Traveler needs a larger screen and more editing capabilities. A finger-prompt cursor would make a world of difference also.

Nobody is more prepared

to enter the abyss

than Mr. Peabody

With him

he brought his pickaxe

He brought a very powerful military grade flashlight

Seventy feet of rope in a gym bag

A canteen full of water

A handle net

Matches and a candle

A sleeping bag

A pop up tent

A Swiss Army Knife

Magnifying glass

Cajun Trail mix and a lucky rabbit foot

"I brought something for each of you as well."

He handed us each a shovel

The plan was to arrive before any of the workers

It seemed to us that the coast was clear

Instead of climbing to the top by a scaffolding we would search all around for a visible entrance

This proved a difficult task

Everything seemed to have been boarded off

With some luck I was able to pry a wooden board from a side entry which seemed to have been to a crawlspace

This led us to a central tunnel that brought us into the dark building nearly in very front of the enormous hole leading down into the depths of New York

Turning on his flashlight Mr.Peabody gave us our final chance to turn around and return to the safety of our homes

We were as determined and curious as he was 

No second thoughts

I was even frustrated with curiousity

Down we went to the very pit of darkness

Along the way I wished to clear up some other questions which had been bothering me

"Where does Sherman hang out these days?"

"I haven't worked with him in years.. last I spoke to him he was investing in crypto and training for amateur mixed martial arts."

"Huh.." I replied, disappointed, "I was expecting you to have stayed in touch.. it was only twelve years ago you were bolth in that movie.."

"I, sir.. was not in that film.. nor was Sherman.."

"Oh.. kind of a relief in a way I guess.. They always go too hard on complicating something easy and simple.. It was hyper-focused on a father and son narrative. It totally lost sight of the original tongue in cheek element the first low quality animations had. I was stressed out the whole time because suddenly I'm being tasked with taking the charachters seriously in a real world sense and not the all fun time-traveling fantasy world sense.."

"You're doing it again," said Mr. Peabody..

"I'll shut up.. sorry.."

Lenny couldn't help but laugh.

"He's more passionate about cartoons than most actual toons. The dude moved to the worst part of New York just to live with them."

"Is that true Mr. Gordon?"

"Just call me Jay.. or Gordon," I told him, "Truth be told.. yeah.. I hate regular reality. I never really stopped watching cartoons. If anything, I started watching them more the older I got."

"Well that is interesting.. I know an excellent psychologist.. I think you should speak with him. I'll set you up. Couldn't hurt to get a consultation anyways."

"This is a tremendous tunnel," Lenny exclaimed, stopping briefly to smell around.

Far down where the ground leveled out for us we could see that we were in a cavern

Peabody shined his flashlight around and revealed that we were in a theater

"Is this a performance center?" Lenny asked.

"It's Pompeii.." said Peabody.

The look on his face was one of confusion

Even disbelief

"It is an exact replica of the Roman ampitheater... of Pompeii."

"Like where Pink Floyd performed?.." I asked.

"Yes," said Mr. Peabody, "Where Pink Floyd performed." 

Our only option was to continue further

A great hall was before us

Physics seemed not to matter here.. as all things proved, when Toons were involved

My confusion and displacement was nauseating

"I need to sit down.. this is too much."

And it was too much

I was overwhelmed

I'm always overwhelmed

Nothing even matters in these places

The world that pours in evades me

As always I'm having fun and then I crash

Here it was different than I had experienced before

The hall was a catacombs

Leading to other pathways and tunnels

Though it all went upward into a gravity within itself pulling toward some mirrored sphere and there were spires and tapers arranged from it and surrounding it and summits upon summits 

where the shapes of featureless silver beings were forming and dissolving and forming and dissolving and though I saw flowers I could not say if they were safe to touch because also they looked to be sharp blades spinning within vines that grew around the sacred geometry which was the foundation of all that I was seeing here and from it was oozing the deep plasma of my youth and the shards of all those collective griefs those gaps in the fairness of my life the loss of loved ones the burden of beholding the suffering of dying pets the momentary relief offered by comedy the fear of being lost in the dark woods with the right road lost

and I zwymiotowal am {vomited}

from the bellows of

my guts

came all the little

marshmallow tadpoles

creamy and sweet

each one

of many

spilling out of me

like so much soup

and they found ways 

out of me elsewhere 

too

even from slits which

appeared in my armpits

like sudden gills

and my left ear

and the corner of my eye

which had swollen up

and blood vessels were 

bursting in me

just beneath my face

as they arose in my

blood like steam

lifting my flesh 

from under it

"Help me Peabody"

but I only threw up more and that was when I started to struggle for air between my fits which is a suffering no toon could ever relate to because they just don't exist

they just dont exist they just dont exist they just dont exist they just dont exist they just dont exist they just dont exist they just dont exist they just dont exist

"That was a lot Gordon.." Mr. Peabody said above me.

He stood beside Lenny the Coyote looking down into my eyes.

Lenny was frightened and even crying.

Toons usually cry in a ridiculous kind of way

but Lenny didn't seem to be doing that

and it threw me off

"Just glad you're okay.." 

"Can you walk?" asked Peabody.

"I think I can, yes.."

I brushed some of the ghost sperm tadpoles off of Rubin the Suit and tried to get up..

"I'll take it from here big guy," said Rubin.

This was a luxury usually only

afforded to me by Rubin if 

I somehow got too drunk

to walk up the stairs

to Marcey

but I just 

haven't drank in so long

that I kind of

forgot what it was like

to have caring friends

drag you like

Weekend at Bernies

up and down a flight or two of 

stairs

or into the back seat of a car

or tuck you into bed and

turn your head toward

the garbage pale

or the popcorn bowl

Mr. Peabody began speculating at

all the possibilities of this mystery

that these toonisol guppies must

only come from regs

and they need to be

in just the right spot

to be effected right

but at the same time

he wonders if they 

were just inside of 

regs all along

and some kind of frequency 

we didn't know about

was the reason they

suddenly

needed to come out

and that was why the regs came at those late hours in their hard hats

but made no sounds..

"Mr. Peabody, no offense.." I said, struggling to keep from throwing up more, "It just doesn't matter. Can you please help me? Can you please just get me home? I just need to be with Marcey. She'll know what to do."

It wasn't funny this time.

Sometimes it just isn't.

Lenny was comfortable enough to

drive the superdeluxe

and get me home

and yes

Marcey wondered if I was drunk

but truthfully I was not. 

We bathed together.

It had been years

since we did that.

I had a lot to think about.

A lot to rethink.

"a lot," Peabody had said..

He said that was a lot when I came out of it there back in the tunnels.

It doesn't matter.

None of this matters.

for tonight.

for tonight.

The feelwrite

draws in every dish

fork and spoon

kind of mesmerized

the shiny wet-looking thing

glimmers while I punch away

about the

severe beating I got

at TWB

“Lenny's back!” shouts Marcey.

And bolth of us are really

happy to see the coyote

because he really

has proven to be

a gentleyote ..

