"Now it is Halloween," she says.

"What?" he asks. He is eating a quesadilla, cheese dripping down his freshly shaven face.

"I don't know what I'm dressing up as tonight." She pours herself another glass of grape juice. "I'm thinking maybe a ghost or... a ghost maybe."

"I'm going to be a crab monster. I made a really awesome costume." He shoves the rest of his breakfast into his mouth and stands up, knocking his chair over. "Don't look at me," he yells at her. He picks up the microwave from the countertop and holds it over his head like he's going to smash it. "You never believe me!"

"Fine," she says. "But I'm not cleaning it up, and I'm not buying you another one." She looks out the window. "Your carpool is here."

He stares at her unblinking. "I'm serious, Dianne. I'm serious." He shakes the microwave over his head.

Diane picks up her half-eatedn quesadilla and grape juice and slides past him into the living room. "Smash it. You're the only one who uses it."

"I use it, too," says the daughter Lily, hidden under the kitchen table.

"You do not!" he yells at her, shaking the microwave violently. "This microwave isn't for you!"

"I'm a grown woman! And it's about time you recognized my need to admit that I use the microwave." She sobs into her hands.

He closes his eyes as tight as he can. The microwave is getting heavy and his carpool honks one more time before leaving for work without him. He hears his wife start the shower upstairs and his daugter dry-heaving under the kitchen table.

"You never believe me about my crab costume!" He throws the microwave against the already dented refrigerator.

"I will be a crab, with big ass pincers and it'll be red and everyone will be impressed with my costume-making skills!"

Now it is Halloween.

Some sort of Curse or something.



end of conversation.

We found her in the backyard, vines growing from her stomach, vacant eyes staring up at the afternoon sky.

"Are you okay?" I ask her.

"She's dead," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head.

"O'Reilly..." says the sad voice that echos in our heads. "Patrick... Patrick O'Reilly..."

"Wait, was that... was that her talking in our heads?" I ask.

"Yes," Mr. Happy Puppet Head says as he turns and walks back to the house.

"Um," I tell the dead woman. "I don't know Patrick O'Reilly." The vines from her stomach wiggle angrily, thrashing the air. "I'm sorry. Do you need me to get you anything?"

"Revenge!" Her psychic yell is like a gong ringing through my mind. I clasp my hands to my ears but it doesn't help. The woman's stomach vines tangle with each other wildly as a multitude of vines shoot up from the ground around her, forming a soft cradle around her naked body. A large vine wraps tightly around me and lifts me into the air.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head comes back out of the house sipping a beer. Our house is now dwarfed by the towering, thrashing vines, the backyard completely engulfed by them. "Hey," he says, looking at me as I am tossed back and forth above him. "What's going on?"

"Bring me the murderer Patrick O'Rielly..." she moans without moving her mouth. "Revenge!"

"Oh, I get it," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head. He pulls out his cell phone and dials 411. "Patrick O'Reilly, please." He waits. "Yeah, just connect me."

Two hours later, after a brief discussion with the murderer Patrick O'Rielly, he shows up in our backyard. He is handsome, young, and well-dressed. He says, "Here I am, Patrick O'Reilly. Where's my Prize for winning the Contest?" and is instantly snatched up by the vines.

With a psychic scream that nearly explodes my head, the vine woman hurls the victim of her vengence high into the partly cloudy sky. We watch as he shrinks into a little dot, then disappears.

"You feel better now?" I ask, still suspended by vines high above the ground.

"Not really..." she says. "I thought that would settle it... Damn..."

"I guess there's a lesson in all this" I tell her. "An Eye for and Eye just means there's lots of eyes poked out. And who wants that?"

"No, I think maybe that wasn't the right guy..." Her vines thrash a little more. "Was there another listing?"

Mr. Happy Puppet Head finishes off his beer and tosses it into the mess of vines. "Nope. Just the one. Wouldn't you recognize him, though?"

"I don't know... Vengence!" She starts thrashing again, and this time she accidentally drops me. It's kind of a far drop and I land on my foot funny.

"I think my foot is broken," I say, trying to bend my toes but not being able to.

"Nah," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "Come on, put that pizza in the oven. I'm hungry."

