On Mars, in the Tiki Bar, turns out there’s ghosts.
Catch up with Chapter 19 – Ghosts in the Tiki Bar.
Or start somewhere else: The Story So Far
On Mars, in the Tiki Bar, turns out there’s ghosts.
Catch up with Chapter 19 – Ghosts in the Tiki Bar.
Or start somewhere else: The Story So Far
Good news, Mars fans! I’ve been busy.
Click here to read the latest from The Last Tiki Bar on Mars: Chapter 19 – Ghosts In The Tiki Bar
And of course, click here to enjoy The Banana Man Holiday Special!
…and remember: Space travel is not possible without chorizo!
— Your bartender
And now we speak with Jeffrey Busybees, the founder of BusyBee, the world’s largest Internet retailer.
We’ve automated just about everything in our warehouses for years now. The delivery trucks are driven by computer. We do find it’s helpful to have an actual human jump out and hand the package to the customer. Put a human face on it, you know? Most things in China’s factories are being built by robots. Automation is Good.
Our next step? Well, that’s to automate consumption! We’ve already implemented that on the production side. When factories, warehouses or the delivery system need something, the robots just place an order with BusyBee. The next step, and I believe this is a natural leap, is to have robot consumers. Humans are fairly predictable, but not predictable enough. Humans are inefficient. If we are going to continue to have the kind of share value growth we want, we need to drive consumption on the curve we’re looking for by ourselves.
That’s why we’re introducing our new BusyBee Robotz. They will have their own bank accounts and apartments across the world. This will keep the humans busy building new apartments for Robotz, construction crews can order anything they need and get it delivered same-day from BusyBee. When we want more sales, we will simply have the Robotz buy stuff. Lots of stuff. We take our cut at every step of the way. When the Robotz apartments are completely stuffed with kitchen appliances, home electronics, wonderful toys of every description… That’s where the humans come in again.
You see it’s quite hard to automate recycling to reclaim as close to 100% of the raw materials as possible, and we need to feed those raw materials back to the factories. Humans are great at smashing things. Give them a hammer and they will smash stuff all day. Then they sort the bits into the correct bins, which we sell back to the factories. All the BusyBee products the Robotz buy, they get recycled. This is going to be great for shareholder value, the economy and the entire world!
Yes, you are right. There is still a yawning demand for fresh raw materials if we are going to continue to grow our consumer economy. That is why we are going to Mars and the Asteroid Belt. Endless supplies of the raw minerals to mine, absolutely zero environmental degradation. It’s a win / win!
Have you had a chance to interview any of our BusyBees on Mars? Talk to my people and we’ll get it set up. See you on Mars!
“Tell ’em that one,” rumbled Hank as he set his Mai Tai back on the bar. “The one about Hazy Jim and how he finally got back to Earth.” Big Eddy stretched his lanky body like he was looking to make more space inside it and glanced between Hank and the tourist couple seated in the palm fronds. They had dressed for the occasion in snappy Hawaiian shirts. She even had a plastic flower in her hair.
“Now, Hank” started Eddy. “You know these nice people came in here for their colony required doses of Vit-C and Vit-D and not for crazy stories that don’t end well.” Mrs. Entz spoke up, the curiosity clear in her voice “One of the colonists got to return to Earth?” Hank reached for his drink again, knocking back the nutrients that are essential to maintaining Human life on Mars. “Wahl, sure. In a way.”
“How’d he do that? Sure, thanks to the Musk Foundation, we get a round-trip in return for our social-media influencer status.” Mr. Entz spun a ring on his pinky and the tiny camera eye on the Flamingo Room pin on his bright shirt flashed briefly. “That one’s going on our Tiki Bar Blog. We’ve got elite status among the Vlergs.” He gave a little wink and a knowing nod. “You guys doing the work of keeping this place going… not so much. I mean about getting a return trip.” One quick slurp and his Zombie achieved zero extra liquid mass. “Tell you what, I feel like I could use another dose of Vit-C. Tell you what. How about you line me up another Zombie, and if you put an extra drop o’ Tink in it and a story, I’ll make sure there will be something extra for you in your end.” There’s that smile, little wink and nod again.
Eddy produced his shaker and jigger and commenced measuring rum. “Okay fine-sees then. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He jabbed a thumb Hank-wards. “You see that genius there? He survived.” A sly smile creased Hank’s pale face. His big fingers toyed playfully with the parasol in his Mai Tai mug. “Curiosity didn’t injure this Ocelot. I’ll tell ya, it was quite a ride.” Clearly the colonists had the tourist’s attention now.
