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Bionic Jemimah: It's a crying shame that it has to be so. If I were to have my say in the matter, we would all still be amiably disposed to one another. But it doesn't always work out the way we want, does it? It simply does not. People's attitudes change, and their hearts change as well. There was once a day when those Umlaut Boys delighted in doing good for others and standing for what is right. But I'm afraid that they are now only interested in making a mark for themselves. It would seem that it has fallen to our lot to deal sternly with them for the mess they have most recently made.
Utility Infielder: I'm for real about delivering some knuckle sandwiches when we get back in the cages with those Benjamin Arnolds. Those creeps tried to dot my eyes the last time we went around. I can't believe we used to jam with those guys, and now they're as crooked as a snake. I ain't just working for the weekend this time. I've got some bad medicine that can cure their disease.
Sir Jogs A Lot: It pains me to say it, but a deception has indeed been woven before our very eyes. It's unnerving to contrast how familiar those lads once seemed, and how foreign they've proven themselves to be in actuality. I symbolically hold my hands as far apart as I can to indicate the distance between these scenarios. Can you feel the burn, fellow Vowels? Doesn't it just make you want to gnash your teeth?
Uber Eskimo: Clearly you're feeling the burn right now, aren't you Blain? Your arms rarely get to leave the akimbo position during your rigorous daydreaming sessions, so this is probably the first time you've held your arms out since you gave up pretending to fly while making that whooshing sound with your mouth.
Sir Jogs A Lot: This is no time for mockery Uber Eskimo - the city is in the clutches of a nefarious contingent of impenitent litterers. And I was not pretending to fly, I'll have you know. I was trying on a new cape, and I wanted to get a proper feel for it. That's all.
Hillbilly Robot: I have done broke off a switch apiece for them two Umlauts, and I reckon we could stripe them legs until they have plumb forgot that they ever wanted to be bad. Do you want that I should fetch the trash from where they dropped it, so as we can rub their little noses in it?
Bionic Jemimah: Now Roy, we are not going to be handling this the mountain way. I'm not willing to give up hope that Abdul and Larry may still serve some good purpose yet. If ever a hope laid in the solvative power of a hard day's work, those young men could certainly benefit from a few of them strung together.
Uber Eskimo: Well, they could punch a clock like it was an Olympic event and still keep up their rigorous schedule of getting on people's nerves. It doesn't sound like earning Employee of the Week honors will be enough to help Mendoza sleep any easier.
Utility Infielder: They punched me in the gut, gave me a wet willie, and then poured applesauce down my underwear! Do you hear what I'm saying? Who pours applesauce down a man's underwear? It doesn't happen by accident. At least not where I come from.
Uber Eskimo: Oh heck yeah. I may not have liked those guys before you told your heart-warming story, but now I just want to buy their t-shirt and become their roadie. So unless you can come up with something more than your littering complaint, I'll just meet you over there after I pick up some applesauce, 'kay?
Sir Jogs A Lot: While you're on a rendezvous with a local grocer, could you pick me up some steaks? You see, when ne'er-do-wells are afoot I make sure I bring a fist of civic justice. And when the well-doing is well done, I find that a well-placed raw steak is the rich reward for all of my bruises.
Hillbilly Robot: Do you reckon we could scare up some meat-and-three before we get caught up in any skirmishes? It'd be best to make sure we ain't too give out to divy out some butt-whoopin's.
The Freelancer: To the Cracker Barrel!
...But our heroes are unaware that Cracker Barrel is closed this evening due to a massive homestyle gravy spill. It was truly horrific - giblets were everywhere. Anyway....
Bionic Jemimah: What about that International House of Pancakes?
...An interesting choice, considering who's seated in the corner booth by the window....
Abdul Umlaut: Yes, I'll have a Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity.
Larry Umlaut: Make that two, while you're at it. Or should I say, make that seven, Mr. Jogging All The Time?
Uber Eskimo: Hehehe... must not... enjoy... accidental slam.
Utility Infielder: Say, have either of you boys seen a trash can around here? It looks like the bus boy forgot to remove some of the garbage from this particular booth. And you, in case you haven't figured it out, are that garbage!
Sir Jogs A Lot: Good thinking, Utility Infielder! When rubbish is left to loiter, it too quickly becomes litter. And I will smoke no cigar in celebration of the birth of that litter! Indeed, the only waiting room I occupy is caddy-corner to the chambers where justice is delivered into the loving arms of Mr. and Mrs. U. S. of A. I can only hope that they were expecting twins.
