in spacetime that is to say, "♯♪ Are you lonesome tonight? ♪♪" And maybe that's what happened earlier today, His voice would be soft and light, Maybe y'all just passed through a rip in space, "♫ Do you miss me tonight? ♬♪" Which would certainly save y'r face, It'd set our moods just right.

It would be just what we'd need, Well, lemme tell y'somethin', girls 'n boys, As we'd pass through the Sun with speed, Them sightin's true—not just a bunch a' noise— We wouldn't even realize, after a minute, F'r back to the land of the livin' I come— That the Sun—we'd no longer be in it. Sometimes, on occasion, for a bit a' fun,

We'd be back out in space, So they ain't wrong, them tabloid reports— Still in the wormhole, in any case, Except for this one thing, sports— Still in the land of the dead, They draw the conclusion that I'm still alive, Still without a body or a head. But as you can see, I'm as dead as a grungy dive.

But it wouldn't be too long— In any case, it's been a while, About when EP'd finish his song— Since I played in style, That we'd get spat out, For an audience as appreciative as you, The wormhole, like from a spout, That is to say, this fantastic crew,

And wouldn't you know it— And to be honest with y'all, To fate, we'd owe it— It's forced me to recall, We'd have gotten out alive— Somethin' I've missed 'bout livin', Literally! Into our bodies we'd arrive, For too long have I bin' rivetin',

Back into the world of the living— In the warmth of the Sun, Something to praise at Thanksgiving— Which, for a while, was fun, For while our bodies would have skipped, But it's bin' so long, All that space and time (because it was ripped), So long I could write a song,

And our spirits, our souls, A song 'bout how I've forgotten— Would have slipped into their roles, In fact, my memory's gone rotten— Now that we'd be in the spacetime continuum, My memory of the warmth of people, Our bodies would return from whence they did come. A warmth so invitin' like a Church steeple,

And we'd be alive once again— A warmth more cozy than that of the Sun, All the women and men— A warmth from which I have for too long run, All except for one, that is to say— But now, playing for you folks, Mr. Presley—who'd seem here to stay— I remember, for you chicks and blokes,

In ghost form, that is, not in body, Have reminded me of how much I love, As though he were being naughty— Playing for an audience—not just kind of, As though he decided to sneak back, But f'r sure, f'r certain, Even if a body he would lack, F'r bein' gone's caused a whole lotta hurtin',

Such a thing should not be allowed, Hangin' 'round the Sun's bin fun, But here he'd be, that rebel, looking proud, F'r when y'r life's had a good run, Looking like he'd broken the rules, There ain't much else to do, Like staying among the dead was for fools, And, well, rather than sit and stew,

"Wow, uh," I'd chuckle, "We're back! Hangin' 'round my grave stone cold, And apparently so are you—that's wack! I thought I'd explore places new and old, For how can it be, Mr. Presley? And as a ghost, I gotta say, How can we still see you so expressly?" You can go anywhere, any time, any day,

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," he'd say, So it wasn't long before I decided, "This certainly wouldn't be the first day, By an idea, to be guided, When I'd make an encore, as it were, To check out the Sun, A second coming, for sure. As a ghost, I thought it'd be fun—

I'm sure y'all heard, haven't ya? I knew I wouldn't burn, From all the tabloids they've sent ya? So from that idea I didn't turn, 'Bout all the Elvis sightin's? I flew straight into the Sun, The one's the papers' bin writin's? And a new era in my life begun,

I enjoyed the lights, I enjoyed the heat, Oh, and I almost forgot, A paradise like the Sun couldn't be beat, With them is Franky, who's caught, But I enjoyed it too much, I s'ppose, Making snacks with his hot dog stand, I enjoyed it so much I did repose, Which the doggies eat from his hand.

In the warmth and the comfort, And across from that room, With a new home I did consort, Emitting sounds like: Boom! Boom! And after a while, I did forget, Is the Rockin' Dead, Proly for 40 years, I'll bet, Allow me to name each head:

'Bout the value of others, First, there's Slate—that's what he said, 'Bout all my sisters and borthers, Before calling me an elf, that stupid head— 'Bout my fans, that is to say, And then there's his main man Ace, Like you folks, here today. Who's totally wicked on the base,

So I'm glad I met y'all, And the keyboardist who’s also there, Playin' for ya wasn't a bad call, The one with the wily hair, F'r it's enticed me to stick 'round, Is Duke, keyboardist extraordinaire, Among the livin', wherever y'r bound." (He also runs a shop: The Scrumptious Donair),

"Well gee, Mr. Presley, that's swell," And finally, behind them is Biff, the drummist; Sir Martian'd say without making a smell— Don't mistake him for the dumbest, Which would be much appreciated, For he's totally smart and stuff, Unlike last time, which we'd have hated. And if that's not enough,

"I concur," I'd concur, He's awesome at figure skating, "And if, Mr. Presley, sir, Which is why Slate's totally debating, You wish to be inaugurated, Turning their gig into an ice show— Into our crew, it needn't be debated, Seriously, man! Totally, like, y'know—

That introductions are in order, And that's Sir Martian—betcha didn't know that— For only introductions will clear the border, But these 3 behind me are where it's really at:" The boundary that is, and other such dividers— "Dude!" Sir Martian would shout, That between insiders and outsiders. Feeling verklempt from the clout.

So allow me to introduce myself, "That there's Gertrude and this is Bill, I'm two years old, and small as an elf. And this here is TG if you will. I'm a cute little boy named Gabriel, That's short for Travelocity Gnome— And so I fit cribs and onesies very well. The very one who roams far from home.

And this is my crew whose names I will assert— These are just a few, Some of which are absent, like Sally and Hubert, Of the members of my crew, But as for the one's that are here, But to name the rest, The ones you can see so very clear, Would take days at best,

These are Teddy and Immanuel with the top hat, For there's 3,000 members more, And that’s Icy, Queen of Mars—isn't that phat?! And they're all behind that door, The dogs are in the back room, Each one banging his or her head, But as a formality, I will resume, To the sounds of the Rockin' dead."

This well rehearsed introduction, "Hi y'all," Elvis would say, For as the captain, it is my function. "Glad to be on board y'r ship today, From left to right, and front to back, Glad to be among the livin' once more— From top to bottom, from white to black, F’r the realm of the dead was becoming a bore."

Or whatever order they're in, And thus our crew would be complete— Even if that's fat to thin, Well, it would be soon, when we'd meet, There's Buster, Rex, Spot, and Puddles, Meet Hubert and Sally, that is to say, And finally Sparky who likes cuddles. Meet them on Saturn, later today.

But at least we'd be past the Sun— An ordeal mixed with fear and fun— It'd be clear sailing from here on in, Not like where we'd have been.

Chapter 26: The Marriage Express (a.k.a. The Great Reunion—Part II)

Finding Saturn would be easy as cake, From that very spot, A cake that wouldn't take long to bake, But that I think not— For we'd soon see, in no time at all, So we must find this spot, Straight ahead, that great ringed ball, The very spot where you were caught,

We'd make our approach with caution, Snatched up by the carny, that is— Flying in low with fashion, Which I'm sure fills you with riz— I'd command that we go in orbit, So this all depends on you, So the view below, we could absorb it, And your memory, which I hope remains true."

Then I'd summon for TG, "Er, well, uh, ee—" "TG!" I'd call out, you see, Would reply TG, "Yes captain," TG would reply, "I'll dew my best, captain, Poking out his head, looking me in the eye, Let me just see what's happenin'

"Come stand next to me," Out the window the'e, He'd hop to it quickly, Let me take extua ca'e, From Sir Martian's backpack, he'd jump And Let me look around the landscape, onto the floor he'd make a gentle thump, On Satu'n, round like a guape.

He'd scurry over with his gnomish feet, Hmm... um... nope, not the'e, And stand ready to serve next to my seat, Now whe'e did I land, whe'e? "You see that vast planet out there?" Er, pe'haps ova the'e, I'd question as out the window I’d stare, Let me give it a good sta'e.

"Why yes, captain—that's Satu'n, I believe— Mmm... well, on second thought, Unless my eyes deceive me o' I'm totally naive." Neeew, that isn't the spot, "Well, you ain't naive," I'd say, Now, whe'e else might it be? "For indeed we arrived at Saturn today, Let me just look, let me see.

But now a bigger challenge we face, Weeelll, maybe behind that ferris wheel, A challenge we surely need to ace— Maybe—I mean, I don't really feel, What is that challenge, you ask? Absolutely ce'tain that that's the spot, How to find our friends who down there bask, In fact, now I'm thinking it's not,

Our friends Hubert and Sally, So let me continue to scan, For at which venue, down which alley, The su'face of Satu'n as long as I can," Will we find them, Bill would roll his eyes, On this wonderful gem? While Gertrude would advise:

I summoned you specifically, "Good God, hurry up man!" Because you can, scientifically, "I'm gewing as fast as I can!" And with the least amount of doubts, TG would make Gertrude feeling hushed, Deduce, by memory, their whereabouts, "These things cannot be rushed!"

For I gather from the postcard, So we'd wait and wait and wait, That finding them shouldn't be too hard, Until, in the day, quite a bit late, So long as we land, TG would finally zero in on a spot, Close to that carny stand, And by that, our focus was caught,

The one where you landed, We'd set our course there, While driving this very ship single handed, On that spot is where, For they couldn't be too far, We'd aim to land, Unless they're travelling by car, Behind the carny stand,

Or so we would have thought, All with white skin and red noses, Until we arrived at the spot, Some big enough to really smell the roses, And got a pie on the windshield, Some with funny colored hair, Whipped cream pie with bananas peeled, Like a rainbow landed up there.