“You see, Hazy Jim used to get bored quick.” Eddy was carefully metering the lime juice. “Punch me, Eddy. I need to feel something.” he used to say. “He kept getting in trouble for trying to do donuts in the surface rovers. He once managed to lock himself in one of the sun rooms for almost 24 hours. We called him ‘Lobster Man’ for a long time after that.”
“He just lived in kind of a haze, that’s why he’s been known as ‘Hazy Jim’ since.” explained Hank. “So, sounds like he didn’t take to living on Mars?” asked Edna. Hank gestured a few feet away to a wicker chair under a large sun lamp with a palm tree. “He used to sit in that chair and make up stories about Hawaii. He’d never even been there.”
“Somehow he managed to plant a secret avocado tree, that’s kind of restricted you know as the colony still needs to be careful with our limited supply of fresh foods. When they came and took it away, man you should have seen him cry.” Hank looked mournful. “Yeah, he missed God’s Green Earth, but he had years to go on his contract before any chance of a ticket out.” “That’s when the really crazy stunts came out of him.” Added Eddy. “‘I gotta get out of these tunnels, man!’ he used to say.”
“How about that time he decided to go hang-gliding? Imagine.” Hank stretched his arms out wide, making whooshing noises with his mouth. “How’d that go?” asked George between slurps on his straw. Hank worked on his own straw. “Jim figured, less air but less gravity. Just make the wings bigger. Almost worked. He got lucky. When he augured-in he found himself in a soft dust dune canyon close enough to get picked up by a rover.” Eddy refilled Hank’s mug with colonist-class pre-mix. “About that time I decided maybe I should hang around him more, maybe keep an eye on him some. For his own safety.”
“This place is a bit like living in a submarine.” spoke Edna quietly. Hank breaks in “…and drinking your own pee.” Hank tipped his mug towards the woman, who now looked at her own mug, a bit concerned. “They don’t like to tell you that, but ha’in’t much water on Mars.” Edna spoke up again, “Ok, I’m starting to see why a man might take some desperate chance to get back Earth. How did it happen?”
Eddy leaned both arms on the bar. “You know how when Elon Musk’s ‘Mars Mining and Exploration Company’ discovered Martian Lava Worms… now there was money on the table so that’s when they invented the Rock Launcher. You probably toured that yesterday.” George rattled the ice in his mug. “Sure, that’s where those rails come down to the mountains with the Lava Worms to that big building and shoot them into space, right?”
“Right, so me and Jim are up on the side of the Pindus Mons works where the auto-diggers are cracking the big chunks out of the mountain and he’s looking at that big open hopper on wheels and that long rail down the big hill to the valley and even with our visors on I could see the wheels turning.” A husky hand set a small dish of salted peanuts in front of Hank. “For you señor.” Marigold’s voice was serious. Surprised, Hank asked “what did I do to deserve these?” “It is a hard story you are telling. Be sure to tell it right.” and with that the Mexican man vanished into the foliage as quickly as he had appeared.
Clearly surprised: “His name is ‘Marigold’…?” Edna blurted, forehead crinkled. “Sure is,” replied Eddie, “but that’s a story for another time.” “Well, don’t that beat all?” She turned to her husband. “Hon, did you get that?” The ringed fingers of George’s left hand were dancing about as if he was playing an invisible piano. “Just sent it out to the Vlergs, darl.” He leaned forward. “Say, are those snack peanuts I see in there?”
“Yes…” Hank leaned forward presenting the bowl to the tourist couple. “As our honored guests you should have them.” They both leaned back and shook their heads. “Oh no… Thank you, but no thank you.” The couple glanced at each other for a moment. Edna began solemnly , “We couldn’t possibly, we know what those mean up here. We know what it means to have a snack. We want you to have them.”
Hank held their gaze for a few seconds and then returned the dish to the bar in a spot in reach of both himself and Eddy. “Very well, thank you ma’am. I’ll share them with Eddy.” He selected a peanut, examined it for a moment and then chewed it quietly, eyes closed. Finished he took a breath and sat up. “Now where was I? Oh, yaas.”
