"Yellow Water Tower" (Nothing Is Necessary)
by Mike Cote 

BOOK ONE: THE JOURNEY

This document is copyright 1998 by Mike Cote.
e-mail: lllemming@hotmail.com

All ANIMANIACS and TINY TOON ADVENTURES characters, and all related 
indicia are copyright 1998 by Warner Bros., a Time-Warner company.  
Nothing in this story is to be construed as a challenge to such 
copyright.  Direct quotations are copyright their respective authors.  
Nothing in this story is to be construed as a challange to such 
copyright for those, either.  So, nyah.

Melodies appearing in these chapters:

     "Back in the USSR" - copyright 1968 by Northern Songs Ltd.
     "Soul to Squeeze" - copyright 1993 by Red Hot Chili Peppers
     "Love Me Do" - copyright 1962 by Northern Songs Ltd.
     "Norwegian Wood" - copyright 1965 by Northern Songs Ltd.
     "Nowhere Man" - copyright 1965 by Northern Songs Ltd.
     "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" and "With A Little Help 
>From My Friends" - copyright 1967 by Northern Songs Ltd.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE** 

"Book One: The Journey" (really cryptic title, huh?) contains the first 
five chapters of the "Yellow Water Tower" saga.  I'm planning ten 
chapters, but it might run a little longer than that, but this is 
roughly half of the story.  The other book will be released 
approximately as soon as I feel like it.  (I'm shooting for December.)  
Actually, the other half's not even half-written yet, but I thought 
since this story's gonna be so darned long anyway, I might as well 
release the first half so y'all have some time to read it before "Book 
Two: The Battle" is released.  The first two chapters were written 
approximately 3 years ago, so don't be crying if the references are a 
little dated.  I was feeling too lazy to go back and change them, so 
y'all will just have to live with them.

Also, some of you may notice some similar themes betwixt this story and 
my 1994 story "A Really Very Special Tiny Toon Adventures 
Thanksgiving... I guess".  This first draft of "Yellow Water Tower", 
completeted in mid-1995, was originally supposed to be the sequel of 
that story.  However, that story royally sucked, and it became what it 
is now.  This story is completly incongruent with that story, so don't 
try to figure out how this story relates to "ARVSTTAT...Ig", 'cuz they 
don't.  Thank you.


ON WITH THE STORY...

CHAPTER ONE

     Yesterday
     All my troubles seemed so far away
     Now it looks as though they're here to stay
     Oh, I believe in yesterday

--The Beatles  "Yesterday"

     It can't be found on any charts of the solar system, but it's out 
there.
     On the far side of the moon, perpetually out of the line of sight 
of earth, lies a tiny planet.  No one on earth knew of its existence, 
save one, but for decades he kept the secret.
     This planet is made up of us.  Everything we have done, everything 
we have been, lives and breathes on this planet.  For years, it lived 
there in peace.
     The ruler of this planet, a kind, greying and ponched man named 
King Woodstock, was sitting in his throne room one afternoon, thumbing 
through a copy of "Lifeless" magazine.  He raised the sparkling gold and 
diamond-encrusted crown from its tilted position on his head and 
readjusted it around his noble brow.  He set his magazine down 
momentarily on the white and black-streaked marble floor, and stood up 
from his school bus yellow beanbag throne with an audible *crunch*, 
which the king chuckled to himself at, not knowing whether his back or 
the filling in his throne made the noise.  He switched on his nearby 
blacklight and gazed at its soft glow of nothing, and while doing so, 
was filled with contentment.  He proceeded to the window of his castle 
to gaze down upon the happy and peaceful kingdom over which he, love and 
content reigned.
     All along the streets of Woodstock Land, the region of the planet 
where the King resided, people were happy.  Flower power and granny 
dresses; Ben Franklin sunglasses sitting on the noses of those baking 
under the summer of love sun.  The transparent, crystalline arch in 
front of the lone road into town displayed its spectrum of rainbow 
colors brightly in the late afternoon orange and purple hazed light.  
Citizens walked past the magnificent sculptures of interpretational art 
in the common, much of it constructed during a time when the artisan was 
what the citizens euphemistically called "zoned" or "blurred", but what 
most of us would refer to as "stoned".  Exotic flowering plants, many a 
head taller than the villagers inhabiting the kingdom, bent to catch the 
warming light of the setting sun on their broad orange and blue leaves, 
nourishing themselves and feeling happy to be alalive.
     The King rubbed his chin whiskers with his palm and pursed his 
lips.  By looking at him, it was obvious he was happy and at peace, 
though he rarely allowed his body language to give away his mood.  After 
all, he was the King.  When no one was around, or more accurately, when 
alone or only in the company of one special person, the King would treat 
himself to a break of his Kingly image and display, a little bit, 
anyway, what was going on in his mind and in his heart.
     The little world the King had let himself slip into while gazing 
out the window quickly hid itself again in the corner of his mind.  What 
shook him was a gentle, almost timid rapping he heard on the door.  
"Come in," he said after clearing his throat and erecting his posture.
     The huge door creaked open, and into the throne room gingerly 
stepped King Woodstock's sole family: his stunningly beautiful daughter 
Kathy, clad in her usual bell-bottoms and "LAY, DON'T SLAY" T-Shirt.  A 
red bandanna held her long,ø golden brown hair in place; dangling down 
about shoulder-length like a curtain around the back of her delicate 
neck.
     "Daddy," she said quietly, "may I talk to you for a moment?"
     The king could sense all was not right with his offspring.  He 
caught the sight of a cold glistening in her eyes as he peered into 
them.  A grey shadow covered half her face, and empty longing covered 
the other half.  "Of course, Kathy.  What's wrong?"
     A father hates to see his daughter in tears, but Kathy wasn't far 
away.  She strode over to the window and peered outside, paying little 
attention to the botany or art which lie outside, but rather staring 
longingly at the couples, so many of whom were walking hand in hand, 
smiling, staring at one another with diamonds in their eyes, feeling the 
warmth of each other's emotions.
     "Kathy?"
     "Oh, daddy," she said with a forlorn sigh, "why am I so lonely?"
     "Don't you want somebody to love?  Don't you NEED somebody to 
love?" he asked her.
     "I would LOVE somebody to love," she answered him.
     "Well," he said, "you'd better FIND somebody to love."  The king 
put his strong arm around his daughter's shoulder.  "I know it's hard, 
my dear, but you must keep looking."  Kathy turned toward her gentle 
father as a tear tripped slowly down her left cheek.
     "How?" she whispered.
     "My dear," said the monarch as he  gently wiped the tear away with 
his thumb, "there is somebody out there for EVERYONE.  This universe is 
FILLED with love!  Just keep looking, and you'll find love everytime."
     Just before the king was going to suggest them sharing a cup of 
herbal tea, a loud *CRASH* could be heard coming from the front door of 
the castle.  Out in the hall, the few sentinels of the king began to 
scurry around in utter confusion.  One broke into the throne room.  
"Your highness," the sentinel said, completely out of breath, 
"it's...THEM!!!"
     "No, it's not possible!" yelled the king as he ran to the window 
above the castle door.  He looked down below him, and saw what he feared 
was there: a boulder smashed into the drawbridge.
     The village street was in utter chaos.  Flower children dashed 
madly around trying to avoid the gunmetal grey boulders being rolled 
down the hills overlooking the town.
     "This can't be happening!" yelled the king.  But it was happening.  
For more than twenty years there had been no uprisings, and now...it was 
happening all over again.
     "Are you sure it's them?" asked Kathy.
     Both the king and Kathy turned anxiously toward the soldier.  He 
nodded his head heavily.  "Yes, sire, it's them.  I saw the markings on 
the boulders myself."
     The king turned back toward the window.  He squinted at the boulder 
which leaned against the drawbridge.  Painted in white letters were the 
words Woodstock feared to see more than any others.  "Pet Rock," he read 
quietly to himself.
     People in the street looked around.  The boulders, which seconds 
ago were leveling their houses and tearing up their streets stopped.  
Groups who had gathered looked at one another, relieved, but too afraid 
to show it.  It was then that it started.  A shrill, high pitched "caw" 
could be heard coming from above, followed by another, and another.
    The town's guru, whose dark brown skin and sandals complimented 
perfectly his toga-like white robe and whiter beard, looked up toward 
the sky.  The sun, which shone brightly this day was immediately blacked 
out by the figures of gigantic birds.
     "Noooooo!" pleaded the guru.  "Anything, anything but...the 
Eagles!"
     The Eagle patrol swooped down toward the ground, sharp claws 
stretched taut, trying to grab hold of one of the many villagers 
outside, who immediately lay flat on the ground, keeping just out of 
reach.
     The guru, lying helpless on his back, saw not only Eagles dipping 
from the sky, but the invaders' other air strike force: the Lead 
Zeppelin patrol.  The invincible helium-filled flying machines hovered 
slowly toward the village, like giant black sea anemones, floating 
toward their paralyzed prey.  They were all armed with lasers, ready to 
strike if it seemed the Eagles were in any trouble whatsoever, but the 
Eagles were without challengers in the sky.
     The castle soldiers were still in a state of panic, not to mention 
chaos.  King Woodstock bursted from the throne room to a hallway where 
several of his men were scampering around, trying desperately to apply 
their tight-fitting body armor and rush to their defensive positions.
     "What is going on?" the king demanded to one of the passing 
soldiers.
     "Your highness, the invading troops are on the march!"
     King Woodstock grabbed a spyglass hanging from the belt of the 
soldier.  Making his way back into the throne room, he looked out the 
window toward the only entrance or exit from the village, the Prism Arch 
entrance standing over the sole separation in the town's perimeter 
three-railed fence.  Down the road he saw the invaders he knew he'd see.  
It was them.  He'd recognize them anywhere.  The Heebee Geebees.
    It's not as if they were hard to recognize.  They stood out. They 
looked like gigantic bees with eyes blacker than the night.  They were 
stolid, cold, ruthless.  But maybe what gave them away more than 
anything was their distinctive attire.  White, 100% pure polyester 
leisure suits and matching platform shoes.  They wore white vests and 
black button-down shirts of which the gargantuan collars were draped 
over their blazers.  The heavy gold chains which waved medallions that 
the Heebee Geebees wore around their necks only served to further 
identify them.  They were a 'proud people.  The ocean of soldiers poured 
their way down from the hills toward the village, being led by the blue 
AMC Gremlin King Woodstock was all too familiar with.  King Woodstock 
watched with fright.  One after the other marching down the road in 
terrifying numbers.  He knew his army of lovers stood no chance against 
this disco inferno.  There was only one thing he could do.
     King Woodstock knew as he raced to a bookshelf in the throne room 
that the Heebee Geebees had technology far beyond his own (or any other 
peoples' on the planet, save the Cabbage Patch People, but they were not 
particularly friendly, and were usually too self-involved to care about 
anyone other than themselves), but he was not without his share of 
tricks.
     "Kathy," he told his daughter who was sitting scared out of her 
mind on her throne, her forehead held up from her lap only by her petite 
hands.  He didn't even have to finish his sentence.
     "I know, Daddy," she said with a jitter in her voice, "they're 
after me."
     "Get to your room, as fast as you can!"
     "Daddy, I won't leave you!" she yelled as she ran toward him and 
embraced him with all her might.
     Woodstock put his loving arms around his daughter.  "Don't worry 
about me," he told her, "they won't do anything to me."   Woodstock 
looked deeply into his daughter's eyes.  She understood.
     "Guard!" yelled the king, and immediately one of his soldiers 
stepped into the room.  "I need your help."  He turned back to his 
daughter and bid her to go to her room down in the castle courtyard, and 
Kathy did as she was told.  The king pulled a book down from off the 
bookshelf, and the wall on which the oak shelves rested revolved.  Where 
they stood was a huge vacuum-tube computer.  "I need to call for help," 
the king told the guard.
     The Heebee Geebee soldiers advanced, unrelenting, toward the 
castle.  Woodstock's soldiers gathered on the roof of the castle, bows 
and heart-tipped arrows in hand.  They aimed and fired arrow after arrow 
straight into the core of the Heebee Geebee advancement.
     The arrows did no good, however, for each and everyone of them was 
shot out of the air by the Heebee Geebees, each of whom were carrying 
deadly accurate laser guns and firing them mercilessly at the walls of 
the castle.  Behind the marching troops was a long row of catapults, 
each armed with the dreaded boulders.
    The AMC Gremlin rolled toward the castle, and came to a halt.  Three 
Heebee Geebees jumped out of the car.  Two of these Geebees, except for 
the fact that they were inside the Gremlin, were indistinguishable from 
any of the others on their way,  but the third was  meanest-looking 
Heebee Geebee of the whole lot.
     Reaching down below the Gremlin's AM/FM 8-Track tape player, a 
scowl on his face that would scare even the bravest of Woodstock's 
soldiers, the mean one grabbed hold of the speaker of a large CB radio.  
"Pet Rock Patrols!" he barked into the handset, "this is Maurice, your 
commander!  Prepare to fire!!!"
     Busily, Woodstock's guard worked the controls of the huge computer.  
He turned one final knob, sending a spool of magnetic tape on the 
machine flying from reel to reel.  "All ready, sir," he told him.
     The King read off a piece of paper that he had concealed and locked 
in the bottom of his private desk drawer which sat in the corner of his 
throne room.  He began, with just a hint of tremoring in his voice, "the 
coordinates are..."
     The King read each number deliberately.  He had never allowed 
himself to memorize the code, for he'd always wanted to do everything to 
ward off the temptation to use the code except in the direst of 
emergencies.  The reprocutions of using the coordinates could easily 
disrupt his society's way of life.   Only in the direst of emergencies, 
he had reminded himself over and over, would he ever use it.  But if 
this wasn't one of them, he didn't know what was.  
     From just below Woodstock's window, a loud amplified voice rang out 
"WOODSTOCK!!!  Surrender your daughter or your kingdom will be smashed 
into rubble and matchwood!!!"
      The King threw the paper containing the coordinates at his 
accomplice and ran toward the window.  "NEVER!!!" he yelled at him, 
concealing his fear entirely in his proclamation.
     Maurice picked up his speaker again.  "PET ROCK 
PATROLS--FIIIIIIRE!!!!!"
     Without a moment's hesitation, the P-R corps obeyed.  The afternoon 
sky, already darkened by the shadows of the Eagles and Lead Zeppelins, 
turned to pitch as the boulders lobbed toward the castle. The King saw 
Maurice laughing with delight, and ran away from the window back toward 
the computer.  "Begin typing the message as soon as the coordinates are 
in!"
     "In, sir!  Typing, sir!"
     Woodstock could only wait for the typist to finish and pray Kathy 
made it back to her room...
    ...which she had not done yet.  It was a long run down the hallways 
of the huge castle and down three flights of stairs to the courtyard, on 
the far side of the football field-sized garden was her room.  She had 
not been able to run very fast down the stairs because of the jarring of 
the walls by the Heebee Geebee laser cannons, and her task became nearly 
impossible due to the pounding the building was taking from the 
boulders, lobbed unrelentingly at the walls of the castle.  The shaking 
felt like an earthquake under her feet.  It was only a matter of time, 
she thought, before one of the walls would give.
     Kathy, nearly out of breath, ran out of the stairwell and into the 
courtyard.  She knew she had to make it to her room.  She realized that 
the only way for her to save her country and her father wasü to escape 
the attack.
     A second wind befalled her, and she took off.  Her door was but 
fifty yards away.  It seemed she was home free until a gigantic boulder 
slammed into the wall of the courtyard, breaking open a hole the size of 
the Holland Tunnel.  The entire floor of the courtyard shook, and Kathy 
was knocked to the ground.  The huge boulder, still rolling, made its 
way straight toward her.  She gasped as she was overtaken by the dark 
gray shadow of the boulder.  It was mere inches from her, and rattling 
the floor all around her.  She was barely able to tumble out of its path 
before the rock tore up the cobblestone underneath the spot she was 
kneeling.
     She breathed hard and shallow as she collected herself enough to 
push herself up on all fours.  Before she could even stand, a dozen or 
so Heebee Geebees ran through the hole in the wall.  It took them only 
an instant to spot her on the ground.  "There she is!" yelled one of 
them.
     Instinctively, Kathy jumped up from off the ground and ran as fast 
as she could toward her door.  She looked behind her quickly, to see one 
Heebee Geebee taking aim at her with his rifle.  Another soldier quickly 
swatted the gunbarrel down, making his company mate accidentally shoot 
himself in the foot.  "No, you fool!!" the other soldier said to his 
partner as he hopscotched around on one leg in agony, clutching his 
smoldering tootsie, "she must be taken ALIVE!"
     Kathy put her head down and ran toward the small brown rectangle in 
the distance.  Twenty-five yards to go.  She didn't see which of the 
Geebees yelled "AFTER HER!!!!"
    It was getting harder and harder for Kathy to run.  A searing pain 
sizzled in her thigh.  Her side felt like it was imploding on itself.  
She was panting like a ten year old dog.  The Heebee Geebees behind her 
were catching up.  Ten yards.  Five yards.  Touchdown.
     Kathy quickly opened the huge, ornate oak door, stained in deep 
lacquer.  She jumped inside and slammed it shut.  She bolted it down as 
quickly as she could, then leaned against it, both for extra support and 
to give her a chance to catch her breath.
     Standing only a few feet in front of the door was a body-length 
mirror.  Kathy had always been afraid of that mirror, because she knew 
what it was for, and what must happen for her to have the need to use 
it.  But, now, at this moment, it was her best friend.
     The Heebee Geebees pounding on the door couldn't get it open.  
"What are we gonna do?" one of the more intelligent ones asked.  "How is 
we gonna get da' door open?"
     "We need some sort of battering ram," someone said.  They each 
looked at the inquisitive Heebee Geebee with an evil grin.
     "What, fellas?  Does I got something in my teeth again?" he asked, 
as he explored his incisors with the tip of his tongue for food 
particles...
     Five painful whacks at the door later, and  the door broke open.  
Four Geebee soldiers rushed in, and saw only a prism of light coming 
through the mirror, and nothing else.  "Wh-where'd she go?" one of them 
stuttered.  "There's no way out of here except through this door!"
     Back in the throne room, the heavy oak doors flung open, and in 
bounded Maurice, just in time to see King Woodstock's guard press a 
computer key.  Maurice held up his rifle.  "Get away from that 
transmitter!!!" he yelled as he aimed the laser gun at the machine.  He 
fired, and his bolt of pink lightning struck the monitor, combusting the 
entire apparatus.
     "Put your hands up," demanded Maurice, waving the gun in the King's 
and his assistant's faces and backing them up toward the bookshelf.  
"Barry, Robin," he said, turning to the other commanders in the room, 
"escort the king into his basement."
     "Did the message transmit?" Woodstock asked his guard under his 
breath.
     "I didn't see, sir," he told the King.  "If it did, it just barely 
got out."
*****