The evening immediately shifts away

from my

distraction-spree writing device

to game night

and I was able

to talk them out of Jenga

and into cribbage

because at least with

card games the

rules of physics don't really

break against me

and the only thing

that really pisses me off

is how good

literally every toon is

at shuffling cards..

its like circus tricks every time

over their shoulders and around their

heads and arcs from

one hand to the other..

“Can you just serve the hand!?”

After games

Lenny tells me

there's something

at the old abandoned

warehouse

close to the docks

in Redhook

he wants to show me the

following Wednesday.

He's still moving in

to his new place

not far from

us

where he says he lives

above a bunch of birds

who were nervous

about renting to

a coyote

but he explained to them

that's a really

offensive trope

assuming toon coyotes don't talk

and just chase birds

and engage in pointless threats

and violence.

“Thats all stuff I talk about on my podcast. Guys like Wiley are actually making Tooney Coyotes and other wild tooney canines look really bad. I met Wiley at a leadership convention. He wasn't thrilled at first that I called him out for the lack of dialogue in his performances. But he explained he's just getting old. He's got a lot on his plate.”

A week of hacking out bitter memoirs

was eating away at me by that

following Wednesday

even with the new

Feelwrite

so putting on Rubin the cartoon suit

was a reprieve…

“I was starting to smell like this damn closet..” says Rubin, “its like a tomb in there!”

Lenny and I

were able to stay in the shadows

in the Superdeluxe and

listen to some

“A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night”, which may be the greatest standards album ever made, and by far Harry Nilsson at his performative best, although of course I can't help but favor his earlier studio albums and Nilsson Schmilsson deserves a higher place on the list of best albums of all time.

“See? The guys in hardhats are all regs like you.. how much construction do you know that only has a graveyard shift..”

“I don't hear no power tools or sledgehammer either,” says Rubin the Suit..

Out the side of the building, several of the workers exit and handle a large wooden crate. They place this in a semi truck and the truck is gone and probably headed up or down Interstate 95 within twenty minutes..

“Thats Toonisol, no doubt,” I say.

“There's only one way to find out..” Lenny tells me..

“Exactly, “ says Rubin, “We go in there, tell'em we're on to'em, and demand some answers!”

“That’s a really nice suit..”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks,” says Rubin.

Sneaking around is easy for a coyote..

and Rubin

is actually pretty good at keeping it quiet too…

I've been accused of breathing heavily..

by Rubin mostly.

We find an old elevator shaft up

on top of the warehouse

and are able to

acquire rope

from a workstation near

some scaffolding

climbing down to the second floor

where there really wasn't much of a floor at all

but for some wooden planks

laid out across foundational beams

where we were able to spy

safely

on the secretive activities taking place below us..

we could hear the conversation of two familiar voices…

It was Willy the Weasel

and Bradley Fuzzer..

“So this guy who plays the FBI agent from Wolf of Wallstreet is playing Hal Jordan.. you know.. the guy who plays the over-the-top actor in Peter Jackson's King Kong..”

“King Kong was sooo long,” Bradley Fuzzer says.. “I have no idea who you're talking about..”

“He's the dad from Super 8”...

“I don't know, maybe… what else?”

“Friday Night Lights?”

“Oh, the guy from Sling Blade..”

“No the series, not the movie.”

“There's a Slingblade series?”

“No a Friday Night Lights series.”

“God that sounds awful.. but no, no idea, what else?”

“Godzilla… the one with Seven..”

“Who's Seven?”

“From Stranger Things.”

“I'm not into watching shows about *cool middle-schoolers.”

The new Godzilla with the psychic kid and stuff..”

“That was terrible, no, sorry…”

“Umm… I'm really struggling here.. he's in Game Night..”

“Come on..”

“Mayor of Kingstown.”

“...”

“Okay… wait, I got it.. he's in that scene in Dark Night Rises where Bane takes the plane down.. the CIA guy that kidnapped him and he's all like [if I take that mask off, will you die] and then Bane's all like [it would be very painful.. for you..]..”

“Nope, that was the guy from Queer as Folk and I know for a fact he isn't playing the Green Lantern”...

“Oh.. I never watched Queer as Folk..”

“What? You've *never watched Queer as Folk?”

“Is that where they give straight people the makeover and stuff?”

“No that's Queer Eye.”

“Did you hear something?”

We held our breath.

Willie seemed to have been on to us

but just in time

workers came out of

this really big hole that gradually sloped downward from the bottom of the building's southeast wall…

“Here's the last load.”

They were pushing wheelbarrows full of the little veiny opaque whitish tadpole looking

ghost-sperms or whatever they are..

I whispered to Coyote:

“I'm still kind of confused about what these things are.. they talk about them like they're a chemical but they're just… tadpoles or something..”

We watched as these

marshmallow guppies were loaded into a black plastic industrial sized…

Tupperware looking thing..

and the sound they made

was atrocious

like soup being

spilled down a drain..

“Alright all clear.. get this thing sealed and let's get outta here.”

The crew was quick at moving this

enormous black tub

out the door

and onto another truck.

Within a half hour

the place was sealed

and it was just us..

“Kyle Chandler,” says Rubin.

Lenny and I are confused.

“The guy that plays Hal Jordan in Lanterns.. he was in that show Early Edition about the guy that gets the newspaper every day but the paper is from a day into the future. “

“Ohhhhh,” Lenny realizes.

That was actually a pretty good show.

The hole was massive.

Big around

and it went down a long way…

“What do you suppose is down there,” I asked Lenny..

Lenny began sniffing the air..

“Whatever it is I don't like it.. or the fact that

Willie and Fuzzer are confirmed to be involved with a Toonisol distribution operation right under our noses.”

“Where do these tadpole things come from?” I asked..

“I'm as perplexed as any reg to be honest with you Jay..”

“There's one of'em!” Rubin blurted out..

It was wiggling and squirming in the dirt within the downward

sloping tunnel

within the hole before us..

“Don't touch it with your hands Jay..” Lenny said..

He looked around the worksite

until he found an

empty Doritos bag

and turned it over to shake the leftover

crumbs out..

“I know a guy.. a professor..

from back in my college days..

Maybe its time we get to the

bottom of what these things are..

not a lot of confirmed science about them.”

We left the scene

with one of the slippery little things

moving around in the bag..

crinkling and gushing and gurgling..

Lenny gave directions as I drove to a place about fifty minutes out of the city and into Poughkeepsie..

a long trek, but he said it would be worth it

and called to confirm

that his friend

would be up for a visit..

Nice little place in the woods..

very contemporary cottage.

When I found out who we were visiting

I was absolutely starstruck.

Mr. Peabody walked out and gave Lenny a big hug..

“Don't mind the mess when you walk in.. I'm just getting set up.. I'm a little excited about this myself. “

The only cartoon on the Rocky and Bullwinkle variety show I actually enjoyed was Mr. Peabody, and I *really

loved it..

I had too many questions for him

and he was extremely nice

but I was embarrassed

when the talking dog

finally had to ask me to

cool it a bit..

“Don't be embarrassed, I'm quite flattered. Let's get down to business though, shall we?”