He continued. We’re on the side of this mountain looking in this hopper car and I’m watching Jim trail his gaze down its track to the launcher long and slow, like he’s thinking about something. He turns to me and says, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Hank reaches for another peanut. “No Jim. I do not. Sex maybe? The way boobies float in zero-G?” “Not this time my buddy.” Jim pats the side of the hopper car. “How long has it been since you rode a roller coaster? How long is it gonna be?” Jim leans in close to me, and I can tell he’s got one of those wicked grins on his face. Ya know, like he’s got one of those ideas.
Just like that, he’s used one hand to vault over the side and into the hopper. “Jim, you’ve got the control box… right?” A giggle comes over the radio. “Sure do, good buddy. Are ready for some Earth Fun?” I start to freak out, I can already feel the sweats hitting me. “Are you nucking me? You want to end up in the launcher and out in orbit?” It doesn’t take but a moment and he comes back with, “Nah, don’t worry. We don’t have the mass those big hunks o’ Larva Lava have. Hopper’ll slow down and we’ll just jump out. Don’t think about it too long. I’m going with or without you.”
The bar has been pretty quiet. “So, what did you do?” asks George. Hank put his hands on his hips and regards the couple silently. “Well, I’m sitting there thinking. Fool me, I also left him with the authorizer for the rover. Figured it made him feel like he was in control of something. Cheezus, he’s going to get hisself killed for real this time. I’m sweating, looking down that longgggg slope towards that launcher, then the hopper, then back down the mountain and I’m biting my lip and all along Jim’s giggling over the comms.”
“Didn’t you try to stop him?” asks Edna? “With what? A stick? We’re on Mars! Then it comes to me. I’ll leap in too, and real quick like, I’ll just grab the control box out of his hands and we’ll be safe.” Hank’s making snatching motions with his hands. “So that’s what I do. Two hands, I’m over the side.” Hank’s miming all the movements. His audience is leaning forward, listening close. “Sure as shit, shinola and a shoe-shine that laughing bastard sets the hopper rolling down that hill.” Hank stands up and reaches for another peanut.
Edna breaks the silence.”…and…you grabbed him, right?” Hank shakes his head. “Yeah, I wish. Larva Lava hopper cars don’t have what you’d call a smooth ride. In a half of two seconds we’re both crumpled against the back wall bouncing up and down like rag dolls while that thing gathers speed. Sure, mine rail is a cheap and fast way to get your petrified mars worms down the hill, but it sure ain’t made for humans.” Hank starts waving his hands again. “All this time Jim’s giggling, he’s having a great time. I’m just hoping not to lose all the atmo from my suit. Dang, if the thing isn’t like a roller coaster you can take my left nut. We’re bouncing up and down, zipping down that mountain faster and faster. I can see that fool has smashed the control box. No chance of the e-brakes now. I’m seeing big black dots in front of my eyes … I must have passed out … then…” Hank sits down and reverently picks up another peanut and regards it slowly. “…then, that’s when things got bad.”
“The hopper flips over and we’re flying towards the running conveyer belt that runs to the launcher to orbit. Jim lands on the belt in front of me and I’m looking for something, anything to stop me before it’s too late but they don’t put safety rails in those things. I start crawling back towards the hopper, and I’m not making much progress because the damn thing is bouncing and moving faster than me. Jim’s pulling away from me, still giggling like mad. Damn, I wish they’d let us have cigarettes here.”
George is doing a tap dance with his ringed fingers again, rapt. “I hear a final WHOOP! out of Jim and the comm goes quiet. Totally quiet. Nothing. I pause for a second to look behind me, and it’s right there – the orbit slingshot. I have a half second to think FUCK YOU ELON MUSK! and then it’s POW!” Hank smacks his hands together, launching one off the other. “I’m gone like Long Tom Tomorrow. I black out from the G’s. When I wake up, I’m in space.”
“Say, what?” asks George. “You survived that?” looking askance. “It was a surprise to me, too.” Hank sits back down. “I’ve got this incredible headache when I come to and I’m slowly spinning. I’m seeing Mars. Then Jim. Then Mars. Then Jim. My atmo meter says I’ve got about 30 minutes of breathe time left so I do my best to calm down and I start punching every alert button on the comm before it happens.” “Before what happens?” asks Edna.
“Before we’re swept up by the orbiting slingshot that shoots the rocks out towards Earth, you know that. A big nudge in the right direction, on the right path and in a few years they are snagged by that net in Earth orbit. Or hit the moon, depending where Musk & Co prefer to pick ‘m up.”
