Sugar Buzz

“Do you know what I need Dobby? I need some candy.” Writer Lady says. It is early evening, dinner is over and the kitchen has been put back in order. Writer Lady has retired to the living room with a large mug of coffee. She sits on the floor in front of the Christmas tree at eye level with Dobby who lays on the couch dozing. The ginger tabby gazes at her adoringly and listens closely. “You know candy. Supper is over. I have a hot cup of coffee. Candy goes with coffee.”

“I don't know Mom, you've had a lot of sugar today.”

“What makes you say that kitty?”

“I don't know, maybe the way you hogged all of Dylan's toys this morning.” Dobby says.

“Those toys are way cooler than anything I ever had as a kid. Besides I had to make sure they were safe. We don't want the lil' guy to get hurt, do we?”

“You also finger painted until there wasn't any paper left in the house.”

“I'm exploring my creative side.”

“The pillow fight.” Dobby reminds her.

“I'm exploring my pillow fighting side?”

“You had a pillow fight with Furnatche, the pillow got torn open, and there were feathers everywhere all over the wet paintings.”

“The feathers added texture. Everyone loved their Santa paintings.” Writer Lady counters.

“And Dylan's whale painting?”

“We re-titled the piece accordingly it went from being 'The Whale' to being 'One Whale of A Chicken'. I saw you playing in the feathers too Dobby.”

“That's different. I was looking for the rest of the bird.”

Writer Lady looks at Dobby.

“I'm a cat, when there are feathers floating around I must dance through them. You're the mom. You aren't supposed to do those things.”

“What? Have fun?”

“Have kid fun.” Dobby says.

“Haven't you heard the expression, 'Everyone's a child at Christmas'?” Writer Lady asks.

“Don't you want something more for yourself? To do better? To be better?

Writer Lady rolls her eyes, she lays down on the floor underneath the Christmas tree. Dobby jumps down off the couch and crosses the room he looks up seeing what Writer Lady sees.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Writer Lady says snapping a picture with her phone. “As she gazed upward she knew the Christmas tree's secret, that it had a shady underbelly of evil hiding within—it was cursed.” Writer Lady says into the phone.

“What are you doing?” Dobby asks again.

Writer Lady taps on her phone. “That?” She asks. “I was writing that time. I'm working on a new story.” She says smiling. “I want this one to have a Stephen King feel to it. Tell me if you've heard this. 'Killer Christmas Trees From Mercury.' What do you think kitty?”

“Mercury is too hot. Trees can't grow there. Why would anyone use Christmas trees to wipe out the human race?”

“Why not use a Christmas tree? It's a fire hazard. Broken ornaments can be dangerous not to mention the icicle shaped ones.” Writer Lady thinks for a minute. “And the tip is really, pointy.”

Dobby runs his paw down his face. “Mom, I love you but you've had way too much sugar today.”

“No I haven't. I want candy! Give me candy! NOW!”

No candy materializes. Writer Lady comes out from underneath the Christmas tree and starts chanting. “Can-dy! Can-dy! CAN-DY!”

Dylan comes into the room, sitting down next to Writer Lady he joins in.

“Can-dy! Can-dy!”

Ray hears the chanting and comes into the room. “What's going on?” He asks.

“We want candy.” Writer Lady says.

“I want some candy too.” Ray says.

“Come help.” Dylan says.

“Duuude.” Ray takes a seat and starts chanting.

The chanting grows loud and insistent.

Dobby runs into the kitchen. Tinkletoes is standing in front of the pantry with an open garbage bag. He is dumping cookies, candy, anything he can find in the bag.

“What are you doing?” Dobby asks.

“Giving them what they want.” Tinkletoes says. He opens a bag of sugar and pours it in too.

“We can't give in.” Dobby says.

“Why not? It'll shut them up.” Tinkletoes says. “Besides this is the fun part.”

Dobby looks at the mercenary.

“Trust me.”

Picking up the bag Tinkletoes takes it into the living and sets it down on the floor in front of the group. “Here's your sugar.”

Writer Lady, Dylan and Ray all dig in. The three make a big mess. Grabbing candy, cookies and fudge from each other's hands. Dobby and Tinkletoes watch quietly. There is a growling noise from the living room and the sound of bodies being thrown around.

“Come on. Let's not get crazy.” Tinkletoes says he starts to walk into the living room then slowly backs away.

Dobby looks at him.