A pie throwing contest, apparently, Some would be powdering their faces, Was what we'd have interrupted, evidently, Others, tying their giant shoe laces— And it would be my guess, That is, before we'd barge in at least, Judging by the mess, Quite rudely, unannounced, from the East.

All over the windshield, you know, Well, I wouldn't know, That we'd have intercepted a throw, Amidst this lady clown show, And hence would tick the people off, Whose embarrassment would be more: Which is why they would scoff, These pour girls, preparing for an encore,

The crowd below, that is to say, Or us, having no intention, Prompting more pies to come our way, Of even making the suggestion, They'd throw them all—no matter the flavor— Of invading this boudoir, Cherry, apple, or chocolate cookie wafer. On this fine evening, se soir.

"Activate windshield wipers!" Regardless, I'd feel bad, I'd command, and like snipers, And at the same time, kinda mad, My crew would act with precision, Mad at TG, that is to say, Pushing exactly the windshield wiper button, For, once again, leading us astray.

The mush would be wiped away, But I'd put that aside for now, On the windshield it wouldn't stay, And try to make amends, somehow— But where one pie would hit, That is, I'd have to apologize— Another would land like spit, And I mean seriously, super-size!

But it would offer us enough visibility, I'd turn on the external speaker, To see through the windshield and flee, And attempting to make the tension weaker, Leaving behind an upset crowd, I'd say: "Oh, geez, excuse us ladies, Shouting "BOO!!!" really, really loud. For barging in like a Mercedes,

So back up in space we would be, Driving aimlessly and out of control, Once again, I would summon TG, Or like a pilot taking his toll, Asking him to try once more, Because his STUPID NAVIGATOR!!! And again, he'd look to the Saturnian floor. Was acting like a forgetful waiter:

An hour or two would go past, Remembering taking orders from a table, Until at last, at last, But finding he's completely unable, TG would recognize another spot, To remember where to deliver the food, Hopefully, this time, he'd be mistaken not. And so interrupts customers, being rude.

In space, we wouldn't linger, So I apologize on behalf of my crew, Right away, we'd follow his finger, And in this boudoir, we will no longer stew, To the spot to which he'd point, In order that we will no longer aggrieve, Which would be a quaint looking joint, Please allow us to take our leave."

In fact, we'd end up in a boudoir, I'd put our ship into reverse, feeling daft, With all the lights on, not noir, And backup into the ventilation shaft— And so we'd embarrass all the clowns— For those would have been his instructions, That's right—lady clowns in their night gowns, TG's that is, before these rude interruptions:

And their nickers, their underwear, We'd have followed his finger, like I said, It'd be hard not to stare. Which would have pointed straight ahead, There they'd be, scampering and scurrying, Towards a circus tent, or so it would seem, Around the room they'd be hurrying, And as we'd get closer, his finger, like a beam,

Would be pointed at an open vent, The union, that is, of Sally and Hubert, And so it would have been him that sent, Performed by justice of the peace, Q-Burt— Us into these ventilation ducts, That's right, from the video game— Into the boudoir, rather than Starbucks. For retired is he, thinking it lame,

But now we'd be reversing, To spend an entire career jumping down stairs, And under my breath, I'd be cursing, And much better is his time spent elsewheres, But not for long, for soon we'd be back, Like marrying couples truly in love, Back up in space for another attack, Love so pure like the white of a dove,

I'd give TG another chance; So our most beloved video game character— Would his luck, this time, enhance? Q-Burt that is—is marrying, under sunny weather, No way, man! Are you kidding?! A wonderful couple named Hubert and Sally, For this time, following TG's bidding, So come ye, one and all, and rally,

Would wind us up in the Andromeda galaxy, Rally behind this beautiful couple, Certainly far from Saturn and Alex T., Don't stay still—be supple— Alex Trebek, that is, host of Jeopardy, Change your plans, whatever they are, For it's technically true, and it rhymes, you see. Whether you're playing cards or at the bar,

So once again, we'd back track, Come one and all, come to the wedding, Returning to Saturn for another attack; Of Sally and Hubert, before the Sun starts setting, This time, I'd figure, Just follow the trail, We'd need a mnemonic trigger, The one at my tail,

Something to trigger TG's memory, The trail of rose petals, that is to say, Not something vague, but solid like emery, For once on that path, it'll make your day, So there I'd sit in my captain's chair, Just follow the path of rose petals, Thinking, as out the window I'd stare, Follow it until it settles,

I'd look at that boisterous planet, On the Saturnian ground, Thinking of all that did span it— And then you will have found, The rides, the carnies, all the tourists— A quaint little chapel, the Marriage Express— Trying to be sure, the surest, Nothing too formal—it's casual dress—

The surest I could be, We're not snobs here on Saturn, On how to jog TG's memory, Not a single soul do we turn, When all of a sudden, From our fabulous weddings at the Express, Into view, something would come in, So wherever you're from, don't distress,

It'd be a planet, I'd think, Come on down, come on in, Smaller than Saturn, as if it did shrink, Everyone's invited—a win/win! In fact, it'd be more like a moon, So don't be coy, don't be shy, One of 62, which Saturn has—a real boon, Just follow the trail—need I ask why?"

A real turn of luck, for you see, Making circles around the man, This sudden appearance, fortunately, The one with a top hat and a tan, Of this, Titan, Saturn's greatest moon, Would be a cute little girl, Would be our guide very soon, In her hair, a cute little curl,

As soon, that is, as I'd spy, Several curls, in fact, all throughout, Someone at the North pole, some guy— All throughout her hair, no doubt, For there at the top would be a man, She'd be making circles, as I said, A man with a top hat, and a dark tan. Skipping around the man tanned beat red,

Into a megaphone, he'd be shouting a call: A basket of rose petals, she’d carry, "Hear ye, hear ye, one and all, Roses colored red, like strawberry, Announcing the union of a lovely couple, And she'd take handfuls, as much as she could, A couple of singles soon to be double: And throw them into the wind, she would,

This would create the trail, There before the setting Sun would stand, The one spoken of in the man's tale, The towering steeple looking grand, By the solar winds, they'd be blown, And a song would be heard, I'd swear, Making a trail like a path of stone, Coming from the church over there.

The moon would pass out of view, It'd be a song of beauty, a song of love, And so would the man and little girl too, As if it came from the Heavens above, But attached to the moon would be a banner, It'd beckon us forward, to peer within, Waving and flapping, in a sort of manner, For surely that wouldn't be a sin.

In the solar winds like a flag, The doors would be wide open, Or like a kite, or like a tag, So we'd walk right in hopin', Stuck to a shirt or a pair of pants, Hopin' the announcement was right, But bigger, like a house compared to ants, That before the alter in full sight,

It would read: "Special announcement: Our beloved friends would be, Come one and all, witness the pronouncement, Our beloved friends, Hubert and Sally; Of Sally and Hubert to be soon united, We'd peer inside, all of us would, In the bond of marriage—you're surely invited!" Fitting as many heads as we could,

Well, I'd remember what the man said, That would be Sir Martian and me, The one standing atop the moon at its head: And of course, TG, He'd have said to follow the trail, Immanual would peer too, Of rose peddles, like slime from a snail. And of course Icy, all blue.

"Follow that trail!" I'd command, Even the dogs along with Franky, And my crew, ready at hand, Would disembark, bringing a hanky Would know exactly what to do: (It'd be for Franky, you see— With my command, they'd follow through. Weddings make him cry, believe you me).

They'd kick the ship into gear, Slate would be there too, The rockets thrusting from the rear, Sticking his head through: And we'd be hot on the trail, "What's goin' on, dudes?" he'd ask, Like a postman delivering mail. Mr. Presley would take on the task,

The trail would lead, it certainly would, Of answering his question: To the Saturnian grounds, it's understood, "Well, if I can make a suggestion, And once there, it would continue on, I reckons it's a weddin'. Twisting and winding like a convoluted song, Ain' it beautiful with the Sun settin'?"

We'd follow it until on the horizon, "I hate weddings," Biff would step in, Before the light of the setting Sun, With a scowl on his face, a reverse grin, We'd see it—the Marriage Express— Ace would reply: "Come on, dude, Tall and white—like a wedding dress. Lighten up, chillax, don't be rude."

We'd hover over the parking lot, "I'm not being rude," Biff would retort, Looking for the perfect spot, All defensive, "just delivering a report— To land our ship and disembark, You know, stating a fact, Eager to reunite before dark, Don't tell me how to act."

To reunite with old friends, "Chill mate," Duke would react, To reunite and make amends, "New one's telling you how to act—" For ever splitting up in the first place, "SHHH!!!" Gertrude would cut them short. To see each other again, face to face. Immediately, their bickering they'd abort.

Finding a spot wouldn't be that hard, "Good call Gertrude," Bill would say, It'd be easy as finding your own back yard, "You sure command respect, I must say." So we'd land and exit the ship, To which Gertrude would reply: Glad to be over our long space trip. "I said shush! Need I ask why?"