     The butler walked into the room and cleared his throat to make his 
presence known for his boss, who hadn't heard him come in.  "Excuse me, 
sir," he said in a stuffed-shirt, English tone as he straightened out 
the collar on his black jacket, which looked like he had stolen right 
off the back of a puffin, "but would you like for me to fetch you a 
glass of sherry before I retire?"
     The man sitting in the study behind his desk didn't even look over 
the top of his copy of the London Times.  "No, no, I don't drink that 
anymore," he answered succinctly.
     "Very good, sir," said the butler with a bow.  "I shall now 
retire."  The butler turned and left the room as silently as he came in, 
closing the door behind him.
     The man checked his solid gold pocketwatch.  It was getting late.  
It was nearly one o'clock in the morning.  He wondered why the butler 
would still be up at this hour as he returned to his paper.
     Without warning, a shrilling alarm went off, a nearby bookshelf 
whirled around, revealing a vacuum-tube computer in its place.  The man 
threw his paper down, sprang out of his chair and rushed over to the 
computer, where a printout was being made.  "Hello, what's this?" he 
asked out loud to himself.  There was only one thing on the printout 
made by the computer: a crude, dot matrix depiction of a water tower.
*****
CHAPTER TWO

     I get high when I see you go by, my oh my
     When you sigh my, my inside just flies, butterflies
     Why am I so shy when I'm beside you?
     It's only love and that is all
     Why should I feel the way I do?
     It's only love and that is all
     But it's so hard loving you

--The Beatles  "It's Only Love"


     The white bus with the big blue stripe splashed across its entire 
length rolled up, and the brakes let out a *pshhhh* noise.  The door 
opened, and the two waiting patiently at the bus stop stepped on.  As 
the bus stopped, those already on board looked out their windows over 
the large white brick walls to catch a glimpse of the Acme Looniversity 
administration building's majestic clock tower, which rose like a 
California redwood, dwarfing every other toon-made structure in Acme 
Acres.
     The bus slowly rolled away, off University Avenue and onto the 
freeway...

     LIVING IN ACME ACRES, U.S. OF A.
     JUST AN HOUR'S DRIVE FROM HOLLYWOOD
     THE ACME ACRES BUS GOES UP AND BACK THREE TIMES A DAY
     BUT IT MAKES WALKIN' LOOK MIGHTY GOOD!

     The passengers began to wish they had gone a different route when 
the bus got on the freeway.  The driver, for some odd reason, made it a 
point to run over each and every one of the numerous potholes in the 
freeway at alarming velocity, even if that meant sideswiping other cars 
off the road in order to do it.

     WE'RE GOIN' TO THE W.B. LOT!
     JUST LOOK AT HOW LUCKY WE'RE NOT, KIDS!
     GOIN' TO THE W.B. LOT!

     The bus neared a particularly large pothole in the road.  So large, 
was it, that the entire bus disappeared from off the freeway as it drove 
over it.
     Down in the hole, there was a multitude of screams from each 
passenger as the driver raced his vehicle through the large cavern that 
was the pothole.  To make matters worse, the driver was trying to 
outrace a large boulder that was following them.
     Out of the pothole and back onto the busy and unsuspecting freeway 
went the bus...

     WE HAVEN'T SEE THE STUDIO IN QUITE SOME TIME
     CAN HARDLY WAIT TO GET BACK ON
     BUT THE WAY THE DRIVER'S DRIVIN' IS A MAJOR CRIME
     WE'LL BE LUCKY IF WE LIVE THAT LONG!!!!
     WE'RE GOIN' TO THE W.B. LOT!
     JUST LOOK AT HOW LUCKY WE'RE NOT, KIDS!
     GOIN' TO THE W.B. LOT!