“It's okay. She calmed down. Ray's out of the choke hold.” Tinkletoes looks at his watch, “Fifteen minutes. They have been eating cookies and candy covered with sugar for the last fifteen minutes, this is where the fun starts and our problem ends.”

Writer Lady burps, she pales. Then she throws up in the garbage bag. Dylan and Ray sit there watching. Eating with less and less enthusiasm.

“See no more problem.  It's all fun and games until someone throws up."

"I told her she had too much sugar."  

Christmas Issues

In a small town in the Midwest, on a darkened street, in the wee hours of Christmas Eve morning a single light glows from a single bedroom. A reading lamp is on with a writer sitting under it.

Writer Lady is propped up in bed still wearing her warm jammies, blankets are covering her and keeping her toasty. A clipboard with a writing pad attached is resting across her lap. Pen in hand she looks up thoughtfully and then begins writing in her own flowing script.

Dear Santa

She crosses it out.

My Dearest Santa Claus

She crosses the new salutation out. She writes, Santa Baby... then mutters No, no I can't call him that. Too informal, besides he's married. You don't call a married man baby. Not having much luck with her letter she looks at the clock again. 6 am--finally! Writer Lady's face brightens, she looks over at Dobby who is curled up and sleeping soundly on the empty side of the bed.  Technically, it's not empty it's Dobby's side of the bed. Leaning over to him she says, “Dobby, kitty, time to get up. Wakie wakie.”

Dobby opens one eye and glares.

“It's 6 o'clock. See?” Writer Lady says pointing to the clock.

“I see.” Dobby says, glaring.

“It's Christmas Eve, time to get up. It's Christmas Eeeeve!” Writer Lady sings out badly, arms spread wide.

“Yeah. And. So.” Dobby says.

“I've been up for a while now. It's getting kind of lonely.”

“You've had some coffee too, huh Mom.” Dobby says stretching out his front legs. The ginger tabby yawns. “Jeez it's early.”

“He's getting up. He's getting up. Dobby's getting up!” Yep, that was more singing. “I'm so glad you're up. I have been working and working on this racking my brain and I'm just not getting anywhere.” Dobby stretches a little bit more, jumping off the bed he makes his way into the kitchen Writer Lady following and talking the whole time without taking a breath. He inspects the food bowl taking a few nibbles of food and gets a drink from the water bowl. “First I tried the simple approach...” Dobby goes to inspect his litter box with Writer Lady following close behind. “then the please excuse my behavior because I've been lonely, of course everyone gets lonely sometimes, things are okay most of the time, I have you, TP, Furnatche and everyone else so can I really say I'm lonely? Maybe I just need to get out once in a while, and then the I don't care but if you need an apology here's one.” Writer Lady stops on their way back through the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee on the way to the living room. Dobby settles down in his favorite spot on the floor and Writer Lady plops down on the couch.

“So what's the problem Mom?” Dobby asks.

“It's Christmas Eve. Santa is coming!”

“Yep. He is.” Dobby agrees.

Writer Lady groans in despair.

“Where's the excitement?” Dobby asks.

“Yeah, well...”

“You always run around the house on Christmas Eve singing Santa medleys and whenever someone says “Santa” you squeal a lot and scream about how much you love him.”

“He is kind of a big deal.”

“I know. You have been writing Santa letters all year long.”

“Then last night I had this dream and in the dream I found out I was actually kind of naughty this year.”

“All of the confidence behind your Santa letters has gone 'poof!' Dobby says.

“Run away like a thief in the night...stealing my peace of mind. I have been awake since midnight trying to write a new Santa letter.”

Dobby yawns, stretching for a moment. “So let's hear it.” He says.

“That's the problem. I never wrote it.”

“You have been up for six hours and you haven't written anything?” Dobby asks.

“No Bubby. I can't even decide on a salutation.” Writer Lady says.

“So you're blocked?”

“Like I ate a twelve inch cheesecake all by myself.”

Dobby gets up and walks over to where Writer Lady sits rubbing his head against her ankles “Poor Mom,” he says. He jumps up on the couch and sits down next to her for an ear scratch. “What do you want to say?” Dobby asks.

Writer Lady obliges, “The usual. I can explain. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to do that. I know that I'm an adult and I should know better but sometimes I don't.” Writer Lady looks at Dobby. “You know that expression is a bit of a cop out. Adults don't always know better or we get excited and forget to be better. No one wants to take the time to verify that we know better or explain why we should behave differently. It's kind of lazy.”

“Mom...”

“I'm trying to blame others aren't I?”