We'd peer inside, like I said, "Wa-wa-we-wa-wo-wa-wa-wo, Looking at the pews ahead, Wa-wa-where-wa-wa-quo," There would sit, here and there, He'd say through his trumpet snout, A few carnies, clowns with purple hair, Which would mean, no doubt:

Some of which would be from the boudoir, "Dearly beloved, we’re gathered here today, One bopping her head to the singing of the choir, To join in holy matrimony, if I may..." And contestants from the pie throwing games, Yada, yada, yada... all that stuff, There'd also be (I wouldn’t know their names), You get the picture—I've said enough.

The rest would be just a small smattering, The formalities would be long and boring, Filling the rest of the scattering, Causing Immanuel to start snoring, A few passerbies and tourists, Especially since all we'd hear, Visitors to Saturn, plus a jurist. Would be "wa" and "wo" and "weer".

Looking to the alter, But it would be beautiful, I must admit, With eyes that don't falter, To see in their eyes that this was it: I'd see them, our friends, Divine love at last, pure and true, It wouldn't take a lens, Between two members of my crew.

There'd be Hubert, standing tall, And finally, it would happen: In a tuxedo fit for a ball, Q-Bert would say "Wo-wa-wappin," Looking good, looking handsome, Which would mean: "You may kiss the bride," Looking sharp and then some. But that's just a guess, I must confide,

Standing beside him, I would be right, of course, Looking lovely and trim, For they'd kiss, sealing the anti-divorce, Would be Sally in a gown so white, Everyone would clap and go "Aaawww," The darkest corners, it would light, Including us, for our hearts it did thaw.

With a radiance so pure, A tear would slip down the face of Franky, Hearts would melt for sure, As he'd wipe it away with his hanky. For she'd be the image of beauty, Icy would rest her head on Immanuel's shoulder, Elegant and lovely, a real cutie. And Immanuel, with his arm, would hold her.

Standing before them would be, Bill, to Gertrude, would do the same, A pyramid of squares, for you see, In reaction to which, she'd call him a name: There had to be—for if you recall, "Get avay from me, you imbecile! That long winded speech and all, Vat do you sink zis is, Notting Hill?"

Delivered by the man on the Moon, After their passionate kiss, Who said that very soon, Sealing this moment of bliss, There'd be a wedding— The newly weds would turn around, Hurry, before the Sun starts setting— Thrilled to see what they'd have found.

You'll remember that it'd be Q-Bert, "Captain Gaby?!" Sally would say, Who'd be marrying dear Sally and Hubert, "Sir Martian?!" would say Hubert today, So of course, he'd have to have a pyramid— "Immanuel?!" Sally would take her turn, I mean, who'd even think of getting rid— "Icy?!" in Hubert, the memory would burn,

Of the one thing that makes Q-Bert, "Bill?!" Sally would recognize, The lovable character he is, I do assert. "Gertrude?!" Hubert'd say in surprise, So down the pyramid Q-Bert would hop, "TG?!" Sally would say at last, Until he’d hit the bottom, he wouldn't stop. The memories flooding in like a blast.

And when that would happen, "Yes, it's us," I'd reply, When he'd touch ground, he'd start rappin', "Your old friends, by-and-by." And I don't mean singing hip-hop, "AAAH!!!" Sally would scream, I mean a few words he'd drop: As she'd dash like a shooting stream,

Towards us down the isle, Ze tears streaming down my face, On her face, a gigantic smile. For usually I don't embrace, She'd give Icy a big ol' fat hug, Zese sentimental feelings und such, And say to Immanuel: "Hey, you big ol' lug!" For I don't give into emotions zat much,

Hubert would strut right behind her, But ze fact of ze matter is, Glad to see us too, for sure. I missed you, darling, it's true, 't'is, "If it isn't my favorite captain," Und I've come to realize, srough zis ordeal, He'd say as I'd respond: "What's happenin'?" Srough zese misadventures so surreal,

We'd shake hands and embrace, Zat I vas wrong, darling, I vaz wrong, With a look of joy on each face, To vine und complain, as zough to a song, "And if it isn't my good friend Bill," About you dragging me along, With warmth their hearts would fill, From Uranus to Hong Kong,

As they'd shake hands and embrace as well, Or verever it is you're from, "Seeing you again sure is swell," Darling dear, for not only have I come, Bill would reply with a true heart, Back to ze place from which I vonce vaz, "And Sir Martian who works at Wall Mart!" But I've been caught in the jaws,

Sally would say as she hugged him too, Of a great adventure of learning, "How are you?! How are you?!" Srough experiences und perspectives turning, "Oh, you know," Sir Martian would reply, Und it's made me realize, darling, "Same ol', same ol', by-and-by." Zat you did me a favor, young starling,

Then to TG she'd turn her head, You introduced me to an incredible crew, Whose face would turn beat red, To a wonderful group of people, it's true, "Still hangin' 'round the ol' gang?" Und razer zan complain, darling, I ought to sank you, She'd ask him, in her voice a twang, For it is an honor to be part of zis crew."

"Unfo'tunately so," TG would reply, "Did you just admit that you were wrong?" "Though, ove' it, I wouldn't cuy, Bill would pipe in before long, I would have hoped that, by now, But before Gertrude could reply, I would have been home somehow, Hubert would ask why:

But of cou'se, by these blokes, "Why, Gaby, my favorite captain, I'm fo'ced, by some cosmic hoax, It seems like you've strapped in, To be duagged along fo' the ride, A few extra people to your crew, But at least, I can hide, Or are they not actually with you?"

In this backpack, as it we'e I'd chuckle at this comment, The irony being, to be su'e, And reply without being hesitant: That I'm back exactly whe'e I sta'ted, "Nah, they're with me, Hubert my man, Oh, and Si' Ma'tian just fa'ted." Let me introduce you if I can:

"Oh, not again dude," would say Ace, With the dogs is Franky, who's been caught, Embarrassment showing on Sir Martian's face, Wiping from his face the snot, "And Gertrude," Sally would turn her attention, That's dripping from his nose, About to hug her, but then on reflection, And would otherwise hit his toes,"

Would hold out her hand to shake instead. "Hey, it's de twenty fiust centu'y," Gertrude would hesitate, thinking in her head: Would protest an embarrassed Franky, Should I shake, or should I hug? "Can' a guy cuy at a weddin', And finally, the indecision she would shrug: Wit' de beautiful Sun settin'?"

"Oh!" she would give in, After which I'd resume: Hugging Sally so thin, "Emitting sounds like: Boom! Boom! "I'm sorry, darling," she'd continue, Is the Rockin' Dead, "For veakness, I hope you don't construe, Allow me to name each head:

That there's Slate, taller than an elf, But none of that would matter now, (But that's the platform shoes if I say so myself), For we'd finally be together—WOW!!! And that there's his main man Ace, The whole crew—united at last— Who's totally wicked on the base, In the midst of a wedding—what a blast!!!

And the keyboardist over there, Back to the ship we'd go, The one with the wily hair, Each gal and each bro, Is Duke, keyboardist extraordinaire, Each to his or her own position, (He also runs a shop: The Scrumptious Donair), Each knowing it well with precision,

And finally, behind me is Biff, the drummist; The doggies, for example, Don't mistake him for the dumbest, Would have knowledge more than ample, For he's totally smart and stuff, That their position was to play, And if that's not enough, To play poker night and day,

He's awesome at figure skating, And Franky too—he'd know— Which is why Slate's totally debating, That his job, in this gong show, Turning their gig into an ice show— Was to serve snacks and goodies, Seriously, man! Totally, like, y'know—" To all the dogs wearing hoodies,

"No," would reply Hubert, And the Rockin' Dead, "And finally," I'd assert, Well, they'd know that each head— "This ghostly figure beside me, Would not bang unless— Is the one and only, Elvis Presley. And this I must stress—

These are just a few, They actually lived up, Of the extra members of my crew, To their name, saying: "S'UP?! But to name the rest, ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?!?!" Would take days at best, And like the work of a clock,

For there's 3,000 members more, The crowd would reply: And they're all behind a door, "YEAY!!!" with a deafening cry, A door on my ship back there, "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!" Slate would taunt, Each one with wild and crazy hair, "WE SAID YEAY!!!" their enthusiasm they'd flaunt,

Each one banging his or her head, "WHAT?!?" Slate would drag it on, To the sounds of the Rockin' dead. "WE SAID YEAY!!!" the game they'd prolong, Usually, that is, when they're playing, "WELL THEN LET'S ROCK!!!" Not now obviously, just saying." ^ This response: not a huge shock.

"Greetings!" Hubert would say, So from the back room, "Hi everyone," Sally would convey, Would come BOOM, BOOM!!! "And welcome one and all, As for the rest, To our wedding, each bloke and doll." My friends, the best:

Well, it couldn't get any better, Sally, Hubert, Immanuel, and Icy, Except, I suppose, if I had a sweater— Sir Martian and TG, both feeling spicy, I nice sweater, all cozy and warm, And that amazing duo: Bill and Gertrude, That would keep me snug during a snow storm, And finally the King himself, a ghostly dude,

But that wouldn't be the point, Well, we'd be packed in tight, The point'd be that here in this joint, It'd be time to take flight, We'd have found, at long last, Off into the yonder blue, Our good friends whom, in the distant past, Into the cosmos once again, it's true.

Would have split from us, Inadvertently, of course, and thus, Wouldn't have had the faintest clue, That there'd be a need for a rendezvous.