We watched as he ran all kinds of tests on the tadpole.

X-rays.. exposures to different frequencies of sound… light exposures…

tissue samples..

We had fallen asleep before most of his work was finished

But he woke us anxiously..

“I have made a few remarkable observations,” Peabody explained,

“First and foremost, it is not a sperm..

or a tadpole.. or a fish.. it is a single celled organism… and one of a toonish nature.. though a rather peculiar one..”

He brought the thing out on a piece of paper to show us exactly what type of animation it truly was..

“This is rotoscoping of some sort..”

“Sorry.. what? Please,explain..” I said..

“So, what rotoscoping is, is a sort of animation done over film.. or a frame, where an animator traces a real life object or person onto a frame… With film, they trace the real forms and later remove the real life portion, and only the tracing is left on the film.. giving the animation a very fluid and realistic appearance and motion.”

“Like A Scanner Darkly, with Keanu Reeves..” I said..

“Good example.. however.. its more complicated than that..”

Now everyone was confused..

“I'm mystified frankly…” he explained, “it is as if instead of animating onto a film with the use of illustrated art.. quite the opposite has taken place..”

“You mean.. a reg-amated animation..” asked Lenny.

“I think so.”

“Explain this to me in terms I can understand Professor..”

“What I mean to say, Mr. Blanche.. is that, for example, I am here with you, an animated dog, having crossed over into the regular world.. to you, I am the stranger.. if however, we were to travel far enough into the void, we would meet with the opposite intersection, and were you to cross that border, you would be the stranger in a realm familiar to me.. the Toon World..”

He looked at the little oozing critter with its

squirming tail..

“This life-form is something different than any of us here.. a sort of cartoon-regular hybrid..

existing somewhere

between, or at the edge of our

two realities.”

It was a lot to absorb all at once, but we were fascinated..

“Where did you find this?”

“Redhook…” Lenny explained, “We've been on to some weird happenings with the TWB corporate leaders.. our friend J. Gordon here got cast out by them..

Mr. Peabody paced for some time with his back to us, until finally he turned to us once more, a look of determination in his eyes..

“Take me there.. We're going in.”

I've worked pizza before

and you always come back home

with the smell of garlic

coming out of you

all over.

Marcey didn't mind

but there's just

no way you can

sleep in clean sheets

when you have that

pungent pizza ooze

coming out of your pores.

A long shower

with a lot of scrubbing..

even a soak in a bubble bath..

thats the way to go..

but there is something about

kitchen work

that makes you

tired to the point of wrecked..

Four to eleven are the hours

Guelli has me working

but sometimes

depending on how much

flour is on the ground

and how much tomato sauce

you have up against the walls

you can be in that kitchen

all the way to

midnight..

If he cracks open some Pinot

at the end of the night

and wants to win some of

his money back

playing poker

after he's done closing..

that can keep you up

into the early morning hours.

But that's okay..

free wine

and Guelli is generous

with his Tiramisu..

Gets it from

a Tooney Bakery

owned by these three

nursery rhyme guys.

Bubble Baths in a tooney apartment

are weird.

You already know all my silverware

and food

all has faces and arms and legs

and does a rubberhose dancey routine

every night..

well..

It's a bit much

but the soap

my scrubbing brush

my loofah

my towel

and even my slippers..

they all have faces

arms and legs..

and they really love their job..

Its a lot of dancing

and I try to put on

something that matches it

like

Soul Coughing

or Filter

or any of that

post-grunge alternative

that survived by

spiraling into a bunch of

little sub-genres of their own..

kind of how Beck and the Flaming Lips

became kind of its own thing

and yet

you could still find little random

corner-pocket genres

that later gave birth

to grooves like

The White Stripes

The Strokes

The Vines...

stuff that grew out of the wall practically.

Like I said though

I don't think I'll ever

get used to these appliances

all working to a rhythm

and smiling

and passing this and that of themselves

from one animate object to the next

untill I'm sparkling clean..

I'm about to pass out

next to Marcey

who is already

tucked in and doing that

overdramatic snore

with Zzzzz's all

coming out of her mouth..

Then my phone goes off..

just a buzz and it vibrates

off my bedside table

When I pick it up

its Guelli..

"Dude.. I totally apologize for buzzin like this when you're probably sleeping.."

"It's alright Mikey, I just got out of the bath.. what's up?"

"I know tomorrow is your day off.. but if you can come down about say... 9 p.m. or maybe 10.. I have something for you.. I did a thing.. it's pretty gnarly my fellow mutant.."

"... sure.. yeah, I can grab a pie for me and Marcey. No problem.."

"Great my dude. I'm really looking forward to this. Seriously.."

I fell asleep the second I hit the mattress..

In my dream

I was in the sewers

skateboarding with Guelli and

following him

and all the rest of the

pencil sketch crew..

a bunch of Leos

Donatellos

Raphaels..

the whole bunch..

but Guelli was up in front

and I caught up with him..

we went down tunnels

and circled the rounded ceilings and

were doing all sorts of

stunts and tricks

I never would have known

how to do..

and Guelli says to me

"Just let go little ninja. It's gonna be okay.

Cowabunga."

Then he drifted off into a different tunnel than me...

all the other turtles

followed him

but I was going down..

down down down...

into a dark long duct

where water was running..

and it was such a strong current

that it hurt my ears..

Frummley was down there with me

riding a surfboard..

an old seven and a half foot

Local Motion..

really nice..

I waved to him

but he couldn't see me..

Then Lenny the Coyote

went floating by

doggie paddling..

Followed immediately by

Jeffery Epstein..

(the cartoon lawyer not the financier)

my skateboard came to a hault

and I kind of tumbled forward a bit

but was able to catch myself..

the tunnel ahead was dark

and the silence was as dense

as the darkness itself..

"hello?"

my voice dissolved

into the voidness

like breath being stolen from my lips

by a frigid wind.

a set of spinning iris' darted out of

the empty tunnel

and there was Ezekiel

shrieking

just the way Frummley had described.

I folded over in terror..

and the room was illuminated at once..

Stone pillars were before me

and I could see now

that this was the belly

of a stone fortress

reaching to great heights

in some low place..

Who stood towering over me

but the beast.

Chernabog!

His wings of doom

outstretched

he held his hand open

which was a plateau

and upon it

the twisted souls

of those lost people

from years ago..

and in the middle

was me..

at a cash register..

at a gas pump..

handing out happyface stickers at Walmart..

mopping up spilled beer beneath barstools..

and a hundred million

manifestations of me

dragging myself forward

legs shaking beneath me..

and no where in sight

was a notebook

a typewriter

a pencil

a book..

There I was in a pine box

beetles crawling out of my nose

and flying out of my mouth

blackbirds pecking out my eyes

The flooding was returning now..

a tempest of bolth disaster

as well as relief..

Take me away I thought to myself.

If I need to disappear

then just make me disappear.

The storm and current of the waves

were loud again

so much that it hurt my ears..

I awoke to a happy vacuum cleaner sucking the dust out of a happy rug beneath my

nightstand.