The ginger tabby nods.

“Well, I'm sorry but, if someone had taken me quietly aside and said, 'Do you remember when you...?' If I remembered and they said please don't do that again...”

“I know, you wouldn't have done it again.” Dobby says.

“No, I probably would have done it again. I don't learn the first time. But after they pointed it out for the second time then I wouldn't have done it again. I learn after the second time. Okay, once in a while I don't learn until the third time but mostly I learn after the second.”

Dobby runs his paw down his face. He can tell this is going to be a long day.

“I don't know what's going to happen. What do I do now? It wouldn't be possible to do enough good deeds to redeem my “Nice” status by midnight. You would have to do something really big to accomplish that like saving the planet from being struck by a meteor or something. It would probably kill you. I'm thinking that's not really the best option.”

“Probably not Mom.”

“Okay what else? My cookies are incredible, I wonder if he can be bribed.”

“Bribery immediately puts you on the Naughty list.”

“Are you sure?” Writer Lady asks.

“I'm sure.”

“I thought bribery was only bad if you used it for political power or you did it all the time, like every day.”

“Trust me Mom, bribing Santa is an automatic Naughty.”

“You're absolutely sure?”

“Do you remember the Christmas of 2010?” Dobby asks.

“Now I remember, you tried that already. So bribing Santa is definitely a 'No'. What did you use, a hairball?”

“I'm a cat. What else do I have?”

“Seriously.”

“Besides a hairball comes from the heart.”

“It comes from your stomach kitty.” Writer Lady points out.

“It's warm?”

“This conversation has gotten pretty gross. Can we get back to my problem?”

“It's all about you isn't it Mom?”

“Dobby.”

“Okay, okay.”

Both sit together contemplating what to do next. “We could move to wherever he stops last maybe Santa will be so tired he'll leave me something anyway.”

“Mom, Christmas of 2012.” Dobby says.

“Oh yeah. You tried that already too.”

“Do you have any real confirmation that you are on the Naughty list?” Dobby asks.

“The dream.” Writer Lady says.

“That's it. A dream?”

“Well...yeah. Dreams tell me stuff.”

“How often are these dreams accurate?”

“Christmas of 2011.” Writer Lady says looking at Dobby.

“Okay, so they can be accurate.”

“You do get into things during Christmas don't you kitty?”

“Yeah, I kind of do.” Dobby agrees and starts taking a bath.

“What are you doing kitty? You're supposed to thinking.”

Dobby looks up at Writer Lady, his tongue sticking out. “Bwainstoming?” Dobby slobbers and licks while Writer Lady bwainstomes, sorry, brainstorms as well. She does it with pen and paper though. “I got it!” Dobby says. “The Internet. Everything is on the Internet now. Maybe Santa is too.”

“I never thought Darth Vader would have a Twitter account.” Writer Lady says. “I guess it wouldn't hurt to look.” Entering High Command Writer Lady settles down into the Big Writing Chair for some major research and within a few minutes, “Here we are.” Writer Lady says. Dobby sits perched on the arm of her chair. “Santa's list. For status type in full name and press 'Enter'. I'm typing in my full name and...Nice? It says Nice. I'm still nice.” Scooping Dobby into her arms she holds on tight.

“Mom.” Dobby croaks. “Chok-ing me. Chok-ing me.”

“Ooops. Sorry kitty. I'm still on the Nice list. Wow. Let's check your status. I'll just type in Dobby Cat Apostos and... 'On The Fence'. You're on the fence.” Writer Lady looks at Dobby. “Why are you on the fence kitty?” She turns back to the computer for more information. “Wait a second I can click here and find out. You have a number two offense. What's a number two? Biting a reindeer. You bit a reindeer? Why did you bite a reindeer?”

“I don't want to talk about it Mom.”

“Kitty, I feed you, I give you treats, I taught you not to bite. Why are you biting reindeer?”

“I really don't want to talk about it.”

Writer Lady looks at Dobby waiting for the answer.

“TP told me they tasted just like chicken.”

The Show Down Goin' Down Right Now In This Here Ghost Town

“Hey!”  Tinkletoes yells from the street, “Are you gonna turn on the music or what?”

Dobby stops whittling and looks up taking in his surroundings.  Everyone is looking at him expectantly.  “Looks like someone's got a hankerin' to see some blood,” he says.  Slowly Dobby puts his knife and branch away because he's a cat.  They take their own sweet time.   He pulls Writer Lady's cell phone out of the other pocket.  Setting the volume as high as he can Dobby looks up at Shredded TP.  The faerie gives him a nod.  The ginger tabby taps the phone's screen several times and...