Chapter 27: A Fishy Tale

At this point, our itinerary, And my arm would rest against my elbow, In the middle of January, And my elbow against my chair, you know. Would be completely open, With my head resting comfortably there, And many of us would be hopin', Through the windshield, I'd stare,

To get back home, and soon, And slowly my eyelids would begin to drop, So this would be a real boon, Heavy they'd feel, too much to stop, This open ended itinerary, To stop them from closing tight, In the month of January, And saying to the crew: good night.

So this would decide the matter, But they wouldn't notice, the crew, No need to ramble like a mad hatter, For they'd have ways, it's true, It would be crystal clear, To preoccupy themselves, to keep awake, Where to set our course, my dear, Anything would do for Heaven's sake.

Once again, we'd have to go, The boys, for example— Passed the Sun, you know, That is, Hubert, Bill, and Immanuel— For just from sheer luck, Plus a mademoiselle—Gertrude— Each planet, like a duck, Would, without being rude,

Would be in order, Invite themselves to play poker, Like pennies, dimes, and a quarter, With whom you ask? Not Bram Stoker— Lined up in a straight row, You know, the author of Dracula— Orbiting the Sun quite slow, And certainly not with a talking spatula,

All except Uranus and Neptune, No, it'd be with the doggies they'd play, For since a quarter passed noon, In the back room where they'd stay, No one would know on this day, They'd join their game, in other words, Where they’d have gone astray. A game for cool dudes, not nerds,

But at least we could start, The girls, at least two of 'em— With TG and Sir Martian from Walmart, Sally and Icy—each a gorgeous fem— For TG would live on Earth, Would be sitting together, And Sir Martian, on Mars, for what it’s worth. Amidst this stormy weather,

They’d be on the other side, Listening to Elvis Presley, Of the Sun, across the divide, Not some girl named Lesley, Across from Saturn, that is, No, The King they'd listen to, For in the solar system biz, As he'd play them a song or two:

Planets can't always be aligned, "♪ ♫ Wise men say, only fools rush in, ♬" But on that matter, never mind, Their hearts, such words would win, For we'd have a long trip ahead of us, "♭But I can't help falling in love with you. ♯♩" Travelling on this crammed space bus. With love struck eyes, they'd sigh, it's true.

It'd be a long and boring trip for sure, And what of Sir Martian and TG? Distant memories would fade like a blur, What'd they be doing, where'd they be? We'd pass through a bit of rain, Why, they'd be banging each head, But that would be no bane, To the sounds of the Rockin' Dead.

For the windshield wipers we'd activate, That's right, in the other back room, Clearing the windshield at a speedy rate, Where the deafening music would resume, I'd rest my cheek against my hand, Where the crowd would roar and cheer, Which would rest against my arm and, And noise one could definitely hear,

TG, poking his head from the backpack, Inside, we'd be jostled and thrown about, Would be raising his arm in the darkness black, Hot dog buns, ketchup, and Sauerkraut, And the rock 'n roll sign, he'd make, Would cover Franky and each dog, Saying, "Rock 'n rewll, dude!" to a guy named Jake. Thank goodness there was no eggnog,

And if that weren't all, dear reader, Needless to say, in the next room, There'd be other fans, like Peter, The show would meet an abrupt doom, Or Stacy, Toby, and Jimmy, For in this situation, you just can't play, Who'd be up here with me, No sirree, no you can't, no way,

That is, taking a break from banging head, You can certainly crowd surf, however, Loitering by the coffee machine instead, Not on purpose, of course, how could you ever? With pierced noses and tattoos on their skin, But the centrifugal force of our spinning ship, And goth makeup, whether fat or thin. Would cause everybody to crash, fall, and slip,

Needless to say, they all had stuff, And soon everyone would crowd surf— To fill the time of which there'd be enough, That's right—here on this very turf— But not I, not me, Everyone on top of everyone, I'd be so bored I couldn't see. Weighing well over a ton.

For I'd be falling asleep, as I said, As for me and the girls, Wishing I could be in bed, We too would be sent in swirls, And my eyes, I couldn't keep 'em open, Thrown all around the cockpit— For this trip to end, I'd be hopin'. Oh, how we'd wish to just sit.

And eventually, I'd be overtaken, But no, we'd bounce off the walls, A slumber from which I wouldn't awaken, And off each other like ragged dolls, Would hit—it would hit hard— Mr. Presley, meanwhile, I shoulda' used my Starbucks card. Would look around with a smile.

A pleasant dream I'd have, no doubt, Amusing would he find the whole show, But for how long I'd have been out, Our ship spinning 'round amidst snow, There'd be no way of telling, For as a spirit, as a vaporous ghost, Until the girls would start yelling! We'd pass through him like bullets through toast,

Sally and Icy, that is, In fact, he'd just be floating there, They'd shake me with rizz, Nothing on him disturbed, not even a hair, Until I'd wake up to see, For the forces of physics don't work, Right in front of me, On those whom in the land of the dead do lurk.

A snowy planet out the windshield, Well, despite our sudden distress, We'd be going too fast, I couldn't yield, We would begin to slow, more or less, We'd be knocked hip to hip, In fact, our ship would come to a stop, From the impact to our ship, Against this snowy, dark backdrop,

It's belly bouncing and skipping, "Oh, I'm gonna barf," Sir Martian would groan, Like a rock on water—you ain't tripping— "Oh, my head," TG would moan, You heard me right, we'd be crashing, "I think I incurred anothe' cuack. But not straight on, like into a pool splashing, Please look, won't you, at my back?"

No, we'd come in at an angle, "Cap'n!" Franky's voice would boom, Over that, there'd be no wrangle, Over the intercom into this room, After skipping and bouncing a bit, "Cap'n, is evuyting OK? What happened, mate?" We'd start sliding, nothing to hit, I'd try to shake my head from this dizzy state,

And as if things couldn't get worse, And stammer for a reply, We'd start spinning, to be terse, "Uh, er, hi Franky, hi, We'd start spinning 'round and 'round, Uh, well, what happened was, On this lost planet just now found. Uh, we crashed because... because..."

"He fell asleep at the wheel," So I must apologize, On me, Sally would squeal, I mean, big time, super-size, I'd retort: "Thanks Sally, For it seems that—oh, I don't know— I was just about to say that, r'aly. I kinda, sorta, a short while ago,

But anyway, Franky, it's true, Fell asleep at the helm, And right out of the blue, I mean, the boredom did overwhelm, We crash landed on this here planet, And when these two lovely ladies, And by the looks of it, snow and ice do span it. Woke me from a dream 'bout the 80's,

From what I can tell, It was too late to stop, The ship seems to be doing well, And on the ground we did flop, All vital signs are working normally, And that explains, I hope, All functions check out, speaking formally," Why you all had to cope,

"Yeah?" Frank would reply, With the disturbance of late, "You call dis normal? Why? With the messy chaotic state, Why, when de dogs and I, Of relish and mustard from head to toe, Pwus yo' fueinds are in a pig sty, And a rock concert that just won't go,

Hot dogs and pepperoni, Now I'm not quite sure, Li'l pieces of baloney, Since it's all a big blur, Pwus pizza slices and cheesy nachos, Which planet we're on, Cove' us from our heads to our toes." But upon me it does don,

Before I would even have a chance, That that guy there proly does know, To address their stain covered pants, The one I see out the window, The Rockin' Dead would emerge, Why, he seems to be warming up, Like the next room over had to purge, By a fire sipping from a cup,

Sir Martian would tag along, No doubt, something hot, Between Ace and Biff looking strong, Like hot coco or coffee—or maybe not. And wherever Sir Martian would go, Why don't we step out to meet him, TG would too, don't you know? Say hi, be polite, and greet him?"

"Yo, whatup, cap'n dude? Indeed, there'd be a man, I mean, I don't mean to be rude, Parked just outside our space van, But y’r drivin's kinda chafin' our show— Only a few yards away, WOOOAAAW!!! Look at all the snow!" By a fire, he'd stay,

Would say a distracted Slate, In a space suit, he'd be, Looking out the window a bit late, The NASA logo, I could see, And when finally I'd have a chance to talk, Hidden would be his face, I'd explain why we were on this icy rock: Under his helmet of space.

"Attention everyone! This is your captain," We'd therefore be perplexed because, I'd say over the intercom, "What's happenin'? We'd have no idea who this strange man was, We seem to have crashed landed, Which would be all the more reason, On a desolate planet that's padded, To say hello in this winter season.

Padded with snow and ice, We'd all step outside, Which, on a hot day, would be nice, No member of the crew would hide, But today is not a hot day, Well, except maybe the fans, And frankly, if I may, Those who liked rock bands,

I'd rather be anywhere but here, They would stay inside, On a day like today, you hear? To await another musical ride, And so would you, I'm sure, But the rest of us, my crew and I, To be out of this blizzardy blur. Would approach the man to say hi.

"Greetings! Allow me to introduce myself, These are just a few, I'm two years old, and small as an elf. Of the members of my crew, I'm a cute little boy named Gabriel, But to name the rest, And so I fit cribs and onesies very well. Would take days at best,

These are Teddy and Immanuel with the top hat, For there's 3,000 members more, And that’s Icy, Queen of Mars—isn't that phat?! And they're all behind that door, The dogs were in the back room, And behind that door, there's another, Their game, they will soon resume, That's where they are—each sister and brother—

From left to right, and front to back, Each one banging his or her head, From top to bottom, from white to black, To the sounds of the Rockin' Dead. Or whatever order they're in, Or at least they were a second ago, Even if that's fat to thin, Before the Rockin' Dead paused their show."