     A passenger, in sheer terror, looked out the window.  She seemed to 
recognize the car in the right lane opposite the bus.  Why, it was Roger 
Rabbit riding around in Benny the Cab!  Roger looked at the bus, seeing 
the horror-stricken faces of the passengers inside.  Wanting desperately 
to cheer them up (making people laugh, of course, is what 'toons do), 
Roger made a funny face at them, placing his index fingers inside his 
mouth and stretching his cheeks out a good two feet.  It seemed to work 
on a few of the passengers, some people momentarily forgot their 
predicament and watched Roger and Benny, and a couple of them even 
started to laugh...just before the bus swerved into the right lane, 
knocking Roger and Benny off the road and into a telephone pole.  The 
pole cracked and fell, landing on Peter Pan who just happened to be 
flying by at the time.
     The bus streaked past a large billboard.  Unbeknownst to the 
driver, a police officer had set up a speed trap just behind the 
advertisement.  The ample-bellied officer put down his coffee cup and 
jelly-filled and lazily rolled his eyes up toward the digital display on 
his new laser speed gun.  "Seventy-eight!!" he exclaimed as he slapped 
his head and simultaneously forced the donut down his throat.Ú  "Not on 
MY highway!!"
     Turning on the flashers, the patrol car screeched onto the road, 
tires burning black, and pursued the bus.
     The bus driver looked in his rearview mirror, and smirked evilly at 
seeing the patrol car.  His foot slammed down on the accelerator, 
causing everyone inside the bus to pitch backwards.

     SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA'S WHERE IT BEGINS
     IF YOU WANNA BE A STAR
     YOU'LL BE RICH & FAMOUS AND THEN HAS-BEENS
     YOU'LL BE LIKE US, YOU'LL RIDE THE BUS 'CUZ YOU CAN NO LONGER
     AFFORD A CAR!!!!

     "I'm bagging THIS guy," the officer told himself as he blew by a 
truck laiden with a vast assortment of TVs, VCRs and car stereos.  The 
officer kept a watchful eye on the speed gun.  83 miles an hour.  84.  
The bus was speeding up.  "I bet that bus has a bunch of ILLEGAL ALIENS 
on it!!" he thought to himself as he passed a Ryder van being driven by 
a bunch of guys wearing military fatigues, which sported a banner on it 
reading "Oklahoma City or BANG".
     The patrol car finally began to overtake the bus, which was 
cruising at 86.  "This'll show those wreckers of the California 
economy," he grumbled to himself as he sped across the county line into 
Orange County.  The bus hit 87 MPH.  "I got 'em now!" he shouted out 
loud.  The speed gun hit 88, and in a brilliant flash of light, the bus 
was gone.  The cop's thoughts were cloudy for a moment, before he 
decided to himself, "I don't think I should report this one," 
remembering the heck he'd had to pay the last time something this weird 
happened.  Oh, the dreaded black glove fiasco in Beverly Hills in July 
1994.  He'd never live THAT one down.
     The bus reappeared about ten miles away from Hollywood.  Ten 
nautical miles, that is.  The driver knew that because a buoy with a 
mileage sign on it told him so.
     All the passengers who hadn't fainted from sheer terror looked out 
the window.  Water, water, everywhere.  That and the dorsal fin of a 
great white.  A large wave swept the bus toward Venice Beach.
     Five minutes later, the bus zoomed past Mann's Chinese Theater in 
downtown Tinsel Town.

     WE'RE GOIN' TO THE W.B. LOT!
     JUST LOOK AT HOW LUCKY WE'RE NOT, KIDS!
     GOIN' TO THE W.B. LOT!

     As quickly as the terrible bus ride had begun, it was over.  The 
bus's brakes, which hadn't been used for the full duration of the trip, 
were slammed right in front of 4000 Warner Blvd., sending several 
passengers in the front of the bus, pancaking straight into the front 
windshield face-first.  The door opened, and the driver snickered to his 
first woozy passenger stepping out, a good-looking man wearing a 1940's 
style military uniform.  The passenger got a look at the driver's 
license as he stepped off the bus.  He was going to report this, this 
'Dennis' to the proper authorities.  The only other passengers to exit 
were a mysterious man, wearing a long, grey overcoat and large grey 
fedora shrouding his face, and a couple of rabbits, a light blue one and 
a petunia pink one.  The mysterious figure dashed away down the street, 
being careful not to be spotted by anyone.
     "Wow," said Babs, placing her hands on the sides of her head, 
trying to get her bearings as her pupils spun around wildly in her oval 
eyes, "that ride was worse than the ones at Six Flags over Bedford!  I 
need to sit down."
     Ralph, the ever loyal guard, was fast asleep at his post, making 
girlish gurgling noises in his sleep.  The bunnies, knowing full well 
Ralph would never recognize them as employees of the studio, attached 
themselves to the back bumper of a long, black, sleek car.  The driver 
of the car honked the horn, waking Ralph up.  Ralph fell backward out of 
his chair in surprise, crashing onto the floor of his little guardhouse.  
When he stood up, he saw the driver, wearing a black mask with pointed 
protrusions sticking out of it.  "Oh, good evening, Mr. Clooney!" Ralph 
said cheerfully as he pulled the lever that raised the car gate.  Ralph 
waved to the driver as the car sped onto the lot.  The security expert 
didn't even notice Buster and Babs sitting on the bumper.
     Just as the car let out a belch of blazing red fire and sped 
vertically up one of the walls of soundstage eleven, Buster and Babs 
jumped off and landed on a nearby wooden park bench, right next to one 
another.
     The bunnies sat together on the pine green park bench, complaining 
about their dizziness to one another for a couple of minutes.  
     Their witty banter back and forth subsided slowly.  Buster was 
about to say something about the uncomfortable bench seat, but when he 
turned to Babs, she looked to him to be off in her own little sphere.  
There was something on her mind, that was obvious.  From the looks of 
it, Buster deduced that whatever it was, it probably wasn't a good 
thing.
     Babs felt her skin crawling.  The weight of Buster's stare felt 
like a sixteen ton block weight on her shoulders; just as heavy, and 
only slightly less cold.  Buster was only looking at her quizzically, 
wondering why she suddenly seemed so...nervous, and really wasn't trying 
to make her feel uncomfortable, but he was succeeding in doing exactly 
that.
     She had something in her pocket for Buster.  She'd bought it nearly 
a month before, and for every one of the 29 days that followed, she 
could think of nothing except the worst-case scenario of giving it to 
him.  Finally, the day had come, and there they both were, sitting 
together, with no one else around.  Mentally, Babs bit her fingernails.  
If she was ever going to give it to him, now would be the time.  If she 
waited any longer, she told herself, she'd probably never do it.
     She reached into her pocket tentatively, with far less bravery and 
far more shakiness than a mouse trying to sneak past a sleeping cat.  
"Buster," she said squeakily before she cleared her throat. "Buster, 
I've, uh, I've got something for you."  She took out an envelope, and 
with a tremmoring hand, handed it to Buster, who was completely 
bewildered.  
     He took the envelope from her deliberately, worrying that any 
sudden moves might give her a heart attack.  He was going to say 'thank 
you' to her, but he decided that it would be better to see what was 
inside the envelope before he did.  His only response to her was "oh."
     'Why is she giving this to me?' he asked himself.  The answer hit 
him like a lightning bolt.  'UH-OH!!  It's...it's...VALENTINE'S 
DAY!!!!!!!'
     Valentine's Day was, for Buster, often akin to Halloween.  It 
scared the living heck out of him.  He looked straight at Babs, and now 
felt as nervous as she looked, and couldn't hide it any better.  He 
opened it.
     Babs sat with her head bent forward as she pretended to be looking 
at her feet dangling off the bench, but she was really watching Buster 
out of the corner of her eye as he read her card.
     The card, in and of itself, wasn't anything terribly mushy.  It was 
red, and had a big pink heart right in the center.  Underneath it read 
"Happy Valentine's Day".  The front of the card wasn't what worried him, 
though.  He was far more concerned about the inside.  He slowly peeled 
back the edge of the card and pulled the front upward.  As he did, he 
could swear he had heard a creaking noise.  Just like the big, oak door, 
concealing some terrible evil in a grade B horror flick.  When the 
audience sees and hears it, they all start yelling "don't go in there" 
toward the screen to warn the large-chested starlet of impending doom.  
In his mind, Buster could hear a chorus of "don't go in there.  But he 
knew, as the starlet just before she gets hacked with a carving knife, 
it was too late to save himself.
     Buster gulped hard.  His eyes began scanning the inside cover.
     Sweat began pouring off Buster's brow like it was a scale model of 
Angel Falls in South America.  His worst fears were being realized with 
every sentence he read that Babs had written inside.  He finished the 
long paragraph, and closed the card slowly.  He felt an indescribable 
pain in his neck as he turned slowly to face Babs.
     "I know I've never really told you," she said quietly, still 
pretending to be looking at her feet, "but that's how I feel."  She 
could not make out a reaction from Buster.  He said nothing.  He did 
nothing.
     Babs was suddenly filled with need.  She put her fear aside and put 
her hand gently on Buster's, which was now on the seat of the bench.  
Buster looked down at the hand in mortal terror, before slowly looking 
back up at Babsie, who stared back at him with her beautiful crystal 
blue eyes, which were moist and sparkling in the late afternoon light.  
"Buster, I've got to know...do you feel the same way?"
     In one quick and fluid motion, Buster jerked his hand away from 
Babs's and looked at his watch.  "Hey, Babs!  If we don't hurry, we're 
gonna be late!"  Buster took off like a shot, leaving both Babs and his 
Valentine's Day card on the bench.
     "Thank you, Cyrano De Bergerac!" Babs mumbled sourly as she was 
about to get up.  She stopped as she heard a nearby voice.
     "You know, Miss Bunny," said the voice, who turned out to be a man 
sitting on the bench, his plaid shirt buttoned all the way up to the 
collar and a shallow, rectangular box resting on his lap, "if he don't 
like Valentine's cards, maybe he'd like some chocolates."  The man 
picked up one of the sweets and popped it into his mouth.  He offered 
the box to Babs, adding "my mama al'ys says life is like a box o' 
chocolates.  You never know what you're gonna..."
     Before he could finish his sentence, Babs pulled a large mallet out 
from behind her back and struck her end of the bench with all her might.  
The man flew up into the sky, straight toward the now-visible full moon.  
As he disappeared into the wild blue yonder, Babs stormed off.
*****

