chapter7.jpg (8304 bytes)

Date:††† Tue, Sep 10, 1996 8:11 PM EDT

From:†† Edmundkaz

Subj:††† CHAPTER SEVEN

To: †††††† FifiOToole, Bottlenekk, SecraTerri

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

(Fade in to reveal wide shot of Camp Trenchfoot)

(Slow zoom into Quonset Hut #23, a blue flicker at the northeast window)

(As we get closer, we hear the sound of crickets, whipoorwills, and Robert Clary performing "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" at the wrong speed.)

Alas, Poor Tom Brokenjaw.

He's been incarcerated for nearly TWO AND ONE HALF MONTHS (that's Five and One Half Chapters in ED YEARS).

He missed the Olympics!

He missed the Unabomber capture!

Two Pauly Shore movies had COME and GONE!

Being held captive against one's will can do many strange things to a man. In Tom's case it has caused him to commit the entire album—"Hogan's Heroes Sing the Best of World War 2"—to memory.

Just lately, in his infinite boredom, he has begun listening to the album at the 45 speed, just for laughs.

As the LP wowed and fluttered, Tom chuckled and remarked loudly to himself, "It's amazing how Robert CYary sounds the same at every speed."

"UNSAFE AT ANY SPEED."

The words pierced straight through Tom's bliss moment.

"Wha... WHAT?"

"I SAID: UNSAFE AT ANY SPEED!"

"WHO SAID THAT??"

Tom lurched around, his steely hazel eyes darting back and forth in search of the origin of the voice.

Before he could say another word heard a car motor rev up just below the window. He jumped up to take a look. It was a '63 Corvair and it was already speeding out of sight, taking corners on two wheels in a highly dangerous fashion; its only working red tail light disappearing into the gray humid fog of the Louisiana night, leaving a trail of flattened crustacheans in its wake.

"On no. This simpYee cannot be true!" gasped Tom.

"I'm having another one of those Ralph Nader flashbacks!"

Indeed, Tom has been having bad dreams about the erstwhile consumer watchdog and fashion innovator ever since the argument the two had in the mens room at the Waldorf Astoria back in 1972 at a Geraldo Rivera Celebrity Roast. At the time, Tom was an avid proponent of the then-experimental electric hand dryer. Ralph, on the other hand, contended that he would rather wipe his hands on his trousers than use a device which was obviously going to contribute to even MORE Global Warming.

Their heated row nearly ended in fisticuffs when Ralph began to scream derisively at Tom, "AND BY THE WAY It's GLOBAL, not GEEYOBAL! Where did you get your TV News Degree? At the FRANK FONTAINE School of Broadcasting?" Luckily Red Buttons—a mutual friend—was nearby, testing some new material(?) on the after-shave guy. Sensing trouble, he jumped between the two beloved cultural icons and broke it up. The smell of Red's freshly applied Mennen Skin Bracer served to calm the two men sufficiently, but they never spoke again.

ANYWAY... unnecessary backstory aside, Tom's wildly beating heart began to slow in a few moments. "That seemed so REAL!" I mean, I could SMELL the lead fumes spewing from the tailpipe! I think that there really was a CORVAIR and it was here for SOME REASON!"

"ANY ONE ELSE BU... [CLICK]

ANY ONE ELSE BU... [CLICK]

ANY ONE ELSE BU... [CLICK]

Tom veered around, his offspeed and out of tune crooner had his needle stuck.

He slowly exhaled and began to reach over to apply some pressure to the stylus when suddenly

"ANYONE ELSE BU [SCREEEEEECH!]

TILL I COME MARCHING HOME!"

A black-gloved hand shoved the needle ahead.

There was another presence in the room!

Tom, squinting through the dim blue Sterno light, could make out a figure about 5'4", wearing big clunky Nazi boots, camouflage wranglers, and a purple windbreaker with the words "VideGo" written in a conservative block type on the right breast pocket.

It was Cale!

OK WHO'S NEXT!!!!! LET'S GO PEOPLE!!!!!!!


Chapter Eight!

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