There's Buster, Rex, Spot, and Puddles, "Why, hello there strangers," And finally Sparky who likes cuddles. Would say the man sensing no dangers— Oh, and I almost forgot, Seeing that in peace we come, There's Franky, who's usually caught, And stood up, getting off his bum.

Making snacks with his hot dog stand, "Please, have a seat, Which the doggies eat from his hand. This warm fire can't be beat, And this is the Rockin' Dead, Not in this cold weather, Allow me to name each head: Come, let's talk together."

First, there's Slate—that's what he said, We'd accept the invitation, Before calling me an elf, that stupid head—" Feeling welcomed to this new nation, "Hey!" Slate would shout, And sat around the fire, "Ruuude," Duke would below out, Radiating a heat we'd desire.

"And that there's his main man Ace, "So," he'd continue, "if I may ask, Who's totally wicked on the base, What brings you by? Was it a task? And the keyboardist over there, A mission? Did NASA send you? The one with the wily hair, Did they? You and your crew?"

That's Duke, keyboardist extraordinaire, "No, we're not from NASA," I'd reply, (He also runs a shop: The Scrumptious Donaire), "We're travelers from beyond the sky, And finally, behind me is Biff, the drummist; We're from all over the solar system, Don't mistake him for the dumbest, Left our homes, good-bye we kissed 'em,

For he's totally smart and stuff, Each one of us, from a different place, And if that's not enough, From a different planet out there in space, He's awesome at figure skating, From different backgrounds, different cultures, Which is why Slate's totally debating, Like different animals: lions, turtles, and vultures,

Turning his gig into an ice show— Just to name a few, Seriously, man! Totally, like, y'know— Yep, it's a pretty motley crew, And that's Sir Martian—betcha didn't know that— That in my travels I've acquired, But these 3 behind me are where it's really at:" Of them, I could never get tired."

"Oh, come one!!!" Sir Martian would shout, "Except, like, just now," Feeling verklempt from the clout. Icy would say, "I mean, that's how, "That there's Gertrude and this is Bill, We totally crash landed, And this here is TG if you will. You, like, fell asleep single handed."

That's short for Travelocity Gnome— "Which reminds me," I'd continue, The very one who roams far from home. "You wouldn't know, would you? And finally, this ghostly figure beside me, Which planet we're on? Is the one and only, Elvis Presley. And from Earth, how far gone?"

"Why, of course I'd know," But, like, oh my God! Would say the NASA bro, Tell me if this is, like, too odd: "You're on Pluto, We could, you know, invite him aboard, Hence all the snow. Like, take him home, if room we can afford."

Alas, I think it's gone astray, "Hmm," I would reply, For just the other day, "Interesting idea, that's no lie, I felt a massive impact, But you've hit the nail on the head, Like by a massive object it was wacked! Icy, my dear, for when you said:

All I felt were the tremors, 'If room we can afford,' But they sure were, I remembers, I said to myself: Oh my Lord, Quite powerful, I tell you, What if we don't have room? Just like that—out of the blue. What if our ship can't consume,

And it sent poor Pluto, A single person more? Out of orbit, you know, Would he fit through the door? Streaming off into deep space, Or worse yet, what if she explodes? You listening to me, Ace?" Our poor ship, taking too many loads?"

"Uh, yeah man, I'm listening," "Oh, please, good captain, Would say Ace, his studs glistening, If only I could be packed in, The one's on his gothic attire, And thereby be taken home, Glistening from the raging fire. I would sing your praises to Rome,

"So yeah, out of orbit, Why, I'm sure we can make more room, And as if a sponge did absorb it, Maybe clean out the dust with a broom, Into deep space, it got sucked, I mean, dust can be a real space hog, From the solar system it was plucked, Or maybe clear out the captain's log,

And unfortunately, it would seem, You know, those logs take a lot of space, Deeper into space, we still stream, On the hard drive, that is, which we can erase, This is a one stop train, boys and girls, But if you don't like that, that's fine, More like a no stop train, or so it unfurls. Let's put our heads together, yours and mine.

This is why I'm stuck here, Whatever we come up with, whatever idea, Abandoned on Pluto, you hear? I'll put your name in the encyclopedia, I was supposed to rendezvous, Or roast you marshmallows on this fire, With my assistant, it's true. Or whatever your heart does desire,

She was just on a coffee run, You name it, it's yours, And to get soup in a bun, To my wealth, you have open doors, From a local Tim Horton's around noon, For I've got plenty, wealth that is, You know, the one near Neptune? For I run a pretty lucrative biz,

But then it hit—the impact, Back home on Earth, and that's no lie, As though Pluto was attacked, Plus I'm an extremely important guy, As though hit with a baseball bat, I know people, I have connections, But much bigger than that, Some with weird facial complexions,

Something huge must have hit, People respect me back home, Like a planet-sized peach pit, Like the emperor of Rome, And sent Pluto astray, I'm just that awesome, That's how I ended up here today." Like a really cool possum."

"My my," would reply Immanuel, Intrigued I'd be by these words, "That is a sad, sad tale you tell." So just to confirm what I'd have heards, "Indeed," Icy would add, I'd ask him in a tone soft and mellow: "It is very, very sad, "Who are you, strange fellow?"

He'd then take off his helmet, A place where I can relax, To reveal who we'd have just met, Though it cost many dollars of tax, It'd have shocked me enough to jump, But I'm the President, the people owe me, For it'd be none other than Donald Trump: Isn't that right, Icy? Don't you agree?"

"Yes, boys and girls, it's me, "Uh-huh!" would agree Icy, queen of Mars, The 45th president of the United States, you see, "The only person, out amongst the stars, But my story's still true, Who knows about my secret— I'm still marooned here with you. A person who can really keep it—

And to reward you, I'm still prepared, Is my assistant who went on a run, So please, don't be scared, To get coffee—not just for fun— To make room aboard your ship, For whenever I need her, For I do need to get home in a blip, I call her up and meet her,

I've got a rendezvous in China, And we get our old NASA space suits, With Xi Jinping—he likes to wine and dine ya— Along with our old NASA space boots, And then there's the Russian ambassador, And we sneak into NASA, And also the one from El Salvador, Saying to security: 'Que pasa?'

I booked a meeting with them in Washington, DC, (They're Mexican, you see.) To sign a trade agreement—for they did agree— And from pockets behind the knee, They agreed to trade a shirt—one each— We whip out our fake IDs— For a scrumptious delicious peach— Getting through is a breeze—

Very important deal, that one, And we sneak aboard a rocket, That peach is worth a fortchun', Putting our IDs back in our pocket, Which is why I just gotta go, And take off without them knowing, Back home, drink a Mott's Clamato." How they don't? That's mind blowing.

"Excuse me, Mr. President," But it works—every time— Mr. Presley's words would've went, And like stopping on a dime, "Hi, Mr. President, sir, She takes me exactly where I want to go, Elvis Presley's the name, as it were, Safely to the grounds of Pluto.

Pard'n f'r askin', on behalf of me 'n my mates, Now, typically, I begin with this: But what's the president of the United States, Setting up a fire that goes sparkle and hiss, Doin' on a planet so far from home, While she runs off to get coffee, On a planet cold as a tomb?" And if I've been extra good—some toffee;

"That's a good question, Mr. Presley, Once I get all cozy and warm, Allow me to answer it thusly: That's when I show my true form, I have a deep, dark secret, I do, A special feature that I bear— I keep from Americans, it's true, Don't worry, it's not my back hair—

And there's no way I can ever reveal it, No, it's something else entirely, Except to you guys who around the fire sit The secret that would've gone virally, —I mean, sure I just met you, And caused a whole lotta mirth, But you've proven your loyalty, it's true— If I exposed it back on Earth,

Anyway, this secret of mine— And I was just about to do that, Keeping it hidden is fine, To expose myself, starting with my hat— But once in a while, at least, My space helmet, that is to say— I've gotta let it out, like a wild beast. So why don't I do the rest right away."

So I pick a far away place, Trump would proceed to stand, A getaway out in deep space, And remove his clothes with each hand, Like a timeshare in Bermuda, We'd flinch in reaction to this alarm, Where they serve cheese like Gouda. Shielding our faces, each with one arm,

We'd shriek in anticipation, So then it would be decided, Going "AAAH!!!" without hesitation, The President of the States United, Bracing ourselves to be scarred by this gent, Would be the latest inaugurated member, At the sight of a naked president. Into our crew since September.

He'd remove his top, He would be heard mumbling, Revealing chest hairs, like a mop, As we'd make our way to our ship stumbling: Then came the bottom half; "Hey guys, you wouldn't happen to carry, Would we cry or would we laugh? An aquarium—preferably not scary—

Once he'd be completely peeled, Scary 'cause it's filled with sharks? His secret would finally be revealed, I hate sharks—their bites leave marks— It turns out, as we'd verily see, And can somebody help me along? That a mermaid, Trump would be. I'm afraid my fins aren't that strong."

He'd flop to the ground, Rex and Sparky would give Trump a hand, For by gravity he'd be bound, Across the snow covered land, After all, with a flipper for a leg, And lift him aboard our ship, Who wouldn't fall like Humpty the egg? Strapping him in for our home bound trip.