     Another long week was over.  Dr. Otto Scratchansniff gathered up 
the mounds of medical paperwork blanketing his office, shoved them into 
his fake leather briefcase and headed out of his office toward his car, 
parked near the Warner Bros. administration building.  As he passed the 
building, a thought occurred to him.  He smiled.  Why not?  He had 
nothing to go home to except his Alka-Seltzer (which he bought by the 
case) and TGIF on ABC.  Scratchansniff turned on his heel and bounced 
toward the plate glass doors of the Warner Brother's administration 
building.
     As he neared the door, he could see one of the office managers 
standing by a wall, holding a pull cord attached to a steam whistle.  
The manager, looking down at his watch, suddenly tugged on the pull 
cord, and cheers of glee filled the air, along with papers, pencils and 
other office supplies.  "YABBA-DABBA-DOO!!" yelled the office employees 
as they stampeded for the door, straight at the doctor.  The doctor 
could do nothing except quake as the human tidal wave came crashing 
through the doors of the building.
Forty pairs of feet trampled Scratchy as they ran for home.
     A couple of minutes passed before the Doc regained consciousness.  
He sat up and tried to correct his glasses, which were now sporting 
fractured lenses on a bent frame.  Almost instantly, Scratchy was 
knocked back to the ground by the door being flung open, which nailed 
him full in the face.  A foot fell squarely on his stomach as he lay 
helpless on the ground.  Scratchansniff looked up to see the CEO of 
Warner Bros., Thaddeus Plotz, standing right on top of his small 
intestine.   
     "Ah, good evening, Scratchansniff," said Plotz.  "I was hoping to 
run into you."  Plotz rubbed his hands together greedily and licked his 
lips.  "I'm getting hungry," he said, "why don't you join me for dinner 
in the studio commissary?"
     This had been exactly what Dr. Scratchansniff was going to ask Mr. 
Plotz.  "Vhat a good idea, Mr. Plotz," Scratchy told him.
     Plotz courteously stepped off the lower third of the Doctor's 
digestive system, and the doctor popped up off the ground.  The two 
started making their way toward the commissary, passing actors left and 
right, and hearing the squabbling of two directors from one of the 
soundstage, one of them claiming that the other was turning his 
screenplay into garbage, the other one countering that beating people 
over the head with the theme was necessary.
     Scratchansniff noticed that the CEO was looking particularly 
cheerful this evening.  There was a spring in his step, a boyish swagger 
in his hips, and the closest thing the Neo-Freudian analyst had ever 
seen to a smile on his face.˜  "It's been a GREAT day!" pronounced 
Plotz, sounding not unlike Tony the Tiger after swallowing a heaping 
spoonful of his favorite cereal.  "I signed Kevin Costner to a 
three-picture deal, managed a hostile takeover of a major light bulb 
manufacturer, and best of all...I haven't been bothered by Yakko, Wakko 
and Dot ALL DAY LONG!!!  It feels INCREDIBLE to have the Warners out of 
my hair for even one day!!"
     The Doc was confused.  "But, Mr. Plotz, you don't have any hair!"
     "It's a figure of speech, Scracthansniff!" answered an offended 
Plotz.
     When they were in front of the commissary, the two men noticed 
maintenance people putting up a large white banner with red letters, 
suspended proudly by short pieces of rope.  The banner swayed gently in 
the breeze as it hung in front of the commissary's entrance.  The 
half-unfurled banner read: "Tonight Only - SWISS ALPENHORN AND YODELING 
DUO".  Plotz snapped his fingers, and even allowed himself a small 
chuckle.
     "See that, Scratchansniff?" he asked the Ph.D. as he gazed toward 
the banner, "an alpenhorn duo!  Now THAT'S what I call dinner music!"  
The Doctor nodded in agreement.  The two men journeyed inside, just in 
time to miss seeing the maintenance staff unfurling the rest of the 
banner, the lower half of which read: "...with - THE WARNERS".
*****

     The doctor and the CEO found themselves at the very tail of a long 
dinner line leading a twisted path through the cafeteria alleyway and 
down one of the back walls of the commissary.  In front of them were 
several studio employees, actors and 'toons, all hoping to sit down and 
enjoy an edible meal (a GOOD meal was FAR too much to ask for from the 
commissary).  At the head of the line was Val Kilmer, being waited on by 
a very slow cashier.
     The cashier rubbed his two-day beard thoughtfully with his stubby, 
greasy fingers, scratched a little tingly spot just below his protruding 
belly button, flicked some pale grey ashes off his accordion-folded 
cigarette and peered down at Val's tray, which contained a bowl of soup, 
a hamburger and a cup of Jell-O.  "Lessee," said the cashier as his eyes 
scanned the keypad of his register.  "Hamboiger, hamboiger."  His eyes 
finally fell on the correct key, which was symbolized by a cow with "X"s 
for eyes lying under a split hamburger bun.  "Ah, dere it is," he said 
triumphantly, "hamboiger!!!"
     Sitting at a table were Buster and Babs, nibbling off the veggie 
platters they had ordered.  Both of them were painfully aware of the 
newfound awkwardness as they picked at their plates.
     Babs's mind was wandering.  She thought about the two of them, how 
during production of Tiny Toon Adventures, nothing amorously-oriented 
had ever materialized between them.  There were a few moments, sure, but 
nothing really meaningful that Babs could point to as evidence that 
Buster was romantically interested in her, or anybody, for that matter.  
The two of them had kissed five times onscreen, but had never had 
anything which might have been considered romantic offscreen happen 
between them.  Not for lack of trying on Babs's part, either, she 
thought.  She'd done her share of hint-dropping and rumor-spreading 
around the TTA set.  Of course, the two rabbits were highly emotionally 
attached to one another.  Buster had always considered Babs his best 
friend, and with a little coaxing, Babs could worm little secrets out of 
him, things that he didn't share with anyone else.  A quick, almost 
devilish grin crossed her lips as she thought about Buster squirming 
like a dental patient whenever he was telling her things he really 
didn't want to, just because she wanted to know.
     It killed Babs inside, though.  There was nothing standing in the 
way of them getting together except Buster's reluctance to do so.  She 
had told him very distinctly how she felt in her card, and had been 
hinting at it (rather blatantly) for almost as long as she had known 
him.  Why she decided to come right out and say what she'd wanted to say 
to him for so long in her card was as much a mystery to herself as it 
was to Buster.  Maybe it was because, deep down inside, she had known 
all along that Buster was going to react exactly the way he did when she 
told him.
     As much as she didn't want to admit it to herself, she had to take 
some drastic measures.  It was the only option left to her.
     'What's left?' she asked herself.  'There must be SOMETHING I can 
do.'  Babs thought hard about it, then realized the whole time she had 
been talking to herself, she had been staring straight at Buster, not 
even aware she was doing so.
     Buster had been totally aware of it, though, and couldn't figure 
out why Babs kept staring at him.  He tried desperately to distract 
himself by pondering the life cycle of every piece of garden greenery on 
his plate, but it wasn't working.  'Geez,' he said to himself, 'she must 
REALLY be hung up on me.'  Buster was paralyzed for a moment.  How long 
had this been going on?  Why hadn't he noticed?  And, did he have ANY 
non-platonic feelings for Babsie?  He had no answer for any of his 
questions.
*****

     There was a knock on the dressing room door.  After a pause, the 
door opened.  From their vantage point, the two Swiss alpenhorn players 
could see only a gigantic foot standing in front of them at eye level.  
"What?" asked the person at the door, as she stared down at the 
miniature musicians, each wearing kelly green laderhosen and plumed hat.  
They were both as pale as the snow crested on top of the Swiss Alps, and 
had humongous pink ears.
     "Good evening," said the shorter of the two.  "I am Gunther 
Heindrickson from Appenzelle.  My partner and I would like to discuss 
tonight's performance with you."
     "Just a second," grumbled Dot Warner as she shut the door.  She 
called over to a large dressing room blind, where two other pairs of 
Warner feet could be seen beneath it.  Hanging off the top of the blind 
were a light blue sweater and a pair of mocha brown pants.  "Hey, guys," 
Dot told them, "the alpenhorn players want to talk to us."
     "Hang on!" yelled Yakko in a hostile tone.  From either side of the 
blind walked out Yakko and Wakko, both wearing intricately designed band 
leader costumes, Yakko's being a yellowish-green and Wakko's being a 
stately royal blue.   Both had fringe intricately woven all over, and 
Wakko's sleeves were covered with patches in shapes of noble coats of 
arms.  Yakko slammed his stovepipe yellow-green band leader's hat on his 
head, turned to Wakko and frowned.  "This is the LAST time you get to 
pick out costumes," he told his junior as he prodded his finger roughly 
into Wakko's chest and stormed off.
     Yakko met Dot, who was wearing her sparkling vermilion conductor's 
uniform and cap, at the door.  "What?" he asked, not noticing the 
extremely short yodelers standing in the doorway.  Dot pointed down 
toward the floor at the Swiss ambassadors, and Yakko bent over as close 
down to the ground as he could to get to the yodlelers' eye level.
     "I am Gunther Heindrickson," the shorter of the two presented 
himself.  "This is my associate," he began, then added with a whince, 
"...Heimlich Manuever."
     "Aren't you two a little SHORT to be yodelers?" queried Yakko.
     Gunther sneered.  "If you MUST know," he grumbled, "we are not 
Alpen country yodelers or Alpenhornists.  We are two lab mice in the 
early stages of a plot to conquer the earth!  We have come to discuss 
our scheme with you.  Your job is to lull this evening's attendants into 
a blissful slumber, afterwards my partner and I will blow our 
specially-designed resonating alpenhorns.  When blown, these horns 
disrupt human REM sleep patterns, causing widespread hysteria!  Then we 
shall move into phase two of our plan to take over the world!!!"  
Gunther looked back at Yakko and Dot.  "Are there any questions?"
     Gunther's partner jumped up in the air and began waving his hand 
furiously.  "Ooh, ooh, I have a question!  When I'm playing me 
alpenhorn, do I blow into the big end or the small end?"  Gunther 
responded by slapping the mouse in the back of the head with a 
resonating "WUMP".  They turned and went back to the dressing room, 
Heimlich rubbing his skull.
     Yakko and Dot looked at each other in mild confusion.  "What was 
that about?"  Dot asked.  A shoulder shrug was Yakko's reply.  "Did you 
get that, Wakko?" she asked as she turned to him.  "Wakko?"
     It was obvious Wakko hadn't heard a word that was said.  He was now 
sitting at one of the makeup tables, staring at a picture frame that Dot 
had been watching him stare at for the past couple of weeks.  More than 
once she'd seen him just sit and stare at it for half an hour at a time.  
She smiled to herself.  Wakko was in for a surprise tonight, and he'd 
surely kill her if he'd had any idea it was coming.
     "Hey, Wakko," Yakko snapped at him, breaking his trance, "quit 
zoning out over there!  We gotta finish getting ready!"
*****

     It looked too darn easy.  He had trained for years for covert 
operations.  Drills, orders barked at him, climbing over walls, 
short-circuiting electric fences with only a paperclip and a chewed 
piece of bubble gum; he was prepared to break into the office of the KGB 
if he'd had to.  And now, all that stood in his way was one fat slob, 
fast asleep at his post in front of the studio lot.
     The mysterious figure waited until car traffic on the lot was 
non-existent.  The less prying eyes, the better.  He was now just down 
the sidewalk from the guardhouse, where he could see through the doorway 
the guard fast asleep, leaning back on his stool, feet propped up 
against the window sill.
     He dashed, with lightning-quick speed behind a U.S. mailbox.  After 
a brief pause he zoomed behind a trashcan, and then a telephone pole.  
Nothing was in his way now.  The figure, without a sound, tiptoed past 
the gatehouse and the sleeping guard, only to be smashed right on the 
head with the striped car barrier and driven into the ground like a 
railroad stake.  A sickening "CRACK", almost like a baseball bat, could 
be heard on impact.
     "Hey!" yelled Ralph as he bounded out of his office, "where do ya' 
thinks youse is goin'?!  Dah, nobody gets on da lot wit'out a pass!!"
     Clearly, the mystery man had underestimated his opponent.  Pushing 
the barrier off his head and pulling himself out of the ground, the 
secret agent buried his hand in his inside raincoat pocket and held up 
the one item he was carrying that was sure to ward off any trouble from 
law enforcement.
     Ralph was mesmerized by the weapon.  In all his years working for 
security, he had never seen anything like it.  "Wow," he let out 
dreamily, "that's the most beautiful chocolate donut I ever seen."
     The mysterious figure, holding the baked good in between his thumb 
and index finger, began swinging it back and forth, like a hypnotist 
would swing a watch.  Ralph's eyes followed the pendulum-like rhythm of 
the tasty pastry, which was dripping chocolate frosting slowly, 
painfully to the ground.
     Suddenly, to Ralph's gasping horror, the mysterious figure tossed 
the donut out into the middle of Warner Boulevard, hitting the double 
yellow- striped median perfectly, and spinning around a couple of times 
on its axis like a coin.  Paying no attention to the Burbank rush hour 
traffic, Ralph burst onto the road, screaming "Doooooonuuuuuuut!!!!!", 
miraculously dodging oncoming traffic to the median.  Ralph picked up 
the donut, wiped off his brow, and began strolling back to his post, 
only seeing the oncoming semi moments before it flattened him like a 
pancake onto the roadway.  "Duh, the things I'll do for a donut," he 
remarked in a thoroughly dazed state of mind.
     The mysterious figure smiled and patted his hands together.  A job 
well done.  He again strolled past the guardhouse, and was again 
flattened by the car barrier falling down on his head.  Yet again, he 
got off the ground and stumbled forward (as well as diagonally and 
sideways) onto the lot, where he saw what he had come for: the giant 
water tower standing in the middle of the Warner lot.
*****