"damn that was a bad one," I said.

Marcey had made breakfast

or at least..

she had gone out to the

dining room to dance with our

breakfast

as it made its way

to our plates..

I told her about the dream..

and she hit the books

looking for a corresponding

diagnoses..

but it was plain enough for me to see..

she was plunging into Freud's Interpretation of Dreams..

"Toons read Freud?"

She turned to me and looked shocked that

I would even have to ask.

"Of course!"

I could only shrug and mutter "huh.."

"According to this you

want to have sex with your mother.." she said.

"That's hilarious."

"Actually, I think it just means you're

afraid of dying without accomplishing

your goals.."

"Oh thank god. Way better."

"Honey! Take this seriously.. maybe you need to talk to a psychologist.."

"I thought you were a psychologist."

"No honey.. I'm a therapist.. there's a big difference. A very very big difference."

"Well that costs money, doesn't it?"

"It'd be money well spent.. but I know enough toon-law to tell you that actually.. TWB is legally obligated to provide up to seven visits to any Psychologist covered under their insurance to employees who've worked more than four years."

"But they fired me.. they beat me, threw me, splattered me, tossed knives at me on a wheel of death, stripped me naked, left me chained to an iron ball in the middle of the worst street in Brownsville, and fired me."

"But Jaybaby, none of that matters.. under cartoon law they are responsible for your mental health until you have been seen by a mental health professional for I'm pretty sure ten visits.."

"That's a lot of visits.. who made that law?"

"Joe Jahoosafef.. the first Toonyside mayor. Look it up."

So I did.

I googled it and sure enough

a charismatic toon named J.Jahoosafef

went through all the painstaking

procedures of town governance

to ensure the mental well being

of toons from Tooneyside Brooklyn.

"I'm not a toon though.."

"Sweetie I don't think that matters.."

We passed the rest of our day

listening to just

the craziest music we could find.

I put on Joseph Tawadros..

she put on Captain Beefheart..

I put on Charles Mingus..

she put on Skinny Puppy..

I put on Meatpuppets..

she put on Butthole Surfers...

Then we agreed to just

relax and listen to

some good old

Supertramp..

and lay in our pj's.

It was almost eight at night

when it dawned on us

we were hungry

which reminded me

that Guelli had

asked me to drop by

and so I was going to get a Pepperoni

and treat Marcey

to a Tiramisu..

When I got to Guelli's

he was super busy

so I actually jumped in for a bit

and helped him move some pies out

of the oven.

Easy work..

just tossing pies out so they could get sliced

and turning a few in the oven here and there

so they didn't burn.

It was twenty minutes

no big deal..

But then he made a call

and looked like he was

counting some cash..

I could see on the phone he said "alright, alright, cool.."

then he hung up

patted me on the back

and walked me into the back alley

where we waited

and he was leaning against the

red brick wall of his place

when this man in a trenchcoat

comes up

grabs a wad of cash from Guelli

and places a small briefcase

there at his feet.

"Righteous! Here dude.. take it to my office.."

he hands it to me

and we go into

Guelli's little side office

while the crew cleans up.

He tells me to open it

and I do.

The briefcase pops open nicely..

with a real clean click.

Whats inside is a remarkable beauty

and I am uncertain what to say

at first..

It is somewhat like a shell

about the size of a breadbox

tinted greenish mahogany

resin-lacquer-acrylic

wooden organic plastic

Shiny. Very shiny

almost looks wet.

Raised mettalic lettering says

"Feelwrite"

across its top

and on the bottom

"ARSEHOSE"

...

William S. Burroughs edition

I open it up..

The keyboard is amazing..

Each key is elevated slightly

by little

Dark brown accordion-style boots

and

a little light goes on beside a

thumb-pocket sensor.

"I think that's where you put your thumb

when you turn it on and off."

"Mikey! You got this for me?"

"I sure did my dude.. it's an ARSEHOSE Feelwrite Distraction-Spree Writing Device..

and its all yours. Hooks up straight to your wifi.. you can write up to like a million and a half words on it

save documents

edit to some degree

all that stuff..

and when you finish a story,

you just send it to your email, upload it

to wherever.."

"I'm floored man.. why are you giving me this?"

"Look dude.. I care about you man! You've been my most loyal fan. Even when we started this place and I was still struggling to get our crust right, there you were. And you were honest.. and you were rooting for us

unlike all these brand new pizza snobs who

act like they know everything about dough

and what makes a good sauce

and what makes a Neapolitan a Neapolitan or a Bianca a Bianca..

You had my back because you love what I know how to do."

I'm blushing at this point.

"You work with me here as long as you want..

as long as you have to..

You know how to handle a pie and that makes

you valuable here..

but I want you writing. Don't stop.

Even if its just about shit here at the shop.. okay?"

I'm moved.

A lump forms in my throat

and Guelli sees that

I'm genuinely grateful..

"Come here big guy.

Bring it in!"

It is my first hug from a Ninja Turtle,

and it ends up being just what I needed

to lift my spirits.

I was letting the world

get me down

for a minute.

"Where did this even come from?"

"Top secret. This hasn't been released to

the public yet..

Might not even make it to the market..

its a prototype, I think..

but its pretty sinister

huh?"

My reflection in its lacquer is sharp.

It is a jewel to say the least.

I test it out. Open a new document

and punch in my name.

Jay Gordon Blanche

"Go on now, get out of here.. thanks for the help tonight, you saved the guys asses. And say hi to Marcey for me."

I take off

in a rush to get home now..

Can't wait to send my first Freelance story

out

on my

ARSEHOSE Feelwrite Distraction Spree Writing Device

and see where the wind takes me.

Sirens go off again**_**__

Stirring and shaking

was beneath us

and Marcey had on some

Blink 182 spinning..

Don't waste your time on me

Lenny got up and shook me

and

I had to bolt

for the door

to see what was

going on outside.

Sure enough those stupid

ambulance drivers..

they wear long white coats

like they're

doctors or surgeons

in and out of the

back of their ambulance

causing more harm than good

but something else is

shaking the whole town.

Its those illustrations from

the post apocolyptic book written by

the mad-genius native Brooklyner

Skaddix Frummley..

His book "Beige"

has caused a lot of chaos

out here

and when his demons

get loose

the tooney side of Brooklyn

gets wrecked.

Frummley's work in my opinion

might be one of the leading

causes of

The Slip-

Which is just a name

used for describing

the convergence of the

toonside & regular reality

But they do have the Real Ghostbusters

and thats where this

actually gets pretty

confusing

because "Real Ghostbusters"

and

The Ghostbusters

are two different things

as Real Ghostbusters are

the Tooney Ghostbusters

and just

Ghostbusters

are the live action Ghostbusters

who aren't real.

Frummley's creations

are not necessarily

ghosts

but because they

are real animations

The Real Ghostbuster's equipment

does work on a sort of

temporary containment level.

Real Ghostbusters storyline

is actually extremely complex

and when their routine

starts sometimes in the

early a.m.

all sorts of tooney ghosts

have a tendency to

bust out of the

Ecto-Containment system

including charachters from

"Beige"...