"That's right, girls and boys," It would be a challenge, sealing the door, Trump would continue making noise, Though we'd manage, it'd be an arduous chore, "I, the President of the United States, Like I'd have said, room would be scarce, Am a mermaid—you saw it here first, mates. If only we'd have a terrace.

Don't be fooled by this here leg, Not to mention, we'd be getting heavy, For it's more like a wooden peg," But that, I suppose, is the levy, He'd pick up his NASA suit by the left knee, That one pays to have a new member aboard, Inside, a mechanical limb, we'd see. Nonetheless, we'd cut gravity's chord.

"This leg's a dud, you see, We'd make it up to space before long, I put it on each morning, before tea, But that's when something would seem wrong, In my right pant leg, my fin does go, The ship would start creaking, No one's the wiser, for it really doesn't show. As if the walls were speaking,

Now, whadya say, captain Gaby, Saying: "Oh, I'm so full!" May I board? Please don't say maybe, It would feel like a raging bull, You must understand, I'm an important guy, The ship, that is, for it'd be shaking, As president, need I ask why? Like the Earth when it's quaking,

The fate of the world rests on my shoulders, As if it were full of rage, So like a team of good soldiers, About to burst from a cage, It is your duty to safely get me home, Like a wild beast you can't contain, At least, do it for the gnome." No time soon would the pressure wane,

"Er, uh, well," TG would reply, like a chump, And then it would happen: BOOM!!! "I'm flatte'ed you'd be so conce'ned, Mr. Trump, We'd explode—now there'd be room— But how it would benefit me, The infinite room of space, Is, to be honest, a bit of a mystury." Oh man, the look on my face!

"No matter," I would finally say, Off into space, we'd be launched, "This, Mr. President, is your lucky day, Like being sacked in the paunch, We'll find room on board our ship, Each in different directions we'd go. Even if I have to make room with my hip, Where we'd be destined—no one would know.

Why, what could be more important, Than making a long trip shortened, Because the President of the United States, Needs to get to the home he loves, not hates?"

Epilogue

Well, I would know, All over the galaxy, would they go— I'd know where they'd go, Sir Martian and Gertrude, that is, and so— Their stories, I will tell, So determined would be their destiny— So listen carefully, listen well: If there's a better fate, I can't think of any.

Sir Martian would finish school, So let me move onto Billy, Easy 'cause he ain't no fool, His fate would be rather silly, He'd get a diploma to prove he's smart, By another bubble of snot, And therefore quit his job at Wall Mart. Would poor Bill be caught.

He'd set his sights high, From which planet it would have came, Quite the ambitious little guy, That planet I just couldn't name, Searching for a job worth its salt, For I wouldn't know at all, One that called for a bigger bank vault. Maybe PSR B1620-26 b would be a good call.

He'd remember Gertrude's offer, But in any case, A job to surely fill his coffer, Planted would be Bill's face, She'd have said, if you recall, Planted in a ball of snot, On Uranus, that great garbagy ball, But would he despair? I think not?

To call her up once he'd graduate, For you know how snot balls are, To work for her and to not wait, At least the ones between each star, So hoping it would still be on the table, The interstellar snot balls I mean, Sir Martian would take the offer, willing and able, The ones colored yellow and green.

That is—willing to work, able to do so— And like the one from before, And like a Martian Robinson Cruso, Bill would sink deep into the core, He'd board a ship, and soon arrive, And the very same process— On Uranus, and then beneath the ground dive, That is to say: osmosis—

And at the core, meet Gertrude, who'd be thrilled, Would happen to Bill, For in math, Sir Martian would be skilled; While he'd remain still, High school level math, that is to say, Cozy in the warm goop, But Martian math it would be, by the way, Of slimy, snotty soup.

Quite the math program, they'd have on Mars, And just as before, Which would qaulify one anywhere amongst the star, He'd be told tales of lore— But Gertrude, that lucky girl, The snot bubble would tell him— Would get Sir Martian, quite the pearl, As it would course through every limb.

Head of engineering, she'd make him, A tour of the universe, Bill would get, With benefits to boot, plus a gym, To everywhere, their course would be set A wise choice it'd be indeed, They'd cruise around galaxies, nebulas, and stars, Fulfilling a very important need. They'd see black holes, worm holes, and quasars.

Together, a marvel they'd engineer, Not a bad fate, I'd have to say, Something to win an award this year, Not bad at all, at the end of the day, Ten times better than that other thing, And now if we turn our attention, The booster rocket built last Spring, To Immanuel and Icy, here's the lesson:

This thing would be amazing, Skateboards are the best, For it would pack an extra sting, A lot better than the rest, The power of warp speed, it'd feature, Better than bikes and roller blades, Making Uranus one speedy creature, Better than snowboards, better in spades,

That's why Icy, our beloved queen, In a friendly game of competition: Would turn Mars to skateboardocracy, I mean, To win more tourists, they'd each be wishin', A planet ruled by the skateboard champion, A good year it'd be for Immanuel and Icy, Whoever would win the annual competition, Which would make their relationship extra spicy.

The following year, it'd be Gord, Now what about Hubert and Sally? Who, after winning the skateboarding award, Well, they certainly wouldn't dilly-dally, Would be christened, by Icy herself— Right away, they'd have kids-a-plenty, Not me, Gaby, small as an elf— How many you ask? At least twenty.

Ruler of Mars, at least for the year, And then they'd buy an SUV, And what about Immanuel, Icy's faithful peer? Equipped with wings, you see, Icy would teach him a thing or two, Plus a big fat booster rocket, About the art of skateboarding, it's true. And of course, keys with which to lock it.

She'd teach him the front flip, the back flip, They'd go on many-a-family-vacation, He'd even fall and hurt his hip, Which would bring joy and elation, But that'd be okay, that'd be fine, The kids would watch their cartoons, He'd get back up before counting to nine. While they'd head for Jupiter's moons,

He'd practice, practice, and practice some more, Io would have excellent camping sites, No matter how hard he'd hit the half-pipe floor, Many parks to run and fly kites, Until one day, he'd be ready, Beautiful it would be this time of year, On his skateboard, he'd be steady, With much wildlife: elk, moose, and dear.

Steady and ready for the competition, Then they'd hop over to Europa, In Icy's eyes, there'd be a great vision, Where there'd be a shower with soapa— A vision of how her dear friend, You know, 'cause when you're camping, Would, at the competition's end, Sometimes soap tends to be lacking,

Be christened ruler of Mars, But on Europa, there'd be soap— Under the night time stars. Thus a stinky man would have hope— This vision would come true, There'd also be a shower—one lone shower— And though it would be new, The only thing there, standing like a tower.

New to Immanuel, that is to say, And no, they never would return, It would last not a single day, To the present time, though it would burn— Longer than one full year, The memory, that is, of Fred, And what would he do? Drink beer? And The Time Machine made of aluminum and lead,

Play games? Watch TV? Sleep all day? Sally and Hubert, and the rest, No way, man, no way. Back in time two hours, at their own behest, Immanuel, that brilliant philosopher, For until the day they would die, Would be the best ruler Mars'd have to offer, They’d always be two hours late—oh my!

Why, do you wanna know what he'd do? But that’s not as bad as that other duo— He'd build a water park colored blue. Sir Martian and TG, for before reaching tomorrow, Then he'd build two more, then three, They’d have to wait three hours, not two, With signs that'd say: "Don't pee!!!" For twice did they time travel, it’s true!

Then he'd build an amusement park, And what about Elvis Presley? With rides that glow in the dark, Would he marry a girl named Lesley? For they'd run even in the night, No, instead he'd hatch a plan: With a neon glow shining bright. It would be wild and crazy, man.

He'd build all sorts of crazy things, The world of the living, it turned out, Things that'd bring in Earthlings, Would be so fun that, without a doubt, And other tourist from the solar system, He'd want to share it with his friends, Even pitting Saturn against him, You know, all the dead dudes, Toms and Jens,

And all sorts of other names, I mean, Snipes is a genius for sure— Like Steve, Martha, or James, His acting skills are true and pure— So he'd float his way back, He's more or less the equivalent, Into space to where space did lack, Of Jackson in terms of acting talent,

That is, where the worm hole was, The only difference being, of course, And diving into it would cause, Snipes is alive and, though we remorse, Mr. Presley to return, Jackson's dead, much like Bach and the King, To the Sun which would burn, Though in this story, music they'd still bring,

But not him, not he, That is, as soon as Mr. Presley, Free from harm he'd be, Would recruit them into his band expressly, For I needn't explain why, For the purpose of rekindling, I needn't explain, need I? Like a long lost sibling,

Back in the realm of the dead, The joy of playing for a live audience, The Big E would use his head, And I mean live—fans that'd have tolerance— To figure out where they'd be, For music from the realm of the dead— All his friends, from A to Z. Not just tolerance, but something worth banging head,

He'd take his time, he would, And of course, Presley could never achieve this— He'd take his time as he should, This music playing, head banging, bliss— He'd search to the farthest region, If it weren't for Tupac Shakur, Until he'd gather a whole legion, I mean, Tupac would be an asset for sure,

Of friends and loved ones, If one had the band-forming ambition, There'd be a lot, tons, And a bit of superstition, Among them, he'd gather a few musicians, That Tupac would be the key, Not engineers, not athletes, not physicians, Then believe you me,

Musicians—musical geniuses, that is, One would bring Tupac back, Friends who would join him in show biz— From the dead and then—SMACK!!! He'd form a band, in other words, Place him right into the band, A band of cool dudes, not nerds. Such that he could lend a hand,

First, there'd be Sebastian Back, In bringing the band to excellence, His talent, I wouldn’t knock, Certainly not to a form of pestilence, Mr. Back would know how to jam, But excellence—that is, greatness— For if you heard him, you'd say "daaamn!" From musicians who've undergone lateness.