     The Warners were in a football huddle.  Each of them had a hand in 
the middle of it, then yelled "break!"  It was nearly showtime.
     The kids went out toward the stage to make some last minute 
adjustments to their equipment: Wakko's lead guitar, Yakko's bass and 
Dot's drums.  In typical Warner fashion, the eldest high-stepped his way 
in front of the other two, following behind.  Inside the corridor 
leading to the stage, though, Wakko stopped.  Behind him, Dot, not 
noticing Wakko's sudden deceleration, smacked her nose right into his 
back and nearly causing her to spill her 1.5 liter bottle of Avian she 
was drinking.  Wakko didn't even notice, and had he noticed wouldn't 
have cared.  Something was tapping into his animal instincts.  His long, 
windsock-like ears stood up almost on end.  He sensed a presence.
     "What's the matter, Wakko?" she asked him, annoyed, as she rubbed 
her smarting nose.
     Wakko couldn't answer.  He couldn't put his finger on it, but he 
knew something was up.  He sniffed the air.  Dot could see that he 
suspected something,  and she smiled, almost wickedly, to herself.  She 
knew she wouldn't be able to hold her secret any longer.
     "Hey, Wakko," she said with a giggle, "you know that picture of 
yours?"
     "What about it?" he asked defensively.  Dot looked at him with a 
huge grin on her face, and the pieces of Wakko's mini mystery fell into 
place.  "You didn't.  Tell me you didn't."
     Yakko leaned over and put a hand on Wakko's shoulder.  "She sure 
did!" he announced proudly.
     In terror, Wakko ran over to the curtains of the stage and stuck 
his head out.  Sure enough, sitting at the table closest to the stage 
was the same person in the picture.  She looked even more beautiful in 
person.  Her long, perfectly oblong ears tied with two lavender bows, 
her huge, blue eyes, her soft pink body fur, her gently curving figure, 
her eight cute toes, the cutest he'd ever seen.  She was an angel.
     "She and I have a mutual acquaintance," Dot told Wakko as he peered 
out the curtain, "so I invited her to come watch."
     Wakko pulled his head back inside the curtains.  A lovelorn look 
was on his face, a look that only the most lonely and pathetic of all 
male toons (and humans) got on their faces.  He sighed heavily.
     "Why don't you go out there and talk to her?" asked Dot.  Wakko's 
knees buckled instantly at Dot's words.  He had to grab at the curtain 
to keep from losing his balance completely.
     "TALK TO HER?!  But...but...but..."
     "Oh, c'mon!" said Yakko as he started to push Wakko out of the 
curtains, with much difficulty.  "Just go over and say 'hi'.  I'm sure 
she'd love to meet you!"
     All the strength Yakko had couldn't get his younger brother any 
closer to Babs than his head just barely poking out of the curtain's 
slit.  Dot joined in the struggle, but Wakko was an immovable object.  
"All right," Yakko said finally as he swung his foot and leg back and 
aimed it in the direction of Wakko's butt.  "Stand back, Dot!"
     Outside, Babs was mopily chewing on a carrot, when a loud noise, a 
powerful *WHAM*, coming from onstage startled her.  She looked up, and 
watched as Wakko flew through the air in a parabolic flight path, and 
landed right on Babs's dinner tray.  A bright red apple was caught in 
his mouth.
     It took a second for Wakko to figure out exactly where he was.  He 
looked up, and then he saw her.  It was Babs Bunny staring down at him, 
bewildered.  Wakko gulped hard, inadvertently swallowing the apple which 
slowly descended his throat, leaving a ridiculous looking shape in his 
trachea.  Wakko quickly became very self-conscious, having Babs staring 
at him.
     "Hi, Wakko," she said to him, not really knowing what else to say.
     There are more than 200,000 words in the English language, and 
Wakko could think of none of them.  He lay there, frozen, but 
fortunately for him, Yakko and Dot wandered over from the stage.
     "Hello, Dot," Babs greeted her.  "Thank you for the invite."
     "You're welcome," said Dot cheerfully.
     While Dot and Babs exchanged small talk, Yakko leaned down to 
Wakko's ear.  "Now's your chance," Yakko told him, "go for it!  Ask her 
out!"
     It seemed clear enough to Wakko that this would probably be the 
best time, despite his nervousness.  Nervousness wasn't a feeling Wakko 
was accustomed to.  While he'd spent a full third of his lifetime 
skirt-chasing (which got him in trouble once when the Warners vacationed 
in Scotland), he'd never really felt for those other women the way he 
felt about Babs Bunny.  His desire for her wasn't urgent or based solely 
on her body.  His feelings were of the slow, comfortable nature.  It 
wasn't about lust (or, more accurately, it wasn't THAT MUCH about lust).  
He wanted to be with her, he wanted to glide his hand slowly through the 
warm, soft, eggshell white fur on her cheeks, he wanted her to hold him, 
he wanted her to let him be there for her when she'd had a bad day, to 
let him be her shoulder to cry on.  He wanted her to talk to him, to get 
close to him.  He wanted her to love him.
     His thoughts were interrupted as Buster walked from the little 
bunny's room over to the table, wiping his still-damp hands.  "Those 
stupid hand blow dryers NEVER get my hands dry!" he grumbled to himself.  
He looked up and saw the Warners at his table.
     Dot turned and saw Buster coming, and she was awestruck.  Never 
before had she seen such a well-built bunny rabbit in her life.  And 
unattached!  Dot looked at Wakko out of the corner of her eye.  If he 
and Babs could have a "thing", why not her and Buster?
     Despite the fact that Dot's male-snaring techniques had paid off 
not once in her whole life, she saw no need to change them now.  She 
readied herself to make her oh-so subtle move...jumping with reckless 
abandon and a evil smirk directly into the unsuspecting bunny's arms.
     "What the...?" said Buster as he caught the youngest Warner 
sibling, who promptly placed her arms around Buster's neck 
suffocatingly, locking her fingers behind his head to ensure there would 
be no escape.
     "Hellllllllllllooooo, nurse!" yelled Dot, just before planting a 
wet one flush on Buster's lips.  The cutoff oxygen supply to Buster's 
brain made him effectively defenseless against Dot's unwelcome advances, 
not to mention making his face turn a deep purple.  Several seconds went 
by before Dot finally let go of her stranglehold on Buster, and jumped 
off him.  Buster, with both hands around his throat, staggered over to 
his chair next to Babs and sat down, coughing and wheezing dryly, 
occasionally gasping for air.
     "So," said Babs in Wakko's direction, with precious little concern 
for Buster's health, "that's really cool that you have this concert 
here.  How did you three become a band, anyway?"
     Wakko sat there on the table, speech"less.  He tugged at his 
collar, and his mind raced trying to think of something to say to her.  
A trickle of perspiration rolled down his forehead.  He was blowing his 
chance with her, he was sure of it.
     All of this tense behavior by Wakko did not go unnoticed by Babs at 
all.  Wakko knew it, too.  She thought he was some kind of weirdo 
obsessed with her and he'd start stalking her and she'd get some kind of 
court order saying he couldn't be within ten miles of her.   He KNEW 
that's exactly what she was thinking.  
     What Wakko didn't know, though, was that Babs actually thought it 
was kind of cute.  "Aw," she said to herself as she smiled inwardly, "I 
think Wakko's got a little crush on me."  Her inward smile suddenly 
turned into an inward frown, however.  "If Buster cared for me AT ALL, 
he'd be jealous right now."  Babs turned to catch a glimpse of him, and 
she saw what she suspected to.  Buster hadn't even noticed.  Sure, maybe 
he was still trying to shake the cobwebs and get some blood back in his 
brain, but surely he would've NOTICED!
     Then, Babs was suddenly struck with an idea.  Maybe, just maybe, if 
she played up to Wakko, that would get some kind of rise out of Buster.  
Why wouldn't it?  It was worth a shot, she figured.  "Besides, it'll 
give Wakko the thrill of his LIFE to know that BABS BUNNY is interested 
in him!" she told herself.
     Her train of thought was interrupted as Yakko stepped in between 
Buster and Babs.  "How did we become a band, you ask?  
Wellllllllllll...." he said just as the world melted away for his 
flashback...
*****

     ...It all started a few weeks before.  Some of the Warner Bros. red 
hot music performers were recording a song in a soundstage on the WB 
lot.  For several minutes, the lot was filled with music.

     I THINK I'M GETTING SICK
     OUT OF MY NOSE IS WHERE I DRIP
     I NEED MORE VITAMIN C
     YOU BEST WATCH OUT I'M GOIN' TO SNEEZE...
     A-A-AAAAAHHHHHHHH...

     It was here that the two guitars cut in and started jamming, along 
with the drums.  Suddenly, the band's lead singer jumped up.  
"CUUUUUUT!!!" he yelled.
     Several curious people walked over to find out what was happening 
there.  As soon as they did, the lead guitarist, the bass guitarist and 
the drummer were all booted out of the soundstage.  Not two seconds 
later, the lead singer, naked except for one strategically-placed sock, 
stormed out of the soundstage, his long black hair bouncing from 
shoulder blade to shoulder blade, with a pile of instruments under his 
arm.
     He took them straight toward two trash cans sitting behind the 
stage and deposited all the instruments in one of the cans before 
stomping off, shooing fleas away the whole time.
     The commotion was brought to the attention of Wakko, who was 
searching for vittles inside the other trash can.  He swallowed a set of 
fishbones and saw the instruments lying in the trash can next to him.  
He grabbed them with excitement and whisked his way back to the water 
tower.
*****

     The Warners did the only logical thing they could do with the 
instruments: learn to play them as well as they could and then go out on 
a spectacular world tour.  After about two hours of really intense 
practice, they were sure they were ready for their world tour.  Heck, it 
had to be more than KISS ever practiced, and look how big THEY made it.  
Their first stop was an Austrian ski resort.
*****

     Of course, the kids hadn't actually been INVITED to play there, but 
they did so anyway.  Since they were not allowed inside the lodge of the 
resort, the only logical thing left to do was start playing on the 
slopes.
     Yakko was the only one of the Warners with enough sense to bring 
any winter clothes...a red and white striped scarf long enough for all 
three of them to wear simultaneously.  The Warner kids wrapped 
themselves up and rented three pairs of skis.
     Not many people were skiing this day.  In fact, Dot was the only 
one to spot anyone: the big, muscular hunk she'd had her eye on ever 
since the original "Terminator" movie.  She took off like a shot toward 
his ski slope, dragging the other two Warner kids with her.
     As the big, famous movie star went down the hill, he felt at ease.  
He needed a break after just attending Ronny's 350th birthday party.  
Suddenly, his relaxed mood disappeared.  He looked back behind him, just 
as Wakko broke out the accordion and Dot started singing:

     PLEASE PLEASE LOVE ME!
     OH, WHY CAN'T YOU SEE
     WE WERE MEANT TO BE
     HEY, WA-AATCH OUT...
     FOR THAT TREE!