I had asked Ray Stantz about the issue

and he gave me a view into

the Ecto Chamber

to see that Frummley's

hellish set of charachters

especially their surrealistic

black & white forms

are perpetually tearing each other apart

and even threatening real violence

to regs throughout

Brooklyn..

Tooney Side as well as Regular Brooklyn.

I should explain a bit

about Ezekiel

and why we should

all be afraid.

Why he is even in this realm

and what makes him different

from all the other toons.

Frummley not only wrote about Ezekiel..

he drew him..

illustrated him..

painted him..

perfected him..

and figured out

how to create

a post-slip living cartoon entity..

Not a lot of people are happy with him

for doing so..

especially because he brought

one of the greatest Tooneyside horrors

ever imagined..

Super-religious Homicidal entities

likened after biblical figures

in ways that may have been intriguing

and quite welcome among the

creative community

while on paper..

but most loathsome

in the Regular Realm

to walk among

caring and compassionate people..

I would mention them..

but lets just not.

Ezekiel is what we call

a five fingered non-traditional..

which I think is just

what all the eggheads call him.

Smart talk for "abstract."

His skin is a sort of pinkish tone

that I think was meant to be

like flesh

but the paint just didn't work out..

and his eyes are wild

and bulging..

spiraled iris' and big black pupils..

His hair stands straight up on end

and he wears an all white suit

bolth a turtle neck and trousers

while walking around in

bare feet

with dark purple toenails.

And he flies. fast.

The entire New York City Police Force

once had to work

alongside the U.S. Army

assisted by George W. Bush

(regular Bush, not tooney Bush)

to contain him.

The hope is that the people

who disappeared

are not dead..

but maybe somewhere down there

in the dark trench

that leads to the

Tooney underworld.

The religious regulars

all speculate

about crazy stuff down there.

Like a new Jerusalem..

or Babylonia..

or that it is a gateway to hell itself..

I don't care.

Not like you can just put'em all back

anyways.

If you could..

they would have put *him back..

They would have gotten rid of Ezekiel.

"You can't be serious.." I said..

I was watching as giant obscene birds and bats and Pterodactyls

Picked toons and regs up

and tried dropping them from

great heights

but thank goodness

there are so many

toonish caped crusaders

and heroic people and toons

of all sizes

the most serious injuries

did not appear fatal

or life threatening.

"This is the second time in half a decade," Lenny said.

I knew the call was coming

before the phone even rang.

A fork and spoon carried

the phone over to me

on a very polite dish.

"Thankyou."

"You're very welcome," said the dish as she courtseyed.

It was Bradley Fuzzer.

He was pissed.

Fuzzer has the foulest mouth

in all of the tooney side of Brooklyn.

And you should know

before meeting him..

he's a very poorly drawn boss..

I think someone was sketching a picture

to troll their supervisor one day

before the Slip

and this is what happened.

He just appeared as a big

overweight

balding

redhaired

bloodshot eyed paperpusher..

with a crooked tye

a mug of coffee

and an old wall phone

which never left his hand..

I took Lenny along for the ride

to the TWB professional building

but I had him wait in the car..

Bradley Fuzzer would only

lose his mind further

if he saw a coyote

or any animal

in his office..

Claimed they all stunk..

Which Rizzoe the Blue Iguana

had complained about to

the union representatives

at TWB..

but to no avail.

Rizzoe took me up to the top floor

on the fastest toon elevator

in all of Brooklyn.

I'm never ready for take off.

Rizzoe is always kind enough to

catch me by my leg before I hit the ceiling

once it comes to an abrupt stop.

Can hear Fuzzer spouting off

obscenities the second I

get off on the floor

and when Rizzoe

bursts the door open

Fuzzer doesn't stop

bellowing into the phone

until he looks me directly in the eye

and hangs up

abruptly..

The entire wall behind him is

soundproof glass overlooking

the two sides of Brooklyn

and still

the flying creatures are

grabbing up regs and toons

randomly

and scattering them downward

from up high

dropping them

from the clutches of their

claws and talons.

He gives me a whole earful

about what a mess it all is

what the Board of Directors

wants to see on the

front page of the

Tooney Chronicle

and how I'm

getting sloppy.

"And what is this I hear about you hanging around town with a wolf?"

"A coyote.. sir."

"I don't care if its a god-damned panda in a night gown, as long as it isn't distracting you from doing the job this corporation expects you to do."

He sips his coffee

and I swear I hear it hiss

against his lips

the way a drop of water

on a hot steel pan hisses

when it evaporates

instantly.

"I need you to get to Manhattan and interview the Real Ghostbusters.. investigative.. a nice fluff piece on how they hold this city together during hard times like these... so on and so on.."

"Of course.."

"About how this was barely even an issue.. I understand that Ezekiel never even got out of containment.. or at least that's what I'm

being told.. just

everything is under control,

yadda yatta...

and in fact,

don't even bring up Zeke's name.."

"Done and done."

I could get in touch with the Real Ghostbusters

no problem.

That wasn't where I was going.

I wanted the real story.

I was going to see Skaddix Frumley

It would be a short visit

and I knew just where to find him..

Writing songs

on his apartment building

rooftop.

He plays a selmer-style guitar

his lyrics are

usually about exploding insects

or one eyed submarine sailors

unexplored feelings

about making sense of

chaos..

a subtle peppering of

atheism and pessimism

with some

sweetness sprinkled in

concerning the luxuries

and pleasures

of a flesh-filled life.

"How are you Gordon?" he asked as I approached..

He had stopped playing guitar

and was now briefly

writing down

some new

song..

"I could use a vacation.. I'm assuming you saw

that your friends are loose again.."

"Not friends.. my children.. you're my friend. Aren't you?"

He actually is pretty cool..

but he is from different circles.

Chaotic as his creations are

he is remarkably down to earth..

and steers entirely clear

of the tooney side of Brooklyn..

His glasses are more like goggles..

he has that wildman hair

like Jack Nance

from Eraserhead..

"Yeah actually.. you're cool..

just that-

well..

what else besides Ezekiel,

Pterodactyls

and weird giant bat hybrids

do we have to worry about?

"You've read my book?"

"I guess.. kinda depends on what you

mean by read..

It's hard to turn away from it.."

"But painful at the same time?"

"It's just so terrible that it's good."

He stood up and carefully leaned

his Selmer

against the stool

he had been sitting on.

Pointing to one big bat

just a few miles away

which he could see the

Real Ghostbusters were

dragging in

with those

plasma streams..

["that's Keyrn.. the evil twin of another hybrid bat-demon who, believe it or not, I forget the name of... its been years since I actually read Beige."]

"I still have Beige somewhere.. held together with tape.."

His face lit up in a thankful way..

["I wish I had more answers for you Gordon."]

"Nothing we can really do about it now I guess.. it's just this new friend of mine.."

I told him about the death of Jeffery Epstein, suspected suicide..

and when he stared blankly at me

I had to

specify again

that I was not referring to

the disgraced financier

but the rubberhose animated lawyer

of the same name..