Sebastian Back was a musical composer, For he too did pass away, Not a fool, not a hoser, Quite sad, if I may, A composer who lived 300 years ago, For we will miss him evermore, For kings and queens, he'd put on a show. Especially seeing his pic at the music store.

And now Elvis would have him in his band, But not in this story, Such a decision would certainly stand, For in this tale, it's more gory, For to have a genius, as Bach would be, At least in terms of the living dead, Would disappoint neither you nor me, In fact, it'd be the best thing since sliced bread,

Next, he'd recruit Michael Jackson, In fact, my good friends, in fact, For if there's one person, my son, They'd almost be attacked— That a band should not lack, Presley and the Ghostly Ghouls, that is— It's the Jackson dude, Mac. That'd be their name in the music biz—

Now, some of you might be too young, They'd be attacked, metaphorically speaking, To recall Mr. Jackson and how he sung, Just as their fame would be peaking, But he was another one of these types— Metaphorically, that is, as in a law suit, Geniuses, I mean—like Wesley Snipes— Plus a few nasty words to boot,

Who would sue them, you ask, For a rare opportunity, did Trump spot, Answering that is an easy task: An opportunity that was red hot, It would be none other than, For what TG would represent to him, Our good friends The Rockin' Dead, man! Would be a chance to reveal his limb,

I needn't explain why, do I? His one fishy limb, that is to say, Two bands with the same act, by-and-by? To reveal his scaly bottom, if I may, Well, you can't just have that, no way! For the idea would be, according to Trump, Two bands of dead people? Not today! To use this gnome short as a stump,

Each band would have a good case— To reveal to the press on his behalf, The Rockin' Dead, in their place, The truth of which he'd fear a laugh— Came first—they were the original, A laugh on behalf of all Americans, While Presley and the Ghostly Ghouls, were vestigial, Laughing at his fishy shenanigans.

But on Presley's side was this: But if TG were to announce this grim reality, In case anyone would miss, Trump could leverage deniability, They really were the rockin' dead— If the American people would react favorably, An open and shut case—'nough said. Trump would confirm the rumors quite ably.

But they'd settle on a compromise, But if not, if the worst, Something their lawyers would advise— Then Trump could say: "Cursed! That they'd join together, Cursed be this Travelocity Gnome! In order to calm the stormy weather, For spreading rumors throughout our home—

The hurricane that the lawsuit would become, That is, throughout the USA, That would brew if they'd sit on their bum, Not the United Kingdom or Canada, eh? Stubbornly not budging an inch, But spreading false info in the homeland! Though a little bending would be a cinch, For this, we will not stand!

Joining together in a band of eight, Let me make this crystal clear, Would cause all their troubles to abate, I AM NOT A FISH, YOU HEAR!!! And they'd name themselves: Presley and Slate, See this leg? See it right here?" And the Rockin' Deadly Ghostly Ghouls, Mate. Trump would knock 3 times under his rear,

Their awesome sounds and their wicked vocals, "This is the real deal, Would attract old fans and a few locals, A real leg, not like a seal, Soon doubling the size of their audience, Not like a dolphin or a fish. And tripling the noise, not the silence, You think I'm a mermaid? Ha! You wish!"

Together, they'd be a force with which to be reckoned, But on the other hand, To mess with them, you wouldn't think for a second, If the people, as a united band, That's why they took the rock scene by storm, Would group together to voice their support, And soon set the standard, the norm. On behalf of Trump and his fishy sort,

Now what about our good friend Mr. Gnome? Then Trump could say this: Well, he too would return back home. "Yes, it's true, for TG does not miss, But not on his own accord, no way, Even that which I keep hidden, For he'd prefer, on this day, But now is the time for secrets to be ridden:

To travel the cosmos, near and far, To reveal my deep dark secret, To explore every planet and star, I might as well admit it, But he'd be persuaded to return to Earth, Indeed I have, as this gnome claims, By a hefty offer, for what it's worth, Something in common with fishes, something the sames:

That offer came from our good friend, Indeed it is true: I am, in every respect, From he with a fish tale for a rear end— A mermaid—yes, me, the President whom you did elect. Mr. Trump, that is to say, Hope you're all right with it, hope you're OK, The President of the United States today. But if not, too bad, I'm the President anyway."

Either way, TG would get his wish, For things on Jupiter were quite stable, From Mr. Trump—half man, half fish— They could play poker as much as they'd be able, For this would be the deal, But returning to Earth—well, it just wasn't the same, His promise to TG, for real: They'd have to deal with things of great shame,

That if TG spread the rumor, The shame of being reduced to pets, If Trump's plan he would humor, Being treated like animals, taken to vets, Trump would reward him handsomely, Not real doctors, like humans are worth, A reward worth a fortune, financially, For born into doggihood from birth,

He would help TG sneak into NASA, Would be the doggy clan, And say: "Pick whichever one pleases ya'," Which wouldn't be their fault, man, Referring to the rockets galore, So what did they do, Each one with which to soar, To deserve to stew,

Into the clouds up there, In such a degrading state, And then, in outer space, to anywhere, Of being lesser, or at any rate, But only one could TG choose, Being treated as lesser, And with options like this, he couldn't lose. Like being forced into a compressor,

"I'll take that one," a decision he'd make, A compressor that would shrink them down to size, His blessing, Trump would give him, without mistake, To their, and the rest of doggihood's, demise, And see him off into the cosmos vast, Metaphorically, that is to say, Until only a memory in the distant past, I mean, not in a real compressor, no way!

TG would become in Mr. Trump's mind, The point is, they'd feel pressured, reduced, Grateful for making his fishy behind, By humans who would roost, Socially acceptable in America today, Over them and other animals, For who could hate a mermaid, eh? Some of which they'd eat, like cannibals,

So now you know their stories, Lucky for them, however, Their pitfalls and their glories, Humans don't eat dogs, never, The members of my crew, that is to say, But it would serve their cause nonetheless, But a few more stories remain, if I may, For in the fight for dignity, it pays to stress,

Those of Franky and the dogs, The plight of those other than you, Both worth a couple blogs— The plight of those who, To be recorded on the internet, that is, By a common enemy, are suppressed, For the public to read—their story and his— For I kid you not, I do not jest,

Franky, that is, but his story I'll tell next, The doggies spoke loud, they spoke true, For that of the doggies, I just gotta text— They established a platform too, I mean, if I had an iPhone, A campaign to lobby and fight, But I'm only 2—so throw me a bone— Not just for doggies, but the right,

So I have to settle for this, Of all animals on this green Earth, Telling stories from that which does kiss— To be treated as equals, according to their worth, I mean my lips, if you will, To fight for respect, for dignity, From my lips does my story spill. For equal rights and the end of malignity,

And, well, here they go, these lips of mine, For we're all the same—humans and dogs— Telling the doggies' story, all 5 I'll combine: Plus all other animals, like frogs, Long story short, For we all have eyes and ears, To Earth they'd return, and consort, And when we're sad, we all shed tears,

They'd consort together, And we all have arms and legs, To consider whether, And we can all lay eggs, Now was the time to make a difference, And we each have a heart, To do something of great significance, And brains making us equally smart,

So lobby, the dogs would, He'd take matters into his own hands, As well they should, And help us get from space to our home lands, For quite a fight they'd put up, What would he do, that brilliant hot dog vendor? Persistent, they'd be, never to give up, Why he'd take his stand, twist, rearrange, and bend 'er.

Until that glorious day, That is, he'd reconfigure the parts, When the leaders of Earth would say: He'd rearrange the pieces and, like the arts, "From this day foath, He'd get creative, inventing something new, It shall be acknowledged, the woath, Something that would save himself and the crew.

Of all life on this planet, What would Franky invent, you ask me? That of doggies and other animals—so can it! Why, I'll tell you, I will, immediately: All youa' talk of animals being lessa', He'd convert his hot dog stand, Franky would, Youa' talk of owning pets, fo' it's a stuessa' Into a rocket ship, it's understood,

To dese pooa cueata's, innocent and sweet, And into the cockpit, he'd sit, Fo' dey dese've moa' dan a doggy tweet, And start the engines, not just a bit, Dey dese've to dwive cars, He'd start them hard, he'd rev them high, And to serve dwinks at bars, And through space, boy would he fly.

Dose human puiveleges, and evewy otha', He'd fly around and pick us each up, Like dining at a restauwant, eating clam chauda', As if scooping us into a cup, Even pawtaking in politics, And then fly us each to his or her destination, In de voting booff, to choose theia' picks, As if returning from a vacation,

And even dis, citizens of the Ea'th: He'd even pull Uranus and Neptune, To run, fo' what it's wo'th, Back into orbit before noon, Fo' President, o' Prime Minista', And while he'd be at it, Pluto too, Nothing could be less sinista', Fixing the solar system as if with glue,

Fo' wid rights like dese, For that was the power, It su'ely will please, At this his finest hour, Everyone on dis planet, Of his hot dog stand, So like I said: can it!" Now turned rocket ship and,

And next thing you'd know, And tug boat, so to speak, After this whole gong show, For he'd tie a rope with a knot so sleek, After Trump's second term, not far off now, Around each planet, one at a time, Would be the next US President: a cow. A rope strong and prime,

Last but not least is Franky's story, And with a grill strong enough, Not that of John, Mandy, or Cory, With a grill so incredibly tough, But Franky, with his hot dog stand, Enough to cook the release-the-grease-heart-attack, No longer serving the doggy band, Why, to pull planets, it'd have quite the knack.

