|The Story||The Authors|
|"Ladies and gents I'd like to begin with a sweet old air first taught me by me grand-pa-pa back in Bristol, when I was a lad and 'e'd dandle me on 'is knee. This one were origin'ly recorded by Josˇ Caramba an' 'is Old-Time Boys, an' it's entitled, for your pleasure, 'I Like Bananas, Because They 'ave No Bones.' An' a one, an' a two, an' a free, an' a four, and --!"|
|Meanwhile,somewhere in the Bahamas... Pencilthinmoustache rolled langorously on the satin sheets, raised himself slightly onto one shoulder to take another toke on the excellent hash on the silver room service tray. Washed down with a swig of Mezcal followed by a sip diet R.C.Cola, he cleared his throat. The darned surf was drowning out the sound from the TV again. "HONEY-BUNNY???", he called out into the doorway of the outer suite of rooms, "BRING ME ANOTHER R.C., AND TURN UP THE SOUND ON THIS CHANNEL, WILL YA? LOOKS LIKE I'M ON THAT CELEBRITY RE-RUN SHOW AGAIN!" A very pregnant Caitlin came padding silently back into the bedchamber, still dripping from the morning swim she had just taken along the secluded beach! Pointing the clicker she turned the sound up. Taking the hash pipe, she hopped back into the bed to join her husband for another day of the All-Brooklyn Channel that had become their favorite source of news and entertainment.|
"What in God's name is wrong with these television programmers?" gasped Mr. Tickles, slapping himself on the forehead and noticeably hyperventilating. He crossed the banks of video monitors to where Tommy, his manservant, stood at attention. "What's the frequency, KENNETH?" he screamed, grasping the slight adolescent by his lapels and shaking vigorously. "Huh?!?" Smack."Haven't I told you to stay awake?" Slap. "What is your chronic malediction?" Smack. "Answer." Thwack. "Me." |
The boy said nothing, so the frothing-at-the-mouth dwarf began to run round him in busy cirlces, rearranging the Tommy's fingers at the tips of the two rabbit-ear antennae which brought in the signals to his one hundred and forty video monitors. Someday, he sighed, we'll get cable here.
|Meanwhile, the rabbit was not amused. In fact, he was growing more concerned by the minute. One day he was happily munching on clover; the next he was strapped to the top of a large black box (getting hotter by the minute) with a thick wire inserted in his nether region. Maybe, he thought, some of the Happy Plant got mixed in with the clover and this is just some sort of surreal hallucination. That's it. It's an hallucination. Soon I'll wake up in the field, on my back, and all of this will be just a bad memory. I'll have to remember to tell the rest of the rabbits about that damn clover patch.|
Or such were Mr Tickle's unfortunate assistant's thoughts as the raging dwarf thrashed him mercilessly with a copy of the Physician's Desk Reference he had always nearby.|
Tommy often like to think of himself as a bunny. A happy lop-eared critter drowsily munching bits of lettuce in a wire cage, a little bottle of fresh water always handy. It helped him forget things. The needle nose pliers that Mr Tickles was applying to his left nipple, for instance. In Tommy's mind he was a carefree little rabbit frolicking in a sun dappled meadow searching out the choicest bits of juicy alfalfa to nibble to his heart's content far from the diabolical workings of show business.
On stage the reanimated broken corpse of the late Officer Pencilthinmoustache was just finishing the final chorus of "Shine on You Crazy Diamond" to earsplitting cheers and trying to appear casual as he shooed away the ravenous flies. It was becoming rather difficult however as rigor mortis set into those of his joints that he could still work. There was naught that he could do but finish and wait for the vamp that would lead him offstage and his eternal rest or so he hoped.
Camera 51. NOW!bellowed Mr Tickles turning back to the task at hand.Cue MC. It's time for the headliner.