“So, you’re here. Where’s Jim?” George asks. Hank picks up another peanut softly, chews it slowly. “That’s just the thing. Bradbury Base was alerted to anomalous behavior by the hopper just in time to be watching what happened. They could tell those two objects were not the rocks they would expect.”
“So,” Edna interjects “when you hit up your comms they came and caught you.” Hank nods, “yeah, just in time.” George perks up a questioning eyebrow, “but what about Jim? Wait. Jim didn’t turn on his comms.” He pauses. “Do you think he was…” “Dead?” Hank finishes the thought for him. “Well, I kind of hope so, but we’ll never know for sure.” The man looks into the distance for a moment.
“Jim finally found his way back to Earth.” Edna adds with finality.
“Yeah, yeah he did. Well, it’s a long trip. It’s gonna take a few more years.” Hank raises his mug. “Here’s to Hazy Jim.” The other three join in. “To Hazy Jim!” Down the hatches, all. George sets his drained mug on the bar. “Hey, I think I’m done in. I’m a lightweight, even back on Earth!” Edna chuckles, “if you don’t mind Hon, I’m ready to go too.”
George sticks out his hand for shakes all around. “Thanks for a great story, gents. Make sure this all goes on our tab.” Eddy nods, “Thanks for coming to Mars.” As the couple turns to leave Edna quietly takes something out of her purse and places it on the bar. Then they are gone.
Marigold appears out of the back. “Holy crap, you’re never going to believe this.” exclaims Eddy. “We’ve never had a haul like this!” follows Hank. Marigold comes in close for a look.
“Dios Mio!” he gasps. “Its chocolate!“
Pig and washed-up TV star Arnold Ziffel stares at the fat man in confused wonder with a big mean streak right down the middle. “How does a junkie like you stay so fucking fat?”
El Gordo Hermoso stuffs another Slim Jim beneath his voluminous and ragged mustachio. “It ain’t easy, puerco.” He leans the creaking chair back against the tobacco stained 70’s wallpaper, some kind of symphony of burnt umber and orange. It’s the kind of “affordably-priced” motel where your shoes stick to the carpet. The smell of strong bleach tells you more than you want to know.
“Watch your mouth fat stuff.” Arnold’s voice sounds like he’s been gargling with gravel and crusty old charcoal. “Us wild boars are known to eat humans when you give us shit, cabrón.” Arnold worries the smoldering cig about in his maw and glances at the clock. “Save it for Weight Watchers and get that junk cut. We’ve got a deadline. People to meet. Got it?”
“Yeah? You inna hurry? Why don’t you cut it?”
What a snark. Arnold spits. “No opposable thumbs, jackass. You want the money or what?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah….” Gordo turns back to the baby powder. The things a pig has to do for money.
“Hey pig, maybe just a little snort of this first…”
“Golden rule, fathead. ‘Don’t get high on your own supply.'” snorts Arnold. Gordo looks sad, but then gets down to work. Arnold softens a touch. “After. Then you can nod out.”
Sigh. “Ok. You’re the boss, pig.”
Arnold is staring at the glocks on the coffee table; cleaned, loaded and ready and thinks to himself: “After, if you survive.“
Scene: The Justice League of Justice hideout, the dingy office underneath the bowling alley. Behind the K-Tel tunes warbling from the battered juke-box in the corner we hear the occasional strike knocking down the pins overhead. In the other corner the old TV is playing The Trailer Park Boys Xmas Special. Time Hog is riding in the car with Ricky. The mood is festive, the punch = spiked. There’s cookies. Someone’s drawn a Christmas tree on the whiteboard. The gang’s all here.
Black Rhumba to Hungry Man Dinner: “Whatchoo want from Santa this year, HMD? Other than extra gravy?”
The big man thinks for a minute, “Wouldn’t mind a better parking space and a Home Depot gift card. What about you, Rhumba?”
“Me? I just wanna dance the New Year away!” He does a quick twirl and finishes with some karate chops.
He-Wonder Woman is just covered in glitter. “What about you, Cat Squirrel?”
“You know me, I’m nutty about nuts. What’s Live Zombie want?”
“Me?” He stares off into the distance, toys with his black bow-tie for a moment, squinting through his thick glasses. “What I’d do for a mouse with a working right button at work…”
“Cheesus, you are a living zombie, aren’t you?”
