“No we don’t!” cried the audience in grape-flavored contrast.

So doo doo be boop, the plot will go oooooooon

And on.

Suddenly I was following Misty May through the fires of Avalon when I saw a glimmering moustache over the mouth of the river Styx. I hopped on my gondola and paid sixpence to navigate the halls of montezuma and returned without the slightest clue as to WHAT

I

WAS

DOING

THERE !

I turned and fled swiftly with leaden feet. I sank through time and hit rock bottom, and there it was in front of me: the port. No, I mean the plot! As I gripped it the plot warmed my thoughts…

We now return to the regularly scheduled program, _ Sea Turtles On Ice. Watch as they gallantly slide to and for, around and about, four flippers feebly flapping for freedom…_

The plot broke free! My mind, a myriad of crocodile tears and thugonometry, I splintered a javelin and hoola hooped on, Joe.

I knew my journey wasn’t over. It’s never over til the fat old man breaks wind.