I just met you and this is cra-zy but here's my number so call me maybe, pours through the deserted town and along the street.

Everyone looks at Dobby.  Dobby taps the screen quickly hoping there is a five second rule for embarrassing music faux pas among other guys.

Hold me now.   It's hard for me to say I'm sorry.

“Oooops.”  Dobby says tapping at the screen even more furiously.

Couldn't stand to be kept away, for the day, from your body.  Peter Cetera sings.

“Come on man!  This is embarrassing!”  Tinkletoes calls from the street.

“Do you have to do that?”  Mural Man asks.

“It's like he's all thumbs.”  Tinkletoes says.

“He's a cat.”   Mural Man points out.   “No thumbs.”

“Yeah, well you don't have any nuts.”  Tinkletoes says to Mural Man.

“Maybe I don't, but only because the paper had trouble bending that way.    Besides, my tushy is legendary which totally makes up for it.”

The love song is abruptly extinguished.  A familiar sound fills the air, the famous but unidentifiable shootout music of the spaghetti westerns.  The beating of the drum, the eerie whistling, da, da, da, da, daaa, wa, wa, waaaa...  Dobby looks up at Shredded TP and nods.   The faerie flutters over to Tinkletoes the ends of his villainous mustache bouncing along innocuously as he flies.

“Ready?”  Shredded TP asks.

“Ready.”  Tinkletoes says, never looking away from his target.

Shredded TP flies to Mural Man who is also standing at the ready the edges of his paper body clicking in the breeze like a playing card clicking in the spokes of a bicycle wheel.   Mural Man nods and Shredded TP takes his leave.

“We don't have to do this Tinkletoes,” Mural Man says.  “We're both men of honor. It's not too late to come to some sort of agreement.”

Tinkletoes grins.  “I knew you'd see things my way.  Bullets have gotta be scary to someone made out of paper.”

“When I said come to an agreement I meant that we would each compromise a little.”

“Nope.”  Tinkletoes says.  “I don't do that either Paper Boy.”

“Is there anything you will do?”  Mural Man asks.

Tinkletoes looks up and thinks for a minute.   “Killing.  I really like killin' things.  Cupcakes are good too.”

Mural Man shifts his stance uncomfortably.

“Did you just pale?”  Tinkletoes asks.  “It's hard to tell with you bein' paper and all.”

“Maybe.”  Mural Man says.   He adjusts his stance, pushing his hat back just a little so Tinkletoes can see his eyes.  “You know about guns and killing, I don't. You're gonna win.  Everybody here knows that.”

“Well, yeah.”  Tinkletoes says grinning.

“Before you do your thing and I am...”

“gone?”  Tinkletoes finishes.

“May I have a few parting words?”  Mural Man asks.

“How many do you want?”

“Not too many.”

“Okay but no beggin' or prayin'.  If you start doin' either I'll shoot.”   Tinkletoes says.

“No, none of that.”  Mural Man agrees.

“Go ahead then.”

“I know that you're a...” Mural Man finds himself searching for words.  He looks at Dobby, Shredded TP and Carp they gesture for him to keep talking. “strong man.  Used to doing your own thing your own way.  You like to keep things simple.  Women are anything but simple.  Good looks are great, availability, proximity and interest are all good but in the end the man who gets and keeps his woman is the one who is loving, caring, considerate and can do this.”  Dobby tosses Mural Man the cell phone and he taps the screen footage of Monitor Man fills the area surrounding them.  Scene upon scene plays depicting Monitor Man's character offering sincere, heartfelt apologies.  In each scene, the apology is accepted he is embraced by someone who looks a lot like Writer Lady.  Did Shredded TP modify the footage to suggest that Tinkletoes' apology would be forgiven, stressing that the self-proclaimed mercenary has nothing to fear?   TP wouldn't do that, would he?  “Do you really want to give this up because you couldn't say I'm sorry?”   The footage stops and is replaced by a single picture of Writer Lady holding a plate up of freshly baked and decorated fancy cupcakes. The buttercream, fluffy and piled high.  Chocolate curls are tucked into the frosting shimmering with an ethereal glow.   A breeze travels through smelling just like fresh cupcakes.

Tinkletoes makes his decision pulling out his six shooter and firing at Mural Man.  The bullet misses leaving a slight tear along Mural Man's side.  “Okay.” Tinkletoes says.  “I'll do it.”