"Okay."

We watch TV and eat pizza, all the while the dead vine woman is howling psycically in the backyard. We try to put earplugs in, but it does no good at all. One of our neighbors calls the cops, and I peek out the window as they shoot all their bullets at her. She throws some of their police cruisers into Outer Space, so they shoot her some more. This goes on all night.

The next day they have scientists and military people trying to figure out what's going on, but most of them get thrown into Outer Space, too.

I think the only resolution to all this is to simply accept her for what she is. I may not like my head to be filled with horrifying screams all the time, but with a little patience, I'm sure we can all co-exhist happily. That's what Love is for.

The Cute is feeling pretty good. He had just saved the Princess from the Room of Broken Glass, and just moments before she had given him a kiss on his head and sent him off on the Raft so he could get back home.

"I'm the best ever," the Cute says, looking around to make sure no one can hear. "I'm the best ever!" the Cute yells loudly. "And now I'm hungry."

But there is no food on the Raft. The Princess had either forgotten or meant ill for the Cute.

Either way the Cute has to find something to eat soon.

Try clapping your hands. You in the audience. Everyone at once. Or maybe send some food. Or a helicopter. The only place that half-ass Raft is going is the bottom of the Ocean.

"Down this Deep Hole is a Magical Place," croons a comforting woman's voice. The Cute looks around for the comforting woman, but can't find her. "Fall in the Hole. Follow the Arrow."

"I'm busy right now," explains the Cute. "I'm lost on an Adventure through Time."

"Time has no meaning in the Magical Place," is her comforting rebutal. "Fall in the Hole. I know you'll like it."

The Cute creeps to the edge and peers into the darkness. "What kind of Magical Place?"

"Oh, it's great," she says. "Really great. I've only gotten positive responses from people who fall in the Deep Hole."

From behind, the Cute hears a loud crashing sound and turns to see the large Time Monster making its way towards the Deep Hole. The Monster trips on a tree it is trying to knock down and falls flat on its big monster face. "Okay, do you promise I'll like it?" the Cute asks the voice.

"Sure, you'll love it."

The Cute turns to check on the monster situation. It lumbers to its feet and continues making a beeline for the Cute. "Okay, here I go." With a deep intake of breath the Cute leaps bravely over the edge and into the darkness.

After falling for what seems like a very long time, The Cute lands with a bump at the bottom of the pit. It is wet and cold and dark. "This isn't very magical," says the Cute. "I'm not sure I love it at all."

"You'll get used to it," replies the woman's voice. "It's not so bad once you get used to it. Are you hungry?"

"I guess so."

"Here's some birthday cake."

"Where?"

"Right in front of you."

"Oh," says the Cute, finding it in the darkness. "Hm... this isn't very good. It's slimy on the outside and stale on the inside."

"Yeah, well that's all we've got to eat, so you better like it."

The Cute eats as much cake as it can, but that isn't very much. "Well," explains the Cute. "I'm lost on an Adventure through Time, and I really need to get going."

"You are now a resident of the Magical Place at the bottom of the Deep Hole. You followed the Arrow. You love it here. Have more cake." At which point the Time Monster lands with a loud rumble next to the Cute.

"You let the Time Monster into the Magical Place?" asks the Cute.

"All who wish to enter are welcome," explains the voice. "Time Monster, have some cake." But instead of having any cake, it picks up the Cute and waves it triumphantly over its head. It searches for a way out so it can bring the Cute to the Cute Crushing Machine back in the Time Vortex. But there is no way out of the Magical Place, even for the Time Monster. Eventually the triumphant waving of the Cute comes to an end, at which time it is placed less than carefully on the ground.

"Have some cake," offers the voice. The Monster eats it, but clearly doesn't enjoy it.

TRANSITION: STAR WIPE

"How many years has it been since we fell down here?" asks the Cute.

"Time has no meaning in the Magical Place," explains the voice.

"Sure, but if there was time, how many years?"

He gets no reply. The Time Monster shrugs its shoulders as if to say, "You know she's a bitch, why you looking at me like that?" The Cute sighs deeply and curls up into its little mud bed.

