|
Smoothmoniker lumbers up off his cushion of mice, dusting himself off, and only a little the worse for wear. Whoa, that was lucky, he thought to himself. Then he sees slang, who is slackjawed, but nonetheless thrilled that his mouseketeer army is no longer about to attack him.
They shake hands, grinning at their coincidental symbiosis, and say simultaneously, "I owe ya one."
Smoothmoniker then follows with, "Slang, there's a kid named Jim Croce far off who needs my help with his career, but what he doesn't know is that success is waiting at his doorstep--someone has found his lost bearded clam, and that clam is a singing, dancing wonder that will take the world by storm, if only he can be reunited with the person who found it. You have to help me."
During this long exposition, Lumberjim had ceased his gut-covered frolicking to listen, being, as he was, very partial to long expositions. "Can I come too?" he asked shyly.
"YES! Yes, that's perfect. You will both come with me, to help me reunite the young boy with the clam. But FIRST... first there's something far more important."
"What's that?" asked slang, leery of important things when it was, after all, his day off.
"We need to eat at this fine pub here, which belongs to T.S. Undertoad. He's a good buddy of mine--LJ, I bet he'd give you a good deal on a cheesesteak."
So arm in arm, like Dorothy's crew on their way to meet the wizard (but before they'd met the lion,) the three of them skipped into the pub together.
|