“You shot me.”  Mural Man says, his hand covering the tear.

“I had to get back at you for the cut you gave me.  Besides, it's just a surface wound.” Tinkletoes says walking up the street to where Mural Man is standing, verifying that he is alright.

“There really isn't much to my surface.”  He points out.

“I always have the last word.”  Tinkletoes says.  “You're a good sport, thanks.”

“You shot me.”  Mural Man repeats.

“Yeah.  Shooting the messenger is kinda fun.”

Several hours later all have returned to Writer Lady's house.  The front yard is cleaned up and safe to all living things again that might cross it.  With the help of an invisibility spell, Dobby, Carp, and TP are able to witness a thing they never thought they would see.  Tinkletoes, the self-proclaimed mercenary and man's man, stands at the door facing Writer Lady (He's still in shootout garb because you know shootout garb is cool stuff.   It doesn't matter who you are.) hat in hand, quietly muttering his apologies.

“Here it is.”  Dobby says.

“Did he just ask for her forgiveness too?”  Carp asks.

“He did!”  TP says giggling.  “Silly man.”

“He really likes Mom's cupcakes.”   Dobby explains.

Writer Lady nods and turns to go back into the house holding the door open for Tinkletoes.  After Writer Lady disappears inside the house Tinkletoes turns and holds up a sign to the others that reads:

Thank guys.

She forgave me.

There are cupcakes too.

Squee...

Because sometimes even real men Squee.

From A Soldier To An Outlaw

“Gentlemen.” TP says from the podium. The faerie looks at an area above and behind Tinkletoes as if the room is brimming over with military personnel. “You are excellent soldiers. Thoroughly trained and full dedicated to defending your country. Recently, it has been brought to my attention that there is an area of your training that has been overlooked. Your ability to interact positively with the fairer sex.”

Carp rises from his chair and steps to the podium, placing a hand over the the microphone he says, “TP you can't say that.”

“I am General Tampon Sir, please address me as such.” General Tampon A.K.A. TP says.

“I'm sorry. General Tampon but you can't say that.”

“It's General Tampon...Sir!” The faerie corrects smiling.

Carp tries again. “General Tampon Sir, you cannot put it that way.”

“You need to pause between the Tampon and Sir. If you picture ellipses in your mind it helps.” General Tampon instructs with a smile.

Carp rubs his forehead with his other hand. “General Tampon...Sir. Would you please rephrase your statement? Women no longer appreciate being referred to as the “fairer sex”. Please don't use the “s” word either. Children have been known to read these stories sometimes.”

“Are you sure of that sir?” The general asks.

Carp looks beyond the walls of the room past a computer screen to find a pair of young eyes, reading. Pointing to the eyes, “See out there?” Carp asks. Pointing to the far left another pair of young eyes can be seen.

“I see.” General Tampon says. The faerie pulls out his note cards for Carp to peruse before he continues the lecture.

Carp reads them quickly. “No, no, no, that's a great joke but not appropriate. None of that either. No diagrams.”

“No pictures either?” The faerie asks.

“No visual aids.”

“Film?”

“We are not going there okay?” Carp says. “If you can't play nice then you need to sit down.”

“Isn't there something else you want to say?” General Tampon asks. The faerie whispers, “You want to say, “Thank you General Tampon...Sir for that fine introduction.”

Carp starts muttering under his breath.

Mural Man joins the circle, “Is there a problem?” He asks.

Carp nods and hands Mural Man the note cards. “He can't say this.”

“It's okay we'll just skip this part.” Mural Man looks up and peeks at their audience...of one. Tinkletoes is slumped down in the chair dozing. “He's almost asleep he won't know the difference. Quick question, General Tampon...Sir, what has anything in this lecture got to do with apologizing? Or Tinkletoes learning to treat Writer Lady in a more friendly way so that some day they might be closer?”

“I'm glad you asked.” General Tampon says, “Tinkletoes has a limited attention span. He saves deep concentration for other things like designing lightsabers, playing video games and memorizing the schematics to various pieces of weaponry.”

All look over at Tinkletoes who is now sleeping soundly.

“Before Tinkletoes takes on any endeavor in life whether it be learning a new game or attacking a new target he knows what the goal is. He knows what the payoff looks like. I am simply showing him the payoff before we go dragging him through a swamp laden wilderness without any back-up or air support. If we skip ahead a little and get his full attention we can back track to the apologies right away before we lose him again.”