TRANSITION: CROSS FADE

They get out of the Deep Pit by using Cleverness. Standing in the Supermarket, the Time Monster picks up a cucumber. The Cute nods its head "Yes."

That night they make a really great salad and watch this movie everyone told them about. The movie isn't terrible, but the thing that was truly important was that two good friends-- the lumbering Time Monster and the Cute--had some time to spend just by themselves.

Roboctopus sits alone in the backyard. A thick layer of grey cloud passes slowly overhead.

It is now the third day since Roboctopus tricked Patti and Potato into stowing away on that boat to the Phillipines, and he's been bored out of his mind. He didn't make much money off of that scheme, and he's already drank it all away. Without Patti and Potato, he has no schedule, no plans. Alone, Roboctopus is little more than a handsome half-robot, half-octopus with more tentacles to twiddle than he knows what to do with. And the kids probably won't find their way back for at least another week.

Or maybe they wouldn't. This could be the time he loses them for real. Forever. They could suffocate in that wooden box he trapped them in. Or they could find their way into a sweatshop and work away their childhoods. Or they could catch Malaria or Dysentery. Who knows?

Despite how funny he thinks Dysentery is, Roboctopus doesn't know what he would do if Potato and Patti never came back.

He remembers that time they all got lost in the catacombs looking for buried treasure and Patti went crazy from no sunlight and managed to gnaw off one of Roboctopus's tentacles. It grew back, but he still has a scar from it.

"We love you Roboctopus," they had said, moments before he sealed the crate. He told them how much he loved them, too, but at the time he didn't believe it.

A tear trickles down his aluminum face.

Roboctopus takes a deep breath and quickly wipes the tear away. He decides to go to the woods and look for something to wrestle. Maybe a bear. That always takes his mind off of things.

*******************

EPILOGUE

Roboctopus wrestled the Hell out of some bear.

*******************

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Now it's time to watch an ART FILM!

It is a silent piece entitled "His Heart Beats with Rancid Irregularity, Keeping Him up at Night as it Pounds Against His Pale, Sunken Chest."

Please sit still during the screening, and no talking or whispering or anything.
******************************















FADE TO BLACK.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head has decided that he is the type of person who can kill another without remorse. So now we're hosting a dinner party. A Murder Dinner Party.

The only guest is a Large Bug. Mr. Happy Puppet Head wants to start at the beginning and work his way up.

There is a pot of stew on the table inbetween us and our doomed guest. The stew has been heartily poisoned.

"So," I ask. "What's your name again?"

"What's in the pot?" asks the Large Bug. "Smells awful."

"I think you'll like it," answers Mr. Happy Puppet Head as he ladles out a spoonfull into the Bug's bowl.

The Bug examines it carefully and looks up at us. We are both staring at him from across the table. "Why aren't you guys having any?" Our bowls are empty.

I wait for Mr. Happy Puppet Head's answer. "Um..." He looks at the empty bowls. "We don't... um..."

The Large Bug studies us intently for a moment before proclaiming, "I need to use the bathroom." He hops off the table and scuttles down the hall.

"You think he's on to us?" asks Mr. Happy Puppet Head.

"Looks like it," I answer.

"Oh, shit. Do you think he noticed that?" Directly out the window is a small open grave with a wooden cross jutting out of the ground at the head. A gardening shovel lies next to the freshly turned pile of dirt.

"I don't know." I pick up a piece of garlic bread and take a bite. I'm pretty sure we didn't poison the garlic bread.

The Bug comes back and we all look at each other for an extremely long moment. I take another bite form the garlic bread. It crunches loudly between my teeth.

"Well, guys," says the Large Bug. "I'm going to head out now. Later." He hops off the table and scuttles over to the front door.

"I'm going to order some Chinese," I tell Mr. Happy Puppet Head.

"This isn't done yet," he tells me, a coldness in his voice. "I nailed the doors and windows shut and sealed any and all cracks and holes. He's not going anywhere."

What ensues is hours and hours of chasing and hiding and creepiness. I try to watch some TV, but my best friend roaming the house with a Butcher Knife in his mouth really bothers me. "I don't want you killing that bug," I tell him.

"What?" he asks around the Knife Handle.

"Let the bug go, I'm trying to watch TV." But he ignores me and continues his hunt.

