the knob, the door would swing up and
everything around me would start moving, and baskets would start being lowered
onto me to trap me. I’d have to drop the cheese and make a run for it.
Fortunately, the
traps were all a little too clever. They seemed to be designed to trap a
mastermind. I wasn’t a mastermind. I just wanted that piece of cheese. So they
didn’t work on me.
Then it suddenly
occurred to me that maybe I shouldn’t be trying so hard to avoid the people who
were trying to capture me and take me to where I wanted to go. That didn’t make
much sense, when I thought about it. If I would just let them capture me, it
would help everybody out. We could all stop working so hard.
I tied myself up
in a gunny sack, and left me in the middle of the street. Nothing happened, so
I wrote “Burly” on the sack and got back in.
After a couple of
days, the super villain’s creatures spotted me. They walked up to the sack,
read what it said, looked at each other, shrugged, then picked me up. I offered
no resistance.
They began
carrying me off, but I weigh more than I look, so they ended up, as so many
people do, dragging me. They took me on a long, circuitous journey. I don’t
think I’ve ever said “Are we there yet?” so many times in my life. Eventually
we got to a high cliff face. They began to climb, pulling me along behind them
on a rope.
“What happens if
we fall?” I asked, nervously.
“What do you
think happens?”
“I’d rather hear
it from you.”
“Quiet in the
sack,” said the leader.
I’d swear that
during our journey we went up that same cliff at least twice more. But I can’t
be sure. I tried to leave a trail of bread crumbs, but the crumbs just stayed
in the sack with me.
Finally we ended
up at the 1 st Avenue Pier,
which isn’t very far from where they had originally picked me up.
While we were
waiting for the launch from the island to come get us, I asked why we had spent
all that time going up all those cliffs and jumping over those secret chasms.
Why hadn’t we just taken the bus here like I always did? They said because they
don’t do things that way, that’s why.
When we got to
the island, my captors dragged me off the boat, across a couple acres of lawn,
up and down a flight of stone steps a few times, then emptied me out into a
dungeon.
“How long do I
have to stay here?”
“Forever.”
“No, seriously,
how long are we talking about?”
They
didn’t answer.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I demanded to see
the super villain who owned the island. I insisted that I be taken to him immediately.
“You’re not
running this dungeon,” said one of the guards.
“Wait a minute,
Bob,” said one of the other guards, as the first guard was slapping me silly.
“Maybe we better check.”
They went away
and came back fifteen minutes later. “You’re not running this dungeon,” they
said, and resumed slapping me.
Between slaps, I
told them that I really needed to talk to their master. It was important. They
explained to me that Mr. Overkill didn’t talk to prisoners. He had more
interesting people to talk to. Guards, for example.
“But I have
important information for him,” I explained.
“I’ll give it to
him,” said one of the guards, coming forward and holding out his hand.
“I need to give
it to him personally. It’s in my head.”
“Jeff, get a
knife. Something in this guy’s head.”
I suddenly didn’t
like where this was going. “Uh… wait a minute. I’ve forgotten it now.”
Jeff stopped in
front of me, holding the knife. He frowned. “Nothing in your head?”
“No.”
He shrugged and
put his knife away.
I decided I
needed to get the guards on my side somehow. Sometimes money does the trick. I
asked one of them how much he was making.
“$12.50 an hour,”
he replied.
I thought about
this, then shook my head. “Well, I can’t pay you that much. That’s ridiculous.
How about $7.00 an hour?” Then I added: “For three
everything around me would start moving, and baskets would start being lowered
onto me to trap me. I’d have to drop the cheese and make a run for it.
Fortunately, the
traps were all a little too clever. They seemed to be designed to trap a
mastermind. I wasn’t a mastermind. I just wanted that piece of cheese. So they
didn’t work on me.
Then it suddenly
occurred to me that maybe I shouldn’t be trying so hard to avoid the people who
were trying to capture me and take me to where I wanted to go. That didn’t make
much sense, when I thought about it. If I would just let them capture me, it
would help everybody out. We could all stop working so hard.
I tied myself up
in a gunny sack, and left me in the middle of the street. Nothing happened, so
I wrote “Burly” on the sack and got back in.
After a couple of
days, the super villain’s creatures spotted me. They walked up to the sack,
read what it said, looked at each other, shrugged, then picked me up. I offered
no resistance.
They began
carrying me off, but I weigh more than I look, so they ended up, as so many
people do, dragging me. They took me on a long, circuitous journey. I don’t
think I’ve ever said “Are we there yet?” so many times in my life. Eventually
we got to a high cliff face. They began to climb, pulling me along behind them
on a rope.
“What happens if
we fall?” I asked, nervously.
“What do you
think happens?”
“I’d rather hear
it from you.”
“Quiet in the
sack,” said the leader.
I’d swear that
during our journey we went up that same cliff at least twice more. But I can’t
be sure. I tried to leave a trail of bread crumbs, but the crumbs just stayed
in the sack with me.
Finally we ended
up at the 1 st Avenue Pier,
which isn’t very far from where they had originally picked me up.
While we were
waiting for the launch from the island to come get us, I asked why we had spent
all that time going up all those cliffs and jumping over those secret chasms.
Why hadn’t we just taken the bus here like I always did? They said because they
don’t do things that way, that’s why.
When we got to
the island, my captors dragged me off the boat, across a couple acres of lawn,
up and down a flight of stone steps a few times, then emptied me out into a
dungeon.
“How long do I
have to stay here?”
“Forever.”
“No, seriously,
how long are we talking about?”
They
didn’t answer.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I demanded to see
the super villain who owned the island. I insisted that I be taken to him immediately.
“You’re not
running this dungeon,” said one of the guards.
“Wait a minute,
Bob,” said one of the other guards, as the first guard was slapping me silly.
“Maybe we better check.”
They went away
and came back fifteen minutes later. “You’re not running this dungeon,” they
said, and resumed slapping me.
Between slaps, I
told them that I really needed to talk to their master. It was important. They
explained to me that Mr. Overkill didn’t talk to prisoners. He had more
interesting people to talk to. Guards, for example.
“But I have
important information for him,” I explained.
“I’ll give it to
him,” said one of the guards, coming forward and holding out his hand.
“I need to give
it to him personally. It’s in my head.”
“Jeff, get a
knife. Something in this guy’s head.”
I suddenly didn’t
like where this was going. “Uh… wait a minute. I’ve forgotten it now.”
Jeff stopped in
front of me, holding the knife. He frowned. “Nothing in your head?”
“No.”
He shrugged and
put his knife away.
I decided I
needed to get the guards on my side somehow. Sometimes money does the trick. I
asked one of them how much he was making.
“$12.50 an hour,”
he replied.
I thought about
this, then shook my head. “Well, I can’t pay you that much. That’s ridiculous.
How about $7.00 an hour?” Then I added: “For three
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