“You have to admit that is one way to approach this.” Mural Man says.

General Tampon grins and sticks his tongue out at Carp.

“But not the way we are approaching it today.” Mural Man continues. “Thank you General Tampon...Sir for your wonderful introduction.” Mural Man says gesturing to the chairs nearby. The room grows quiet. Mural Man finds himself at a loss for words.

Tinkletoes' head begins to tilt to the right as he sleeps, slowly at first, then more quickly. Eventually his head makes contact with his shoulder jerking him awake. “What? Is it over yet? What did we learn?”

“No Tinkletoes we are just getting started.” Mural Man answers.

“Oh. Wake me when we're done okay? I totally agree with everything you're gonna say.” Tinkletoes says, closing his eyes.

“No. You need to wake up. Now.” Mural Man says raising his voice.

Tinkletoes yawns and turns his head the other way.

Mural Mans' body starts making crinkling noises. He steps on to the classroom floor and stands over Tinkletoes. “Wake Up! NOW!” He yells.

Tinkletoes lifts his head and looks at Mural Man. “Okay. It's nothing to yell about. What's got you all worked up?”

Mural Man turns around and steps back up to the platform. “Now let's get started. You Tinkletoes like Writer Lady. But you need help. You're crude, obnoxious, demanding, and you don't know how to apologize. We are going to fix that. To-day.” Mural Man announces with a smile.

“What is it I have to learn exactly? To make things work out in my favor.” Tinkletoes asks.

“The quickest and most efficient way for you to fix things is to apologize.”

“That's not happening. I don't do that.”

“Apologize? Everyone says 'I'm sorry' sometimes.”

“I don't.”

“You have never apologized?”

“Nope.”

“You have never made good when you made a mistake?”

“I've made amends from time to time but never apologized.”

“How is that possible?” Mural Man asks.

Tinkletoes grins. “Because I'm me.” He says proudly.

“Why do I feel like we never should have gone down this road?” Mural Man mutters under his breath.

“Because you shouldn't have?” Tinkletoes asks.

“Yet here we are.”

“Yep.” Tinkletoes agrees.

“You have no interest in apologizing do you?” Mural Man asks.

“I'm a guy. Real men don't apologize.”

Those words hit Mural Man just as hard as if Tinkletoes had thrown a brick right at his head. The paper hottie with the sweet tushy knows that one of the key elements to a real man is that he has the courage to admit he's wrong. To apologize. “It seems we've hit a stalemate.” Mural Man says.

“I'm not budging, if that's what you mean.” Tinkletoes says.

Dobby steps on to the speaker's platform, dressed appropriately as the classroom walls begin to fall away. The ginger tabby's spurs tapping against the floor as he walks upright. When the transformation of setting has finished they are in a deserted ghost town from the old west. Mural Man and Tinkletoes facing each other in the middle of the street in full western wear, armed and ready. Dust and random tumble weeds roll across the street in front of them.

TP is no longer a Tampon but an outlaw complete with big black mustache, Carp is dressed as the saloon keeper and Dobby has donned his long brown leather duster once more. Once a browncoat...always a browncoat. ;) The feline has a patch over one eye. (Because only the grittiest of heroes are missing an eye). This puss has grit all right. It's right between his toes, from scratching around...in the litter box. 

 This isn't about Dobby. This is about the showdown goin' down right now in this here ghost town.

“So Dobby, what brings you to these here parts?” the outlaw Shredded TP asks. “You ain't been here much lately. You gonna take care of this?”

“Nope. I just brought the soundtrack. Everyone knows you can't have a shoot out without the music.”

“He's right.” Carp says. “No one watches long enough to care what happens to either party much less to see what happens if there isn't music. In the old days, they didn't have soundtracks. The only way you knew who won is someone got shot.”

“What if both of them got shot?” Shredded TP asks.

“If both of them got shot does it matter?”

“If you don't know the facts of what happened, the tombstone just ain't gonna look right.” Dobby's voice says from under his hat.

“Or the obituary.” Carp adds.

“Not to mention the campfire stories.” Shredded TP says.

“Why isn't anything happening?” Carp asks.

“Nothing can happen until I play the music.” Dobby says taking a pocket knife and a piece of a small branch out of his brown duster pocket. With each new sentence the feline cuts a strip of bark away from the wood. “They have to have a last exchange of words. Mural Man will try to make Tinkletoes see reason. I'm guessin' Tinkletoes will have none of it. Then they can start shootin'.”