“Did someone call for Cheesus?” Quite without preamble it’s clear someone new has joined the room. A tall skinny man, apparently wearing a bathrobe, slippers and tighty-whities peeking from underneath. A big wedge of swiss cheese sits where the rest of us keep our heads. “Yep, it’s true, I’m Cheesus. I’ve been living on the moon but I thought I’d drop in on y’all!” The man in the robe with the head made of cheese strides to the head of the room where Banana Man and Dr. Tomorrow are fooling with some sound equipment.
It’s a Zarkmas miracle! The audio gear suddenly starts working. Cheesus coughs into the microphone. “One two, one two. Am I on? Why yes I am.” He has everyone’s attention, jaws are being picked up off the floor at this most unusual sight. Cheesus is striding back and forth confidently, flicking the microphone cord. “Oh yeah, first off I want to wish everyone a Happy Festivus, a Festivus for the Rest of Us, amiright?” Still somewhat shocked silence.
Mr. Know-It-All leans over to Broccoli Man and whispers into his ear. “How is he doing that? Do you see a mouth?” BM shakes his broccoli head with a big “nope”.
Cheesus continues, “Alright I want you all know know I kicked Satan’s ass today, yeee-haw! Then I kissed a kitten, and gave it wings.” He mimes a bird flying with his hands. “And it’s almost my birthday, wooo–oh!” He’s pumping his fist.
“Now don’t get me wrong, my Big Daddio and The Great Spook want me to urge you to seek redemption through The Big Cheese here” he’s indicating himself “but His High Awesomeness the Dalai Lama says, ‘All religions same-same’. So just pick a tradition that works for you and just don’t be a dick about it, amiright people?” General nods and agreement.
Mr. Know-It-All mutters under his breath though clearly hoping everyone can hear, “Christmas was invented by the church to cover up Saturnalia, GUH!”
“We all know my real competition is Santa, amiright!” Cheesus shouts and does a split right there on the carpet. Impressive! Another strike rolls by overhead. “Now I’m not here to steal your evening, just to remind y’all to be good to each other, alright?” He pauses, pointing at each person one at a time. “Even though they be turkeys, okay?” He takes a bow. “And now I understand Dr. Tomorrow has a special holiday performance for you.” He bows, places the mic on the folding banquet table quickly leaves the room.
“What the cluck just happened, BAWK?” from Elvis Chicken.
Dr. Tomorrow has the mic. He’s got his blonde flip-top hair, the usual dark goggle-like glasses but tonight he is sporting a garish green holiday sweater with a big glitter kitty wearing a Santa hat. He shrugs. “Well, give it up for Cheesus, everybuddy!” Applause follows, and not just because Banana Man is holding up a sign behind him which reads “APPLAUSE”. “Ok partee-people with the double ‘E’, me and the B-Man here are going to lay down some holiday tunes for yaas.”
Banana Man is brandishing his battered acoustic gee-tar. He’s in his usual all-yellow get-up, only the banana is strapped to a limp Santa hat on top of his yellow mask. Dr. Tomorrow turns away from the group, starts limbering up in a rhythmic sort of way and as Banana Man begins to bang on the strings the Doc starts a beat-box then spins around holding an ice cream cone and lets it loose.
I’ve got an ice cream cone for a microphone and I’m bound to get funky
Listen to me and jump for glee because we’re all about to get spunky!
It’s holiday time so gather round the Hanukkah Tree
and light those Kwanzaa candles!
Grab your partner, spin ‘m round
and grab those love handles!
Saturday Night Live, Let’s jump and jive
Krampus on the run
Let’s throw presents at the pheasants
Duck and run, we’re gonna have some fun!
Smoke ‘m if you got ‘m!
Smoke ‘m if you got ‘m!
Just start at the bottom!
< more beatboxing… then a pause… and he sings out: >
5 Golden Rings!
4 Pre-Paid Cards
3 Olive Loaf
2 – for – 1 Special
And a banana in a monkey tree!
And now everybody, join me in our traditional Christmas carol, I know you know the words! (And they do, indeed. The whole group joins in.)
Robin laid an egg
The Batmobile lost a wheel
and the Joker got away, hey!
And the whole group laughs and claps…
Happy Holidays Everyone, Cheesus Loves You!
Thanks to Amanda Peters for Cheesus!
It’s hot in the Banana Cave. Welcome to August. Our hero cools off by putting his head in his freezer.