     The movie star was in such a shock that he had completely forgotten 
that he was skiing.  Just as he turned around, he crashed face-first 
into a gigantic Alpine Spruce.  The tree toppled at a 45 degree angle 
onto the ground.  The star just sat there in the snow.  He couldn't even 
remember who he was.
     "Geez," said Dot, a little upset, "what's the point now?  There's 
no CHALLENGE!"
*****

     Not long after, the Warner kids found themselves back in the USA.  
They scheduled themselves a gig at the local International House O' 
Flapjacks.
     The kids walked into the place unnoticed, before they popped up on 
an attractive waitress wearing a sexy pink uniform and a name tag 
reading "Johnny".  She was busy, engaged in taking guff from a nerdy 
looking guy with glasses, curly red hair and a cheesy mustache, wearing 
a Hawaiian shirt and laceless shoes decorated in wild checkerboard 
patterns.
     "I'm sorry sir," Johnny told her customer, "but we're all out of 
pancake batter!"
     "Aw, no!" yelled the customer, just before the Warners popped out 
from underneath his table singing happily:

     THEY'RE ALL OUT OF BATTER!
     ISN'T IT AWFUL?
     BIG BELGIAN WAFFLE!

     In microseconds, the kids were tossed out of the restaurant on 
their behinds.  Wakko's accordion was hanging beautifully around his 
neck.

*****

     "We really hit the big time, though," pronounced Yakko, "when we 
performed in Washington."
     "You performed at the White House?" Babs asked enthusiastically.
     "Well, not the *White House*," answered Yakko, "but the Capitol 
building..."
*****

     It had been a particularly bad day on Capitol Hill for Congressman 
Mickel.  First, he'd had a run in with Ted Kennedy about federal funding 
for Massachusetts that didn't go over too well.  He couldn't find a 
tennis court all morning, and now he was running late to the opening 
debate.  He raced down the halls to the chamber of representatives.  
Looking at his Bugs Bunny watch, he saw that he was a good five minutes 
late.  The Speaker wasn't going to like that very much.
     The Congressman opened the door with trepidation.  He looked around 
at the chambers.  All eyes were on some Congressman from Utah.  Rep 
Mickel couldn't remember his name.  All he knew was that if he was going 
to get inside the chamber without anyone noticing his tardiness, it was 
going to have to be now.
     Mickel tippie-toed down the aisle, miraculously undetected.  He sat 
down in his seat in the fifth row and sighed heavily.  He opened his 
briefcase to pull out a legal pad and some paper, but the latch of the 
briefcase clicked loudly.
     All eyes immediately focused their attention on the freshman 
representative from Massachusetts.  Mickel noticed this, but he wasn't 
worried about any of them except one pair, which he dared not look at.
He finally did look up toward the podium after several seconds, fully 
expecting the worst...
     ...Which is exactly what he was met with.  A pair of glowing red 
eyes X-rayed him.  Fire and smoke were coming out of the nostrils.  Newt 
was upset.
     "MR. MICKEL!!!!" yelled an enraged Speaker.  "THIS IS THE LAST TIME 
YOU WALK INTO THE REPRESENTATIVES' CHAMBER LATE AND
MAKE ALL THAT RACKET!!!  OTHERWISE, YOU'LL BE CENSURED!!!!!
IS THAT CLEAR?!!!!!!!!"
     "Yes, sir", Mickel squeaked back as he sank timidly in his chair 
like a scolded puppy.
     "I WILL HAVE NO SUCH NOISE ON THIS PREMISES!!!"
     "Heyyyyyyy, Newty-boy," a loud voice called from the back of the 
room, catching the Speaker's full attention.
     "WHAT?!!" yelled Newt.  "HOW DARE YOU INTERRUPT THESE HEARINGS!!  
WE ARE *TRYING* TO DECIDE HOW MUCH FEDERAL FUNDING SHOULD
GO TO THE PUDDING BAR IN THE BUFFET ROOM!!!!!!!"
     "Hey, c'mon!  Don't be so grumpy!  Smile!" answered the voice.
     Congressman Mickel looked toward the back of the room.  Sure 
enough, he saw exactly who he thought he'd see.  "Hey!  It's the 
Warners!" he said.
     Newt shot the Congressman an angry look.  "You KNOW these, 
these...things?"
     "Oh, sure," answered Mickel, "everyone's heard of the Warners, 
unless you're just *waaaaaaay* out of touch with reality."  The 
Representative quickly slapped his hand onto his mouth, realizing he 
just said the phrase that Newt didn't want to hear.
     "Aw, c'mon," yelled Yakko to the Speaker of the House.  "We just 
wanna sing for you and brighten up your day!"
     Newt was somewhat taken aback.  "Brighten up MY day?!!!  THAT'S 
IMPOSSIBLE!!"  Newt scowled toward the kids.
     "I don't think he's lying," Wakko whispered to Yakko.
     "But that ain't gonna stop me from trying!" Yakko proclaimed, then 
stopped for a second realizing "hey!  I'm a poet and I didn't even know 
it!"
     The Speaker was trembling in his shoes.  "Do you kids have anything 
to say or not?!" he demanded.
     "Just one thing," Yakko told him.  The Warners broke out their 
instruments from Wakko's gag-bag.

     YOU'RE A NOWHERE KINDA GUY
     TO THE PUBLIC DO YOU LIE
     BETTER NOT EAT ANY MORE FRENCH FRY, OR YOU'LL EXPLODE!

     The Warners, in a single file line with Yakko in the lead, marched 
down the aisle toward the Speaker's podium, playing their instruments in 
hammy fashion.

     YOU TALK BUT YOU DON'T HAVE A CLUE
 Á    WHERE TO LEAD THIS COUNTRY TO
     GO AHEAD, ADMIT THAT YOU DON'T KNOW NOTHING

     With the wave of Yakko's hand, a bright rainbow formed in the 
aisle, right at the Warners feet.  The refracted light stretched in a 
brilliant arc all the way to the ceiling and down to the podium, right 
into Newt's lap.  Even Newt was taken aback by the site.  He looked up 
toward the ceiling, just as a gigantic pot of gold  fell out of the sky 
and landed on his head.
     Simultaneously, all three of the Warners took a step onto the 
rainbow, which lifted them like an escalator off the ground.

     NOWHERE NEWT, QUIT WHININ'
     STOP ALL YOUR BOOT SHININ'
     NOWHERE NEWT, WHY DON'T YOU TELL SOMEONE WHO
MIGHT GIVE A HOOOOOOOOOT!  LA LA LA LA!!

     The Speaker sat in his chair, bewildered, and watched as the three 
Warner kids escalated downward, right into his lap. 

     HE'S A REAL NOWHERE NEWT
     KISSING ON THE MUDDY BOOT
     AND MAKING FOLKS PAY ALL THEIR LOOT
     TO NOBODY!

     The kids hugged him affectionately, then each planted their half 
dollar- sized puckers on the Speaker's bulbous cheeks with a resounding 
*SMACK*.
     Not five seconds later, the Warners were tossed out of the nation's 
capitol building and onto the sidewalk.
     "AND STAY OUT!!"
     "I guess you were right, Wakko," Yakko told his younger brother, 
"he can't be cheered up."
     "He was really grumpy," Wakko answered.
     Yakko turned toward his sister.  She sat on the sidewalk with her 
arms folded tightly to her chest, her neck scrunched in tightly giving 
her the appearance of multiple chins, and a scowl on her face that would 
have done even The Speaker credit.
     "You don't look very happy.  Didn't you like him either?"
     "I really don't want to talk about it," Dot said in an understated, 
angry voice, doing everything possible to keep from exploding in an 
uproarious hostility.
     "Aw, come on, you can tell me what you thought about the 
Speaker..." Yakko whispered to his sister.
     Of course, when one whispers in Washington, one attracts no less 
than fifty newspaper reporters, and so it was that several journalists 
sprinted over to the spot on the sidewalk where the Warners were seated.  
Fifty people with notepads and pencils, twenty with flash cameras and 
three television network affiliate crews were on the scene within 
microseconds.
     "...It'll just be between us," Yakko finished his sentence.
     "Well," began Dot with a voice so sour one would think she'd just 
had a straight shot of tequila, foregoing the palmful of salt and the 
lime wedge (of course, she hadn't though, NONE of the Warners drink, 
they're underage!), "I think he's a big son of a bit--"
*****

     "And that's the story," Yakko concluded, cutting off Dot's 
quotation, remembering the completely unforeseen repercussions her 
utterance had in the national media.
     "Wow," said Babs, genuinely impressed, "you guys HAVE been around, 
haven't you?"  To Wakko's extreme uncomfort, Babs seemed to direct the 
question at him.   Wakko yanked hard at his collar, which seemed red-hot 
to his touch, and stuttered incomprehensibly for a moment, hoping mostly 
that Yakko or Dot would step in and save him.  Dot started to say 
something, but Yakko shook his head at her, and she stopped.  It was 
clear that they both wanted HIM to answer her question.
     Wakko felt his heart pounding.  Actually, palpitating might have 
described it better.  His face was getting hot, slowly, like an electric 
stovetop burner, and he was certain it was developing a pinkish-red hue 
at exactly the same pace.  "Um, yes, I guess we have been to some pretty 
cool places," he finally got out.  It was audible, but not very much 
louder than a whisper.  While he spoke, he never ventured to gaze upon 
Babs.  He was too timid, and he knew it.
     The whole time Wakko spoke, Babs had to keep her two sizable front 
teeth firmly embedded on the exterior of her bottom lip to keep from 
giggling at him.  It wasn't that she thought he was being funny, 
certainly.  She thought his extreme timidity around her was ADORABLE, 
and had to bite her lip to keep from giggling with the delight of a baby 
upon seeing its mother's face magically appear again in a game of 
peek-a-boo.
     Babs now took her cue and continued with some extremely light 
conversation with Wakko.  The last thing she wanted to do was scare the 
poor kid now that he actually worked up enough courage to SPEAK to her.  
"Did you have a good time while you were on the road?" she asked him 
almost non-chalantly, pretending that she didn't even notice how bashful 
Wakko had seemed.
     "Oh, yeah, I guess..."
     They continued for another fifteen or twenty seconds of small talk, 
or rather MICROSCOPIC talk, consisting of mostly Babs letting Wakko feel 
comfortable with speaking to her.  It seemed to be working, too.  Babs, 
ifð she looked very carefully, could see Wakko's dimples start to 
enlarge slowly.  He was cracking a tiny bit of a smile.  His breathing 
wasn't nearly as shallow as it had been just a minute ago.  Hmm.  Her 
plan had possibilities after all.
     Right then, Yakko looked at his wrist.  "Eep!  We'd better get 
onstage," he told everyone.
     Wakko looked up.  The reality he'd been lost in when he started 
speaking to Babs crumbled around him.  "Oh," he said quietly.  "Um, 
I've, I've got to go now."
     "Oh, don't worry," Babs told him, "Buster and I are going to stay 
and watch you.   Right, Buster?"  Babs turned toward her other shoulder 
where she saw Buster caught in the middle of the sleeperhold Dot had 
around his neck.  
     She cuddled closely to him.  "Oh, I don't think he's going 
ANYWHERE, are you, honey-bunny?"  Buster was out of it.  His only 
response was to turn a dark shade of chartreuse.  Dot let go of him, 
jumped down onto the floor, and Buster sucked in a gigantic mass of 
oxygen.
     Poetic justice, Babs thought.  Well, maybe she'd better make sure 
he was all right.  Her plan to make Buster jealous wouldn't work if he 
was dead.  Babs gave him a good stiff whack in between his lat muscles, 
stiffening up his lungs.  "Thanks," an uptight Buster told her in a 
voice sounding like a vocalizing vacuum cleaner.
     "Don't mention it," Babs told him coldly as she turned and focused 
her attention onstage.
     Wakko and Dot made their way back to the stage.  Yakko put his 
rubber hose arms around Babs and Buster.  "You guys are in for a real 
treat," promised the kid.  "This show is gonna be a BLAST!"
*****