"So I've got this new friend Lenny..

a coyote.. pretty cool.. reads a lot..

told me all about how Walt Disney

may have created a monster

by producing Night on Bald Mountain..

and bringing that darklord to life.."

["Chernabog," said Frummley.]

I shivered.

"Yes."

["...well.. I hope he's deep deep down somewhere.. and far too busy hiding to cause any mischief up here. For now, I'm hoping we can just maintain a barrier around my.. mistake.. Ezekiel.."]

"I think we have a tight enough handle on all this, frankly.. as long as we have guys like Mighty Mouse still.. and the Real Ghostbusters.."

"Let's hope," Frummley said..

He went back to strumming his guitar

and sort of moaning his lyrics

in that

gentle and eerie way..

There was no wind

up here on the roof

and I began to sweat

in the stagnant heat

rising up from the sunsoaked

tar rooftop

of the very tall apartment building

which overlooked the part of

Brooklyn which had once

all been regular..

and the silhouettes of those

lesser demons

getting brought back to

containment

filled me

with some

foreboding of grief..

as now

I was somewhat numb

to fear

of these things.

There are some places on the tooney side that you just shouldn't go.

The docks is one of those places.

So when I asked around for Jeffery Epstein (the cartoon lawyer, not the disgraced dead financier) and the person that finally pointed me in the right direction was a coyote named Lenny who said

"He'll be at Redhook at the end of the dock at five after midnight."

I knew I was gonna have to bring my partner along.

Fortunately for me, he's a suit

so he wasn't going to blow my cover..

if he could just shut up for a while..

"You need to loosen up," he said,

you're sweating right through me..

honestly, it's a little gross."

"Rubin, quiet down.. this isn't the nice part of New York. When I get out of this car, it's silence. Don't say a word, and don't speak unless spoken to. If anything funny happens, we run."

"Why don't I stay in the car and keep it running?"

"You know I'm naked without you."

Five after midnight

just as the coyote said

I saw Epstein make his way

to the edge of the dock

and light up one of his cigarettes..

"Did you bring anyone?"

"Nobody. Why are we here?"

"We're being watched Blanche.. don't play stupid."

"Watched by who?"

"That's what I'm hoping you can figure out."

He handed me the latest weekly edition of Sunny Side Up, a tooney rag that pays $25 a pop for food reviews at tooney restaurants all over town.

"What's this got to do with me?"

He pointed to the bottom of the front page.

Several reviews of the new Tooney-Reg Fusion Cafe and Bar on East 183rd Street outside of Little Italy.

"That's the new place in Belmont," I said to him, "It's too fancy for me."

"Read the reviews," he replied.

the only two reviews read:

GREAT FOOD, GREAT SERVICE, ASK FOR TIMOTHY.

THE COCKTAILS ARE TO DIE FOR.

"Okay, so they make nice cocktails. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that's code."

"Code for what?"

"Look at the picture. Behind Willy the Weasel, near the lobster tank."

I looked, and sure enough, there was my boss..

Bradley Fuzzer, shaking hands with Sheriff Wesley Emerson, grinning from ear to ear.

It seemed harmless enough, but I was still curious.

"What do you think I'll find there?"

Epstein flicked his cigarette over the railing and into the river.

"There's somebody coming," he said, "Try to act drunk."

It was a patrol officer.

He turned on his flashlight and aimed it in our faces.

"Time for you guys to maybe start moving along.. the curfew here is sunset.."

"Just getting some fresh air," said Epstein.

"Okay, on your way now. I don't want to have to do any paperwork tonight."

Epstein grabbed my arm as I started toward my car.

"Don't trust anyone Blanche. Whoever this is, has eyes all around town."

On the drive home I wondered what I should tell Marcey.

It dawned on me that we hadn't been to dinner in months.

We'd just bolth been so busy with work.

"Oh, Jay, I would love to! Belinda next door was telling me they do a caramel apple cheesecake."

"Well let's treat ourselves tommorow night. You and me."

This made Marcey really happy.

We didn't get to sleep until 4 in the morning.

That evening we got our reservations for 6:30 and we arrived ten minutes early.

The hostess sat us down.

This place was too nice.

Tablecloths,

candles, live music,

fresh bread..

The waitor came by with water,

I asked for Timothy,

just like the review had suggested.

The waitor froze in place.

"Ah, yes.." he said, "just one moment."

The waitor disappeared only momentarily,

but arrived again with a swift wink he made sure Marcey didn't detect,

held a small note under the table for me

reading

SAY YOU NEED THE BATHROOM.

"Marcey, order us a nice appetizer. Gotta take a whiz."

"Aren't you romantic.. and it's hors d'oeuvres, mister.."

"This way," the waitor directed.

I got into the bathroom to find that it was enourmous.

A very large toon was the restroom attendant,

and I couldn't tell exactly what he was.

A bear or a buffalo... a gorilla..

"You asked for me," he said in a deep voice that caused the cologne bottles behind him to rattle against the marble sink.

"Did I?"

"Don't be a wiseass.. it's a hundred dollars. Drop it in the tip jar and go take a leak in the far urinal."

You follow the instructions of someone this large,

toon or not.

When I was at the urinal just about to relieve myself, this Timothy came up

behind me,

pulled my sleeve up

wrapped a tourniquet around my bicep.

Out came a syringe as big as a pogo-stick.

In the transparent vile

was the little tadpole sperm-ghost I had heard about

and I only had time to gasp

as he pumped the slimy critter

right into my vein

like a boiled egg

getting sucked through

one of those long straws

they use for tall milkshakes..

Timothy then straightened out my suit and freshened me up with a nice cologne.

I left the restroom

in slow motion

and out I went to our table..

Marcey looked so beautiful.

I was in wonderland.

Everything seemed to be smiling at me.

The tadpoles heartbeat was faster than mine.

What was it doing in there?

I got so hungry all at once.

All I remember of the evening was

eating and eating.

Tooney Mashed Potatoes with Regular gravy.

extraordinary and bizarre.

Toon butter has more fat than regular,

and it makes everything creamier..

Reg olives in a toon martini

unexplainable..

Did they have to kill a cartoon cow

to get me this Tom and Jerry sized steak?

Or is this just something being animated before it gets distributed?

Who's animating this?

Does this mean everything is animated?

Is there just one animator,

or is that God.

Is God animated?

Is there a cartoon God and a Regular God?

Is there no God,

just nothingness

and the nothingness pukes up all this

tooney anarchy?

"What are you talking about honey?"

Exactly.

What am I even talking about?

"Jay. Wake up."

I am awake though. I'm awake.

"Jay!"

I jolted up out of sleep.

There I was in tighty whities and black socks

laying on the kitchen floor.

"Oh, my head! My head!" I shouted.

"Well you slammed eight martinis before they finally cut you off."

Marcey didn't sound upset, just concerned.

"I tried getting you to bed with me honey, but you just dropped there like a sack of oranges, after eating everything in the fridge."

I had to tell her everything.

That was what made her upset.

Not the drinking.

Not the toonisol..