Franky's story begins where mine did end, Now, you may be wondering, For if you recall the story I penned, During all this sundering, How it ended in the whole crew, Of the planets from the solar system, Being scattered through space, it's true, The ones Franky would pull with him,

Due to the pressure of a packed ship, Why the co-pilot on Uranus, Which would cause us to explode, the seams to rip, Whether a lowly bloke or someone famous, You can infer that Franky too would be hurled, And why the girl named Liz on Neptune, Like the rest us, into space, our fates unfurled. The one over which praises Bill sung a tune,

For Franky's fate would be this: Couldn’t just drive these planets back, Our dilemma, he certainly wouldn't miss, Into the orbits where they did lack, He'd see it all around—that is, all of us, Well, as far as Uranus would be concerned, Streaming away from each other, and thus, Upon returning, Gertrude would have learned,

That the co-pilot would have quit, Everyone to watch him as his arms, he'd spread, And in the place where he’d usually sit, Like Kate Winslet in Titanic, with hair so red, The co-co-pilot couldn’t fill in, for you see, "I'M GOING HOME!!!" he'd scream out loud, On vacation would he be. Looking forward to Neptune of which he'd be proud.

And as for the co-co-co-pilot, And that's when it would get him, She’d call in sick, spots colored violet, The snot bubble, that is, named Jim. Covering every inch of her body— That's right, Jim the snot bubble, She wouldn’t be lying, being naughty, Would come at Bill on the double,

For her sickness would be genuine, It would come at him from the side, For she’d send in photos, looking not so fine, As he'd stand there with arms wide, If only prepared for this, Gertrude would have been, Completely not anticipating, For when at work, the co-co-co-pilot would not be seen, Not expecting or awaiting,

A co-co-co-co-pilot would be the obvious choice, Anything to disturb his moment of bliss, Driven to work in a rolls royce, His moment of glory, which'd be exactly this, But this, Gertrude would have overlooked, But it wouldn't be a moment to last, And thus Uranus’s destiny would be cooked. For Bill would repeat an experience from the past,

And what about Liz, the co-pilot on Neptune? Being engulfed, that is, by a bubble of snot, Well, she wouldn’t be coming in anytime soon, But would it take care of him? Why not? For it so happened, unbeknownst to Gertrude and Bill, The last one would, and this one too, Unbeknownst because the news didn’t spill, For to Bill, this would be nothing new.

That Liz would be two timing, Franky would still follow through, For whether reasoning or rhyming, Pulling Neptune into orbit at a quarter to two, She’d be working for both Gertrude and Bill, And then begin returning us home, Though not today, for she’d be ill. Including the Travelocity Gnome.

Needless to say, if Liz couldn’t make it thus, But that's not all to Franky's story, To her co-co-co-pilot post on Uranus, There'd be much more drama and glory, She certainly couldn’t make it to Neptune, For once Franky would land on Earth, Certainly not anytime soon. Another lawsuit to which he'd give birth,

Thus, astray would both planets be, Would appear on the scene, Astray since half past three, A lawsuit that'd make Ben turn green, That is, until Franky would lasso each one, Ben, that is, owner of Schmizzle's Burger Hut, For it’d be the right thing to do, not just for fun. For Franky'd sue him with a case open and shut,

On the way, he'd pick up each head banger, He'd get the idea, Franky would, Reaching out to each with a coat hanger, After attending, as everyone should, And pull them into his rocket ship, A performance by The Rockin' Dead— Saying: "Relax, take a seat, don't trip." Before they'd join Elvis, that is, and instead,

He'd stow them away with the mustard, Change their name to Presley and Slate, Quite packed they'd be, quite clustered, And the Rockin' Deadly Ghostly Ghouls, Mate, But room they'd easily make, For this lawsuit came before that, It wouldn't be hard, a piece of cake, And while Franky would be there at,

And of course, just like before, A most stellar performance, The Rockin' Dead would continue their encore, Full of goth and romance, They'd join them amongst the condiments, Serving hot dogs to many-a-fan, And rock out, head banging being the consequence. Cooked fresh from the grill in his van,

Franky'd drop off Gertrude once Uranus'd be in place, He'd get to hear the story of Rage, And then on the way to get Neptune across space, And not just how it gets worse with age, And drop off Bill at his place of origin, But how it would be inspired, Bill would stand at the helm, encouragin', By a dull job that'd make them tired,

A job they'd loath, a job they'd hate, For having reacquired the R.T.G.H.A.— Working at Schmizzle's Burger Hut, mate. You know what that stands for, eh?— He'd hear about Biff in particular, Having reacquired it, like I say, Making a burger so spectacular, Really made Franky's day,

A burger so scrumptious, juicy, and wack: Several days, in fact, several years, The Release-the-Grease-Heart-Attack, For the revenue brought flooding his tears, Well, as soon as Franky'd hear that, Rich beyond his wildest dream, He'd be angry as vampire bat, Would the R.T.G.H.A. make him, it would seem,

He'd be furious, about to rampage, It would be enough of a fortune, For he'd be the one feeling rage. To force his stand through a distortion, But he'd play it smart, he'd play it cool, A transformation that is, a change, He wouldn't foam at the mouth with drool, To become something a lot more strange,

He'd simply go back stage, He'd transform it into a full size restaurant, After their song Rage, People'd come from miles around, including his aunt, And reunite with Slate and the gang, To Franky's Hot Dog Stand, After the fans ceased to head bang, For a taste far from bland,

He'd say: "Long time no see," A taste of all the yummy treats, They would vehemently agree, Everything he had to offer, even beats, After which point, he'd explain, But of course, the R.T.G.H.A. most of all, All about his grievous pain, For it'd be a sensation bouncing off the wall.

The pain he would now feel, Thems the tales, thems the stories, After listening to them howl and squeal, Of my friends in all their glories, While performing Rage and explaining the meaning, The members of my crew, I mean, Delivering it with emotion and feeling, For like a well oiled machine,

About how he was the original inventor, They'd perform their function, The original hot dog and burger vendor, At every turn and every junction, Who created and wanted to take back: But I wouldn't quite remember them, The Release-the-Grease-Heart-Attack. As crew members, though each a valuable gem,

He'd want to take back, that is to say, I'd remember them as friends, The rights to the name and recipe, today, For when a lot of time one spends, To take back what, to him, would belong, With girls and boys from all over, The greatest burger ever—is that wrong? And dogs—whether Rex, Spot, or Rover—

Well, the boys would be eager, One tends to grow fond, To help out a friend retrieve ‘er, —whether brunette, redhead, or blond— The rights to his famous burger —whether boy or girl—from head to rear end— Held by that awful hamburglar, One grows fond and calls them 'friend'.

Ben Schmizzle of Schmizzle's Burger Hut, Oh, but you're probably wondering, Who made them feel rage so deep it cut, What on Earth, with its clouds thundering, They'd find the man, Ben, And it's skies shining blue, And September 4th would be when, After all is said and done about my crew—

The lawsuit would begin, What on Earth would happen to me? A lawsuit Franky would win, Aren't you wondering? Aren't ye? For the odds, his case would beat, Well, this tale wouldn't be complete, And finally, it would be his, the meat, Unless I explained what happened to my feet,

The meat of that paddy so thick, And the rest of my 2 year old body; The one oozing grease yummy enough to lick, Well, if you recall, I'd be naughty, From one's fingers or one's hands, That's right, naughty, escaping my crib, Or wherever that greasy goodness lands. I'd have flown away, leaving my bib,

Flying my space ship, the one on my mobile, For an escape like that would make me smile, For I don't want to remain stuck here, I want to travel far, not near,

But you know that already, man, For that's how this story began, So let me resume—where was I?— Oh, yes, how I'd return by-and-by,

Well, I would be Franky's last passenger, After delivering everyone else, like a messenger, And to be honest, I'd be getting tired, Not like after a coffee, being wired,

I'd be tired of this great adventure, And it wouldn't take an indenture, To get Franky to fly me home, In his hot-dog-stand-ship made of chrome,

He'd know exactly where I'd want to go, In fact, I'd fall asleep, wouldn't you know? I'd fall asleep on the way, As the Sun would set, ending the day,

On my mobile is where Franky would park, Being quiet, driving slow, in the dark, And fit himself right into the spot, Where my spaceship, the original, was not,

And once parked there, he'd carry me out, Out of the ship and to my crib, no doubt, There he'd lay me down, still fast asleep, Being sure not to wake me with a single peep,

In my slumber I'd remain, Dreams running through my brain, Dreams of flying through the stars, Of space adventures to planets like Mars,

And once the sun would begin to rise, I'd see the light through the lids of my eyes, And open them to see a lovely sight, A sight that always makes my world bright:

Two lovely smiles I would see, That of my mom and dad looking at me, "Good morning sweetie," they'd say, "Waky, waky, it’s a bright new day."