     This should certainly be a blast, the mysterious figure thought to 
himself.  It was dark.  One of the few clouds in the sky was covering 
the full moon fairly well.  No one was around.  He looked at his watch.  
Six fifty-six.  By seven-fifteen there would no longer be any danger 
that anything unexpected would happen to his boss's plans.
     He looked up.  It was a good hundred feet to the base of the tank.  
He couldn't just blow up the tower.  If he did that, the possibility 
would still exist that the tank would survive the explosion.  No, the 
tank had to be the bomb's primary target.  No matter if the legs 
survived, even though they probably wouldn't, either.
     Reaching into his raincoat, the spy yanked out a gun.  Inside the 
barrel was a large plumber's helper, its suction cup liberally wetted to 
provide extra grab.  Affixed to the handle of the plumber's helper was a 
large block and tackle device and about three hundred feet of aircraft 
wire. 
     He aimed for the dead center of the tank's underside and fired.  
Perfect.  Now all he had to do was pull himself up and affix the little 
miracle worker he had inside his coat pocket.
     He quickly harnessed himself to the wire and began pulling himself 
up with relative ease.  His muscles hardly noticed the strain.  He was 
so full of adrenaline, knowing he was about to secure a place among the 
honored of his people, that he could've pulled a monster truck up that 
cord.
     It was a long way up, though.  Six fifty-eight.  Thirty feet left.  
He picked up the pace of his tugging on his own torso.  Twenty feet.  
Ten feet.  Five feet.  *WHAP!*  His head smacked hard against the bottom 
of the tank.  The mystery figure rubbed the top of his fedora and shook 
his head from side to side.  That hurt.
     No matter, though, he was at the base, that was all that mattered.  
It was six fifty-nine and forty-five seconds.  In fifteen seconds the 
bomb would be in place.  He reached back into his coat pocket and 
removed a large, plastic case, blacker than the night surrounding him.  
He hit a button marked "A", and a bright red digital display appeared on 
the front face reading "0:00:00".  He punched button "B", and then 
repeatedly hit one of the two small buttons next to it, both marked with 
arrows, one pointing up, one pointing down.  The display now read 
"0:15:00".  He attached it to the bottom of the tank with adhesive.  It 
was all set-up.  It was exactly seven o'clock.  Everything was right on 
schedule.
     Finally, it was time.  The mystery figure reached over and punched 
button "C".  A tiny, almost imperceptible *beep* could be heard as the 
bomb ticked off each second.  0:14:59, 0:14:58, 0:14:57...
     It was time to leave, as quickly as possible.  The mystery figure 
quickly began to shimmy down the aircraft wire.  Unbeknownst to him, 
however, was that the lubrication on the suction cup he had placed on 
his plumber's helper was about to dry out.  As the figure dangled sixty 
feet up in the air, the plumber's helper popped off the bottom of the 
tank, sending the spy crashing to the ground.  His aircraft wire, his 
block and tackle, and his other equipment fell down with him, most of it 
landing right on his head.   He lay down on the ground for a second, 
wondering why he hadn't gone into the shoe repair business like his old 
man.
*****

     They had been in line for nearly an hour, and they were only now 
getting out.  If this is the kind of service he'd hired, maybe he ought 
to think about getting replacements.  But, no matter.  He'd take care of 
it Monday.  No point in getting too riled up today.  Not after the great 
day he'd had, the first in months.  I mean, how often do you sign Kevin 
Costner to a three picture deal?
     Dr. Scratchansniff emerged from line as well.  He had ordered a 
salad, so he assumed that what was in front of him was a salad.  It was 
green, sort of (not that the color would've distinguished it from the 
meat), and it appeared to have tomatoes in it.  Tomatoes, at times in 
their lives, are green too, he decided.  That's probably what they were.
     Plotz spotted a vacant table up close and personal with the stage.  
It was no more than three feet away, and looked like it would be a good 
place to hear in full force the melodious alpenhorns.  "Let's sit over 
there," Plotz told the doctor, indicating with his stumpy arm which 
table he fancied.  "I want to catch it all, and the acoustics in here 
aren't very good."  The Doc nodded in agreement, and the two of them 
waded through rows of tables and chairs, filled mostly with huge named 
stars like Woody Allen and William Shatner and Cher, and took a seat at 
Plotz's desired table.
     The big, flannel red curtains were still closed while the 
technicians connected the remaining 50,000 watt amps to a fifteen by 
twenty by ten foot power supply, something that could have easily 
powered up the city of L.A. for a month.  One of the technicians gave a 
big thumbs-up to Yakko, who returned it enthusiastically.  Everything 
was ready.
     Wakko took a spot of lint off the "D.O.A." tag on one of his 
jacket's arms.  He still didn't know what D.O.A. meant, but it didn't 
matter.  It was too late to worry about such trivialities as that.  He 
had a show to do.  That he WAS very concerned about.  Well, it might not 
have even been the show that worried him.  It was who was in the 
audience.  He picked up his lead guitar from off a nearby stand.  He 
stepped up to the microphone in the front and center of the proscenium, 
and felt a lump in his throat, probably his adam's apple, but it could 
also have been his heart.  Seeing that Wakko was all set to begin, Yakko 
whirled around and waved toward the wing of the stage, instructing the 
stagehand to raise the curtain.
     "Yakko, wait!" a petite voice whispered.
     The kid stopped for a second, and turned around to the drum setup 
directly behind him and to his left.  Leaning on top of the skin of the 
snare, with her legs crossed and a pained look on her face was Dot.  "I 
have to go to the bathroom!" she explained.
     "You should've thought of that before we started!" Yakko snapped 
back at her.  Before they could argue the point any further, light 
entering the stage from underneath the curtain struck them.  The two 
siblings quickly straightened up, put on only somewhat-fake smiles and 
turned to face their adoring crowd.
     An uneasy silence fell over the audience.  Most of them didn't even 
know there was going to be a dinner show, and most certainly wouldn't be 
eating here if they did.  The silence was only broken by a couple of 
hands clapping, both of which were Babs's, and she immediately stopped 
when she realized no one but her was clapping, and of course Mr. Plotz's 
spitting out the water he was drinking, coughing dryly a couple of times 
and shouting in disgust "the WARNERS?!"
     The Warners took it as their cue to start.  Yakko brought in a 
couple of chords off his bass, and then Dot jumped in with the drums and 
Wakko with the lead.  Yakko leaned in closer to his microphone and began 
the song that he wrote himself:

     IT WAS SIXTY-FIVE YEARS AGO WHEN LON
     WHIPPED HIS PENCIL OUT AND WE WERE DRAWN
     BUT NONE OF US WOULD EVER BATHE OR SHOWER
     SO THEY LOCKED US IN A WATER TOWER
     BUT NOW WE'RE OUT AND WE ARE HERE TO SAY
     WE'RE GLAD YOU ALL CAME TO THE SHOW
     TO SEE SERGEANT YAKKO WARNER AND THE BA-AAAAND!

     A loud, discordant groan was heard from the masses and a couple of 
listeners prepared to depart.  Those who had paid FAR too much for their 
meals (everyone but the two that were leaving), decided they were going 
to stick it out long enough to finish what it was they were eating.  It 
may not have been good, but by God, they were going to eat it!
     Yakko continued, with his siblings backing him this time:

     WE'RE SERGEANT YAKKO WARNER AND THE BAND
     WE SURE HOPE THAT YOU LIKE THE SHOW
     THE THREE OF US ARE GONNA KEEP IT SHORT
     'CUZ OUR SISTER DOTTY'S GOTTA GO!
     SERGEANT YAKKO WARNER, SERGEANT YAKKO WARNER,
     SERGEANT YAKKO WARNER AND THE BAND!

      WE'RE GLAD THAT YOU COULD JOIN US,
     IT'S SO NICE THAT YOU CAME
     WE'RE OH, SO HAPPY TO BE HERE
     WE'RE HAPPY TO BE ANYWHERE
     SO HAPPY TO BE AN-Y-WHERE!

     Yakko smiled a big, showman's smile, the kind of smile that the guy 
who invented the phrase "the show must go on" must have used a lot.  It 
gave Yakko the ability to look like he was trying to smile, while really 
he was talking through the corner of his mouth to himself.  "Wakko and 
Dot are killing me, here."
     The people in the audience who weren't holding revolvers to their 
heads in a game of Russian roulette, were standing up screaming, hands 
clapped against the sides of their heads, covering their pained ears.  
Poo.  Yakko really thought the night was going to go better than this.
     At least two patrons, Buster and Babs weren't complaining.  Well, 
Buster still hadn't fully regained his consciousness, as he was still 
sitting in the same rigor-mortis position he had been when they left 
him, but Babs seemed to at least be TRYING to enjoy herself.  She was 
sitting there with a polite smile, very similar to the one Yakko himself 
was now wearing.  Yakko didn't like what he was seeing.  Oh, the utter 
chaos erupting as diners gagged to keep their food down and tried to 
remember how to tie a noose didn't bother him per se, but in the back of 
his mind he started worrying that everyone in the room was going to hold 
this night against HIM.  Oh, no, he couldn't allow that to happen, 
especially not when one of his more expendable siblings was around.  The 
next verse was coming around fast on his bass guitar.  He had to think 
of a way to duck out of the hot seat, and quick.

     I WAS GONNA SING A FEW MORE SONGS,
     BUT THIS ONE'S TURNING OUT ALL WRONG!
     I WANNA GO BACK TO THE WATER TOWER
     BUT WE GOT PAID TO PLAY FOR HALF AN HOUR
     SO HERE TO FINISH UP FOR ME
     MY BABY BROTHER NAMED WAKKO
     FOR SERGEANT YAKKO WARNER AND THE BA-AAAND!

     The first song segued right into the next song with no pause in 
between, and because of this, Wakko knew he was up a certain unpleasant 
creek sans paddle.  Yakko had caught him completely off-guard.  Around 
him, Yakko and Dot sung happily as they each extended an arm and 
upturned palm toward him:

     WAAAAAAAAAA-KOHHHHHHHHHHH WARNER!