Not everything following the lead.

It was that I lied about why we were going out.

"You made it sound like you cared, Jay."

"I do! I do care Marcey! I knew you needed a night out."

"Me? You're the one that looks like you needed the night out Jay!"

"Oh jeeze, Marcey, it's not like that. I'm worried. I'm just ..afraid.."

I was. I am.

Afraid.

And she could tell now

as I opened the freezer door

stuck my head inside

hoping it would relieve

the throbbing in my skull..

I wondered if the tadpole was dead and floating

somewhere in my guts..

somewhere in my brain..

Marcey cooled off about it all.

She came over and hugged me

putting her head against my back

as I stood like a clown

in my underwear

with my head in a cartoon fridge.

"Okay Jay, you're making our fridge uncomfortable," she said, "Get on your robe and I'll make you something for the hangover."

She made me a beer with tomato juice and brought me a few strips of bacon.

Sitting down beside me

she bit into a bagel

and talking with food in her mouth..

"If we're gonna crack this one open, we're gonna have to do it together, Jay."

I nodded. Holding my head in one hand

as I chewed on bacon

that smiled too happily

for something that was being eaten.

She pulled out our favorite album,

and put it on the turntable.

Supertramp, Breakfast in America.

There's really no better album

in our opinion.

"Just lay on the couch and cuddle.. alllllllll day," she said.

And I agreed.

All day. We needed time.

Time to figure out our next move.

To figure out who was who.

One thing was for sure..

we couldn't trust anyone.

Just then, a knock came on the door.

Fastening my robe

I looked through the peephole

to see that it was none other than Linny the Guinea Pig.

She was wearing a trench coat

and a wide fedora to avoid detection.

"It's Linny.." I said.

"Well for goodness sake let her in!"

I opened the door to invite her inside

but she wasn't interested in staying.

She was in some kind of panic..

which isn't good for guinea pigs at all..

they can die like that

I've heard..

"I'm sorry I can't stay.." she said.."I just wanted to let you know.. Jeffery Epstein hung himself.."

If I had been a toon, my jaw would have dropped to the floor.

"Our lawyer.. not the financier," she added.

At the intersection between regular Brownsville and Tooney Brownsville in Brooklyn, the billboard reads:

TOONISOL ADDICTION RUINS LIVES. THERE IS HELP.

No, I'm not a toon.

But regulars like myself won't hire me.

For anything.

I just fit in around here.

My job sucks,

but it pays really well.

I write for Bradley Fuzzer and associates,

and they contract me out

usually to Tooney magazines

and the crime or political sections

of Tooney newspapers.

Tooney World Broadcasting

doesn't even care about spelling.

When they send me out

sometimes I just come back and 

slip them a scribbled mess

on the back of a fast food reciept.

They just hand out cash.

A Blue Iguana named Rizzoe 

just comes out of the business office

and walks over in a nice gray suit

and takes it from me.

He drops a paper bag with a wad of cash..

Sometimes $500,

sometimes $1000..

sometimes more.

Depends on what I had to do to get the story.

I don't even have to leave my car..

^and oh man, I have a nice car^

 I don't care what regs in town

 say. Toons just make better cars^

^I think its a hatred thing^

^more than it is a jealousy^

 thing with them.^

 ^they see a reg^

 ^blowing through town^

 ^holding an exaggerated steering wheel^

 ^and wonder if he's even controlling it^

(I'm not. The thing just knows.)

^ its like it reads my mind ^

^ but not really, because there's..^

^ ..just this amazing feeling..^

   ..like even the wind going

through my hair

is animation.

Sometimes its even like I *am* a toon.

Which has honestly been my wildest dream..

My car is a 1945 Ford Super Deluxe..

I think..

Its hard to tell,

because toon car factories 

don't really have brands

unless a company

specifically requests one,

which barely ever happens..

 and it might be black, 

but it can be hard to tell sometimes

because there's a weird silver, white, gray

thing that happens when you go fast

or try to find your reflection in it.

It's pretty cool.

TWB even got me a fitted cartoon suit..

which totally slaps.

Cobalt black, with a nice shiny black tie.

I don't have to iron it or anything..

but I only wear it if I'm out 

on a private eye gig,

or if I'm out to something really nice..

Problem is, it talks, and it kind of

has a mind of its own too..

Sometime's he's a real pain in my ass,

but what can I say,

he's a good partner..

and he knows how to make me look good.

I got payed $10000 a while back

for keeping the lid on something.

To me it was stupid.

A little number I was sent to write

on this Wonder Pet crew

who all apparently have a celery problem..

which is a real thing for cartoon

childhood actors..

Toons can get high on seemingly anything..

I wish I could do that..

ten big, for shutting up

on who all showed up at Tuck's pad,

to party.

I have a feeling this whole squirrel safety

thing is just a smokescreen for something bigger..

The new thing is Toonisol.

It's a crossway drug..

designed by Gork Labs originally,

as a sort of restart for

toons that suffer from depression,

or professional setbacks,

like bad animation,

or shitty storylines..

Like Tin Tin for example.

I think he just got sick of the bullshit.

He went in to see one of the toon psychs,

told them something like

hey man, I've looked like this forever,

stupid hairdo and all..

I can't get girls,

I don't even know if I'm like

a middle schooler,

a teenager,

eighteen, twenty, whatever..

I want to end it all..

and the doc was like

don't let it get you down dude

we have this new thing.

We inject you with this chemical

called toonisol..

it absorbs into your bloodstream,

and bang,

you get reanimated as something else,

somewhere else,

and you kind of get a say in how it goes..

Last I knew

somebody told me Tin Tin was a nice guy now,

living out in Colchester, Connecticut

building homes with a company 

that doesn't mind hiring toons,

as long as they don't stay funny all day.

He's a grown man now too,

with a beard, 

and his dog is an awesome German Shepard 

or something.

Problem is..

this stuff works on regs too..

Gets'em real fucked up.

Like super high.

I've seen it done,

but I don't think I'm up for it..

It has to be injected into you 

by a cartoon,

and from a cartoon syringe..

This thing looks like a sort of 

tadpole when it goes into you..

or more like some kind of ghost sperm..

Can you imagine that swimming around in you all day?

Like a damn goldfish in your veins, swimming around in your brain all day long,

until finally it dissolves or you..

throw it up or something.. 

I don't wanna know..

My apartment is on the Tooney side of Brooklyn..

It's nice.

Rubberhose animated.

Beds make themselves..

Breakfast is always happy,

makes itself too..

Eggs smile,

walk up to my plate single file..

Salt & Pepper shakers do their dancey thing..

Bacon flips itself on the pan and

seems to really enjoy itself..

I'm rarely hungry when I leave for work.

And I have a wife too..

but don't you dare judge us.

People say the only reason I married a toon

is because I couldn't get a real woman.

Thats messed up.

She just finally started to get along with 

my mother,

which took up until she found out

cartoons and regs can have kids..

normal kids too..

well, I don't know what you call normal

really,

because they're even trying to outlaw that,

if you'd believe it..

on the conservative networks

they always have these religious folks

saying the only reason

the toon world spilled over into the

regular world

is because our sins are running out of

places to go..

and so hell opened up

and let the realities kind of 

mix..

whatever. cult-leader b.s.. my wife and I hate the news.