I wake up to a skittering sound in my room. I sit up and a sharp pointy thing is pushed up against my throat. "Don't say anything," the Bug whispers.

"I'm on your side," I whisper back.

"How do I know that?"

"Look, I'll just open the window and you can get out."

Which I do. I let the bug out. Mr. Happy Puppet Head wanders the halls for days on end, not sleeping or eating, knife clutched firmly between his teeth. At some point he draws those black lines under his eyes like he was in Vietnam or something.

The hunting eventually turns into an unsettling sort of wandering. Mr. Happy Puppet Head sinks into a deep well of depression as he mourns the loss of his prey. I tell him we can invite someone else over to kill. I tell him we can always try again. He eyes me suspiciously.

This goes on for almost two weeks before he wakes up one morning on the floor in a puddle of his own vomit. He finds what he claims is a mouse that he purposely drowned in bile. It is clearly a clump of his own fur. We hold the funeral in the backyard, the grave already dug weeks in advance.

"You know," he tells me afterwards. "I do feel a little bad."

"Maybe you should stop," I say. "Stop the murdering."

"Maybe," and he gives me what could be described as a mischievous wink, but that's a trite way to end a story.

"Hey," says Arpit. "I don't feel well-drawn today at all."

"I be hardly sketched in," replies Bloodbath.

"Hm." Arpit jumps up in the air and the perspective is all off. It looks like he kind of twists a little and his legs don't even change angles. "Wow! Check this out." He spins around and disappears.

Arpit is now in a different dimension where Catipillar sandwiches are fresh tight.

Bloodbath looks down at his poorly constructed body. He likes how big his hands are, but he'd like longer legs. It's awkward having so little space for knees.

Arpit spins back into his own dimension. He is holding two Catipillar sandwiches. "I brought this for you," Arpit says, handing his pirate friend one of the sandwiches. "I've been gone for five years, how long has it been here?"

"'Bout that long," answers Bloodbath.

They enjoy their Catipillar sandwiches, even though sandwiches from that other dimension use a different kind of mayonaise that tastes kind of like corpse.

"Hey! Stop stealing that kid!" yells Mr. Happy Puppet Head as he waves his 2X4 with a nail in it. The kidnapper stops in his tracks.

"I didn't think you'd ever figure it out... I thought... my Empire..." he moans.

"I'll shoot you with my laser gun!" I tell him, pulling out my laser gun. I have one in this episode. "I'll shoot you into melted!"

Mr. Happy Puppet Head shakes his head at me and I put it away. But not before I shrug my shoulders indicating, "Like, okay, but I don't think it's a good idea to put the laser gun away just yet."

"Just put the kid down and we can talk," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "Look, I'm putting my 2X4 with a nail in it on the ground. See? Now we can talk like we're at a party. A fun party and not a horrifying stand-off."

"Okay," agrees the man. "What are we going to talk about?"

"I'd like to know where you put the rest of those stolen kids, you sicko!" I take a step forwards to slap him on the back of his big head, but Mr. Happy Puppet Head intervenes.

"Just let me do this, okay?" he whispers, teeth clenched. I quickly acquiesce. You can't deny this guy knows hostage negotiation.

One week later all the stolen kids are returned to their parents and everyone celebrates us. It turns out the guy who owns the Enchilada Pasta company had amassed a large disposable workforce to manufacture his delicious canned pasta that tastes like Mexican food. Thanks to our exciting investigation, he'll be on the sad side of a jail cell for a long time.

"It's the Midnight Mailman and Mr. Happy Puppet Head!" everyone screams when we walk into the supermarket. They all ask us questions about how we managed to get across that bridge and how exactly we escaped those dinosaurs. There are too many questions to answer any of them. We push our way through our admirers to the canned food aisle. But something is wrong--there are no more Enchilada Pasta cans left on the shelf. They have the storebrand, but we don't like it as much.

it suddenly dawns on us that Kidnapped Child Labor may be the only cost-effective way to manufacture Enchilada Pasta.

We buy the storebrand. It tastes almost exactly the same, but it just isn't as fun without that cartoon mascot printed on the can. And sometimes they had games under the label.