Abdul Umlaut: Are you in groundskeeping now, is that what this is all about? Are you now a Hillbilly Vacuum Cleaner, and an Uber Janitor, and some sort of Manservant Infielder, accompanied by Sir Scrubs A Lot, and Custodial Jemimah? Is that what you are now, because I look around me and that's what I think I see. It's a spectacle, you should see yourselves. Does anybody have a mirror on hand?
The Freelancer: Right here.
Sir Jogs A Lot: Freelancer!
The Freelancer: Oh. Right. Sorry.
Uber Eskimo: Did anybody order applesauce? I have some here, in case anybody needs it.
Utility Infielder: Irf! I... I forgot my... something... in the car. I'd better go out to the car and get it. You know. Hehe. Can't rock 'n roll without it!
Larry Umlaut: Yes, we rock and roll outdoors. All of this syrup here in this place can get sticky. Such a mess. Things sticking to fingers, and fingers sticking to each other. It's horrible, just horrible. And these wimpy little napkins are useless against it all. They're so thin, you see, that they tear when you try to wipe the syrup from your fingers. So you end up with torn napkin sticking to your syrupy fingers. Ugh. I scrunch my toes just thinking about it now.
And so, after an uncomfortably long silence when everyone was left to think about fingers and syrup and napkins and what have you, the crowd began to wander outside. Utility Infielder was already out there, thumbing through some Whitesnake cassette tapes in the glove compartment of the EXP. Hillbilly Robot scuttled over to the car to see what else was in the glove compartment, since he knew there had to be more in there than just those old tapes in sun-warped plastic cases with most of the print faded off. And he was right. Some old wayfarers with scuffed plastic lenses had probably seen better days, since Roy couldn't wear them on his unrelenting robot head. A rusty pair of fingernail clippers didn't really seem to belong in there, especially since there were some brand new ones on the floorboard in the back seat. And then there was the set of four unrelated figurines, all of which came from various fast food children's meals, two of which were still resting in foggy dried out wrappers. All of these rather pointy items seemed to ride fairly well, held in place by a number of glossy newspaper-insert coupons for fried chicken, carbon-copy receipts from the auto body shop, and several years' worth of vehicle registration documents. Hillbilly Robot suddenly turned away, realizing that if he drew too much attention to the glove compartment Bionic Jemimah might notice that her Reader's Digest was missing. Then he would have to try to explain that he had trouble getting the latch to fasten with the little magazine stuffed on top of the fray, so the logical thing to do was to simply toss it out the window. The story never sounded like anything she would accept, no matter how many times he went over it in his inverted paint can of a skull. He wanders randomly over to the low-key fray, already in progress.
Hillbilly Robot: Who dares say that laughter is the best medicine? I myself say that a good bleedin' will take care of a good many ailments. What say you all to that?
Uber Eskimo: HR, I regret to inform you that... wow... I should probably make a list of all the things I regret about this magic moment. I blame myself, really. So many bad decisions... delusions... anyway. Suffice it to say that we've momentarily become a rowdy league of meter maids. Larry and Abdul have been fined for their rampage of dropping things, we've been sternly warned by a pancake supervisor not to display such conduct on these grounds in the future, and this jar of applesauce is going to waste before my very eyes. I've been reduced to looking forward to a ride home in a two-toned EXP. Does that about cover all of the highlights, Skippy?
Sir Jogs A Lot: Ahhh, dear sweet Uber Eskimo. Your melancholy monologue sheds light on every detail, but you betray the spirit of this moment. Maybe there are items on the menu of justice that will never attain the status of entree or special o' the day. Perhaps littering will always be the unattractive side item that only gets ordered by hobos trying to buy a few more moments of shelter from the weather. But when that unsavory dish is ultimately ordered, who among us can say no to a hobo?
Utility Infielder: Not I! Heck man, I would adopt a hobo if there were acceptable ways of doing it, and reputable organizations insuring the safety of myself and said hobo along the way. Because we all know that there's a chance you would end up with an uncool hobo if you just tried to do it yourself, and then what could you do? That's why I say we desperately need a system of checks and balances, and maybe a corporate sponsor or two, if we ever expect our dream of future hobo adoption to become a reality.
Bionic Jemimah: Alright now, just simmer down, William. Nobody's getting a hobo tonight, so why don't you see about dreaming us up a nice sit-down restaurant that still welcomes our patronage?
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