Also, Marcey,

that's my wife..

she's got an onlyfans

and if she wanted

could just do that

and she'd still make more money than me..

But she's also a therapist..

Which was how we met.

I've always kind of had a thing for the

rubberhose folks..

I think because they just keep things so 

simple.

And she might be just oldschool black and white,

but she's never boring..

and she's always super nice to guests..

and we're in no rush..

for right now it's about us..

We go to shows..

and we bolth LOVE Supertramp..

and collect vinyl.

She does a lot of her work from home.

I showed her how to use my laptop when we met,

and that was kind of when things really took off for her.

Marcey wasn't too happy about the most recent letter I got from TWB..

said I should talk to Bradley Fuzzer about it before I take the gig..

Dear J. Gordon Blanche,

Please do not call the offices concerning this assignment.

We believe we may have someone on the inside, and our calls may be getting monitored.

Speak with Jeffery Epstein

(the cartoon lawyer, not the dead financier)

he has all the details

and says he can trust you..

-Bill

This note will self destruct after being read.

Marcey had read the letter over my shoulder

as she always does.

Which I am always okay with of course.

I have nothing to hide from her..

But now I'm worried for her..

Does she already know too much?

The letter grew arms and legs,

lit a match against itself,

and screamed in pain

as it evaporated into ash..

This actually made me laugh a little..

sometimes all you can do is laugh..

The USRSFSA, or United States Road Safety for Squirrels Association is a nationwide grassroots non-profit organization dedicated to training squirrels on basic road safety and proper crosswalk procedures.

The organization also provides leadership roles for highly motivated volunteer squirrels to speak with fellow members of the squirrel community and raise awareness of the dangers of the road.

I was asked by the Board of Official Broadcasting for Tooney World to interview a small group of former cartoon entertainers who now represent and sponsor USRSFSA in an unofficial capacity.

You may remember them by the once household name of "Wonder Pets".

They gained celebrated status under partnership with Nickelodeon studios and Nick Jr. in the 2000's.

They taught children about kindness to animals, the importance of teamwork and the value of friendship.

It was no surprise that they would be sponsoring an organization for animals of any sort, but the question for me was "Why squirrels?"

Linny the Guinea Pig invited me to her bungalow in Queens, NY to discuss the goals and aspirations of the organization and shed some light on how the team had become so involved.

"First of all you have to understand that in 1998, surveys suggested that one out of every three squirrels would be killed crossing the road in urban areas such as Chicago and New York," Linny explained.

Ming Ming the Duckling continued for her as she sipped chamomile tea.

"That more than doubled in 2012.. and quadrupled in 2020. It's an epidemic, really."

The conversation went on for almost an hour and I was prepared to talk for longer when we were interrupted by Linny's cellphone.

It was the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn. They had taken Tuck Turtle into custody. The sheriff was calling on Tuck's behalf, as Tuck was not in any condition to speak.

He had been charged with possession of elicit substances, but officers were hoping to speak with the girls directly and keep the matter private if they could only get Tuck the help that he needed.

Linny sighed and shook her head.

"At least we know he's safe Linny," said Ming Ming, patting her on the back.

They allowed me to accompany them on the ride to the holding cell.

The group's attorney, an animated cartoon lawyer named Jeffery Epstein drove the three of us there.

"I've been representing these three since 2016 when they were canceled. It was a kindness. You wouldn't believe how difficult it is for a toon named Jeffery Epstein to get a client these days. Especially when you look like me."

He very much resembled the late disgraced American financier of the same name, aside from being rubberhose animation.

"Jeff has gotten us out of quite a few legal jams and financial misunderstandings.." said Ming Ming.

When we arrived at the station, Jeffery was deeply angered to see that Tuck was left on his back in the holding cell struggling to turn himself over.

The lawyers hat flew off his head, twirled several times in the air and landed neatly back in place.

"What's the meaning of this?" He asked.

One of the officers explained.

"He keeps trying to fight every one of us. We did this for his own protection."

"And what exactly was he in possession of?" Epstein asked.

The officer showed him the baggy, shaking it in the lawyer's face.

"Celery!"

"No, Tuck! We thought you had this under control..." Ming Ming said, tears now forming in her eyes.

I was baffled. I know very little about Toon Law.

"That's barely enough to charge him with intent to sell," said Epstein.

"Toons can be charged with intent to celery.. I mean sell celery.. with possession of as little as five ounces," the Sheriff said as he walked in behind us all.

Epstein fired back.

"They aren't toons, they're photo-puppetry!"

"It doesn't matter anyways Epstein, we're releasing him to you. We have more important issues to deal with than cartoon turtles strung out on celery."

"Photo Puppet Turtles!"

"Get out of my facility or I'll throw the book at him!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

The sheriff reached in his desk and pulled out an enormous book, readying it for a toss across the room.

"Okay, okay, we're outta here."

We brought Tuck home to his flat just outside of Brownsville. It was a sight to see.

Twelve cartoon cats were perched on a fence just behind the crumbling old place. There were holes in the porch.

It took some assistance getting Tuck to walk up the stairs to his front door, but that was when he seemed to regain his bearings.

"Oh sheesh. Where am I?" Tuck asked.

"You're back home Tuck. You did it again," said Ming Ming.

"Yeah," Linny added, "You keep relapsing."

"It was no big deal! I just scored an ounce or two from Jolly G G down in the village. I like a little taste every now and then."

"You had 16 ounces!"

"Okay fine, fine! I'll get some help, okay?"

"You promise?" asked Ming Ming.

"I promise ladies, I promise... but.."

"But what Tuck?" Linny asked.

"Well.. cant we just have one last hit? One little fun night, just like back in the good old days?"

Linny and Ming Ming locked eyes, and seemed to hesitate with doubt and even fear.

"I don't know about this," I said. "All this over celery?"

The three of them seemed to lighten up and began smiling.

"You know what Tuck?" asked Linny.

"What?"

"It is just a little celery! Whats the big deal?"

All three Wonder Pets pulled celery seemingly from out of nowhere.

"Yay! Celery!" They shouted in unison.

"Fuck the squirrels!" Tuck shouted.

"Yay! Fuck the squirrels!"

The night was long.

Strangers and has-beens from all around the tooney part of town began showing up,ringing Tucks doorbell.

Almost everyone brought celery.

I can't mention every toon I ran into that night, out of fear that I might endanger myself and my family.

These toons keep their vices to themselves.

But Jeffery Epstein showed back up as I stood across the street with my arms crossed

I was shaking my head in disbelief at the debauchery I was witnessing before my very eyes.

He patted me on the back.

"Well my friend.. you've learned a valuable lesson tonight."

"What's that?" I asked.

He lit a cigarette and took the whole thing in with one long drag.

Then he blew out a giant cloud of smoke and said four words that will probably stay with me until I die.

"Stay away from celery."