He takes a Hamm’s out of the fridge. Sets it on the table, eyeing the condensation on the can.
He knows he’s not going to just drink that beer, he’s going to drink the fuck out of it.
When you stare into the bear, the bear stares back into you.
You may remember the effort called Mars One: “Mars One was a small private Dutch organization that received money from investors by claiming it would use it to land the first humans on Mars and leave them there to establish a permanent human colony.”
A bold idea, to put a colony on Mars funded as a “reality show”. Started in 2012 it was all over by 2019. The project attracted many dreamers, but not so many dollars. It also attracted significant criticism to the extreme that it boarded on derision for the Mars One vision being so far from reality as to be a scam.
In fact, sitting around thinking about what it would be like for these colonists is what provided the inspiration to write this whole business here.
I recently stumbled across this 2015 article from National Geographic discussing an approach to taking people to Mars and bringing them back. It includes a short video interviewing four regular Earthlings hoping to get the chance to go to Mars and never come back. I get the urge to go, but anyone seriously considering this should lock themselves in their bedroom with three strangers for a week before deciding to climb into the space capsule.
In Chapter Fifteen (Space Is The Place) I introduced the idea of The Fling without bothering to explain it, hoping the way the chapter unfolds how it operates will be obvious to the alert reader who knows a wee bit of space travel concepts.
What is the deal with that thing? Well, here’s the problem for your intrepid space explorer. If you’re relying on rocket fuel for go-juice the only place you can really fill up your ship is Earth. Once you’ve left the surface and are in orbit, on the moon or on Mars, better hope you took enough with you. That’s not 100% true, there are plans to make fuel on Mars, but it’s not like you can just fill up the tank when you want to like you can on Earth. So what to do? Avoid using fuel!
“The Fling” is a kinetic launch system that quite literally throws the cargo into the sky. A system based on this concept is close to operation, right here on Earth in 2022. You can read about it here. There is a big difference between what they are using at Bradbury Base in the novel and what SpinLaunch is currently doing. The Fling at Bradbury Base is essentially a very large railgun, using magnetic fields to launch the cargo into space, like firing something from a cannon only without the gunpowder.
Why would this be good? Well, gravity on Mars is less than half of Earth and there’s far less atmosphere to fight. From the fuel perspective, you can get to orbit for free, then use the fuel you’re carrying for other things, like docking with something like Phobos station and eventual re-entry.
Solve the fuel shortage problem, by avoiding using fuel!
Keep in mind this novel is meant for humor, entertainment and social commentary. The “science” parts are like horseshoes and hand-grenades, only expected to be “close enough”. If you’d like to calculate how many joules of energy it would take to throw a cargo into space from the surface of Mars and what the magnets would be like, send me your figures and I’ll put them here.
Arnold is staring out the window of the rusty green 1978 Chevy double-cab pickup somewhere in Colorado.
He’s got sunglasses on, and he’s smoking.
And he’s a pig.
He’s down to two cigarettes.
That is a problem. This problem cannot stand.
It’s 20 miles into town.
Can he make it?
He’s a pig on a mission. Cigarettes, smokes, coffin nails.
The dry dusty landscape of Colorado rolls by. Arnold’s in the passenger seat, such as it is and he’s looking at the driver. “Can this fucker pull it off?” Arnold knows it’s about a 50/50 chance that there will have to be violence and he plans to be the one who walks away with all his internal organs intact.
He keeps his big yap shut though, as he can’t actually drive a car on his own, being a pig ‘n that. The rig rattles into the parking lot of the gas station at the far end of town where hope goes to die. There’s cheese fries and the droppings of the emotional leavings of the foodstamps of gawd-aweful desperation.
Arnold watches the driver stick a glock down his pants like he thinks he’s some kind of anti-hero in a Tarrantino nightmare vision. He’s got a toothpick stuck in his mouth like it’s making up for his own personal tobacco problems.
“Ok pig, are you ready to make this happen?”
Unfamiliar with former TV Star Arnold Ziffel? Not making that part up, click here for Arnold’s story.
Tighty-whities. The Stereotypical definition of stereotypical describes what is known as a wife-beater t-shirt, which he has on but he doesn’t have a wife and would not do violence on her if he did. He’s simply not that kind of guy.
He’s staring at the TV. He knows Time Hog is there. The TV is not turned on. It doesn’t need to be. He knows Time Hog is watching.