     Wakko took a quick, shallow breath, that was his cue.  Uh-oh.  What 
were the words to this song again?  He couldn't remember!  Yakko always 
sung this song, too.  The only songs Wakko ever got to sing were those 
throw-away songs that Yakko wrote for him!  Wakko was no poet, neither 
was he a singer.  Alright, Wakko, let's just ad-lib our way through this 
one.  Maybe it won't end up as bad as you think.
     Feeling a rather protruding lump in his throat, which was, in all 
likelihood his adam's apple (though it felt more like his heart), Wakko 
quickly cleared his throat, forgetting that he was standing in front of 
an omnidirectional microphone, which could pick "up even the slightest 
sound in any direction.  Through the gigantic amplifiers, the 
already-tortured audience could hear a stomach-turning  "HOCCCCK!" 
rumble throughout the commissary.  Even Babs flinched on that one.
      Wakko began, with a deep tremble in his voice:

     (HEH HEH!)  WOULD YOU ALL GO AWAY IF I DON'T SING OKAY?
     WOULD YOU LEAVE AND FORGET ABOUT ME?

     Wakko's musical question was answered in what was for him, a 
terribly embarrassing way.  Everyone, with the exception of two rabbits, 
foresaked their overpriced, undercooked dinners and bolted to the exits, 
Plotz and Scratchy being the first to depart.  NO alpenhorn band was 
worth sitting through THIS!  Within microseconds, the entire population  
of  the commissary, except for Buster and Babs, had vanished.
     Well,( that was that, Yakko thought to himself.  'Weren't MY 
fault.'  With quiet satisfaction at knowing HE hadn't caused everyone to 
rush out of the room, he stepped back up to his mic.

     WELP, IT LOOKS LIKE THEY'VE GONE
     BUT THE SHOW MUST GO ON

     He was interrupted by a voice grumbling from upstage:

     FINISH UP YOU GUYS!  I HAVE TO PEE!

     There was obviously no point in continuing, thought Yakko as he 
made a slashing gesture across his throat, something that the retreating 
patrons would have loved to do as well.  "Alright, alright, cut it!"  
The commissary went suddenly silent.  Only a quiet, slow-burn growling 
coming from Wakko as he turned toward his brother, and the loud 
footfalls of Dot running across the stage to the nearest restroom could 
be heard inside the building.
*****
CHAPTER THREE

     When I was younger, so much younger than today     
     I never needed anybody's help in any way
     But now these days are gone, I'm not so self-assured
     Now I find, I've changed my mind
     I've opened up the door

--The Beatles  "Help!"

     A huge, black  stretch limosuine pulled up to the dropoff point at 
London's Heathrow Airport, one of the most well-run, not to mention 
busiest airports in the world.  The chauffer hopped out of the front 
seat and walked quickly over to the passenger's side door, letting out 
the lone passenger.  "Thank you," he said to the driver.  "You and the 
butler may consider yourselves on paid vacation for the next two weeks."  
The chauffer nodded in acknowledgement, got back in the car and drove 
off.
     The Concorde, the world's fastest commercial jet, was preparing to 
depart Heathrow for John  F. Kennedy airport in New York.  The good 
Doctor, in a hurry to get to the U.S., decided that he would take the 
fastest possible course, and there was no course faster than the 
Concorde.
     The Doctor went up to the British Airways ticket line and asked the 
desk attendant if there were any seats available on the next flight to 
New York.  There were not, the plane was completely full, he was told.
     This was a problem for the Doctor, to be sure, but at this moment 
he couldn't let anything stand in the way of his goal or his need for 
speed.  Quickly checking the computerized Arrival/Departure terminal 
screens, he saw the Concorde flight to New York would be leaving at gate 
234 in twenty minutes.  He had enough time.
     The Doctor ran through the crowded airport, as fast as his gray 
double-breasted suit, matching pants, flanel trenchcoat and the other 
passengers would allow.  It took him nearly ten minutes to find gate 
234, but upon doing so, jogged quickly to the boarding personell in 
charge at the desk.
     The young lady behind the desk thought she recognized the man.  
"Hello," she said excitedly, "are you by any chance..."
     "No," he told her, not unpolitely.
     "You're not?" she asked.
     He smiled at her and let out a little snort of laughter.  "No.  
Don't worry, I get that a lot."  He quickly explained his dilemma as 
well as he could without revealing the curious nature of the distress 
signal he was answering.
     "I'm terribly sorry, sir," the young lady told him.  "I'm afraid 
we're completely booked, and I don't believe there is much I can do to 
help you."
     They were interrupted by another passenger, a short, fat, balding 
man behind them, several large bags under the arms of his pinstriped 
jacket, a  laptop computer in one hand, and a disorganized ticket book 
in the other.  "Beg pardon," he said to the Doctor, taking little notice 
of him.  "I have a reservation."
     "Just one moment, sir," the attendant told him as she began tapping 
on the keyboard of her computer the passenger's reservation information.
     "Excuse me," interrupted the Doctor as he turned toward the 
passenger.  "I was wondering if you would hear out a little business 
proposition..."
     An odd expression of recognition formed on the passenger's face.  
"Say, aren't you..."
     "No, sir, I'm not."
     "Hmph, could've fooled me.  The resemblance is truly striking."
     The Doctor sighed.  "No, I'm not him."  Quickly recapping what had 
happened to him before, again being careful not to tell too much, the 
Doctor asked the passenger "now, if you would be willing to surrender 
your reservation, I could reimburse you the cost of the ticket plus add 
for you, say, 5000 pounds?"
     "F-f-five thousand pounds?" stuttered the man.  "Um, um, yes!  Yes, 
that would be quite acceptable, indeed!"
     Five thousand pounds is equivalent to about three months of an 
honest English worker's salary, but it was little more than pocket 
change for the Doctor.  He reached into his coat pocket, took out a 
large bundle of money, and offered it to the man, who yanked it 
unceremoniously out of the Doctor's hands.  He counted it greedily, 
slobbering out of the corner of his mouth and persperating wildly as he 
did so.
     "Well," commented the desk attendant, "it looks like you'll be 
flying with us after all, um..."
     "Starkey, Doctor Starkey," the Doctor told her, and offered her a 
handshake.
*****

     After they had finished eating, Buster and Babs were invited to go 
hang out with the Warners in the water tower.  Babs declined for the 
both of them, mentioning with what could easily be mistaken for a scowl 
on her face, that she and Buster had "things to discuss".  When Babs 
answered the invitation, Buster couldn't help hearing the animosity in 
Babs's voice.  She was obviously not happy with him.  And that was 
precisely the message Babs wanted to get across to him.
     Babs almost accepted the invitation, and probably would have for 
the reason it would've given her and Wakko a chance to talk in the 
presence of Buster, but she was beginning to have second thoughts on the 
matter.  Wakko was obviously timid about approaching her and she didn't 
want to make him feel uncomfortable.
     Buster and Babs went to clear off their table (in the absence of 
any commissary employees, who, along with everyone else, vacated the 
premesis), and while they were at it, the Warners were going to put away 
their instruments.
     By now, Yakko and Dot had already gone backstage to the Warner's  
dressing room and put on a pair of fuzzy slippers, leaving Wakko as the 
only barefooted Warner.  All the Warners were planning on taking baths 
later on, so none of them saw any need to change out of the costumes 
before doing so.
     While Wakko was standing onstage, returning his lead guitar to its 
case, he couldn't help but overhear Buster and Babs whisper to each 
other as they cleared off their table.
     "What's wrong with you today?"
     "What do you mean, 'what's wrong'?"
     "You know perfectly well what I mean!  First, I gave you that card, 
which, I don't mind telling you, scared me to death to give to you, and 
then you haven't spoken two words to me all night!"
     "Babs, I don't want to talk about this right now."
     "Geez!  Sometimes I really get tired of your attitude!  Did you see 
the way Wakko's been treating me all night?  HE knows how to treat a 
female!"
     Suddenly, taken aback by the shock of what he'd just eavesdropped 
upon, Wakko went into a violent hacking fit.  Buster and Babs whirled 
around to see what was happening, and as soon as they did so, Wakko 
regained control of his respiratory functions.  He smiled innocently at 
the two rabbits, shrugged his shoulders, and everyone resumed what he or 
she was doing.
     Yes!  She DID notice!  He wasn't sure if she had or not, but she 
did!  He had it made!  Wakko began doing the 1994-1995 edition of the 
Deion Sanders touchdown dance.  Two big, high-kneed steps to the left, 
three big high-kneed steps to the right, before he caught himself.  His 
cheeks turned a bright shade of pink as looked cautiously over to see if 
either Buster or Babs had noticed.  Fortunately, they hadn't.  
     Maybe now, Wakko thought, was his chance to put the moves on Babs!!  
Wait...he didn't HAVE any moves!!  Wakko watched the two bunnies 
continue their squabble.  Hmm.  Maybe it was just as well.  From the way 
Babs was flailing her arms in the air as she yelled at Buster, it 
probably wasn't the best time to approach her, anyway.  He'd give her 
until the morning, then he'd call her.  That way, he figured, she'd 
probably still be upset, but she'd probably have cooled her jets by 
then, and she'd be more inclined to say yes if he asked her out.  His 
plan, he added to himself, would allow him to script out exactly what he 
would say to her over the phone.  It was going to be a LONG night, he 
decided.  Still, the little puppy-kid was EXTREMELY excited, though he 
dared not show it.  Opportunity was definitely knocking.
     Everybody's tasks finished, the Warners, along with Buster and Babs 
walked over to the tower together.  Buster and Babs had no intention of 
staying (actually, after some of the inferences he'd caught in their 
argument, Buster kind of wanted to stay now.  He'd MUCH rather have the 
Warners annoy him all evening than embark on the long bus ride back to 
Acme Acres with Babs.), but as a courtesy to their hosts, decided to 
walk them home.
     It was already dark outside.  Buster looked at his watch. 7:12.  
Kind of early to be this dark.  There was a full moon out, though.  Just 
great.  Yet ANOTHER excuse for Babs to rip him to shreds on the bus ride 
home.
     As they walked, Dot was talking with Babs, trying to get her to 
give an opinion on the posy in her hair.  "Well, I've never been too big 
on flowers.  I find a nice lavender bow works well."
     "But seriously," asked Dot, "what do you REALLY think about it?"
     Babs was unsure how to answer.  "Well, um, why don't you try some 
OTHER flowers?  You know, in this light, a white rose might be the thing 
to give your ears that certain feminine touch."
     "Hmm." Dot turned toward Buster, grabbing his hand and whirling him 
around to face her.  "What do YOU, think, you gorgeous hunk of rabbit?"
     Thirty feet away, the mysterious bomb-planter was watching the 
proceedings from inside a full rain barrel.  With a sloshing sound, the 
mysterious figure put a Polaroid instant camera to his eye to take 
pictures of the water tank's destruction to show his bosses.  He clicked 
a preliminary picture of the tower, hoping to make a sort of 
"before/after" collage.  He accidentally included the Warners in the 
picture as they walked across the view of the camera lens, but no 
matter.  Actually, that made the picture even more ironic: the tower's 
occupants getting to see the destruction of their home.  With any luck, 
the tower would topple on top of them.  The picture, still not fully 
developed, he put inside his coat pocket.
     Dot, in the meantime, put a white rose inside the bun of her ears, 
as Babs had suggested she do.  She then reached behind her back and 
removed a large hand-held mirror and gazed at her reflection.  "Not 
bad," she remarked.  "I kind of like it."  She skipped daintily over to 
Buster, and turned a full 360 on her heel, winking at the blue rabbit as 
she did so.  "What do YOU think, Buster?" she asked in as breathy and 
seductive a voice as she could manufacture.  Buster tripped over his 
tongue, trying to find some sort of answer for her.
     Babs had to admit, a white rose DID look good in her hair.  Yakko, 
however, was less than impressed.  "Hmph.  *I* don't see the big 
improvement," he snapped as he crossed his arms.
     "Oh, you're just jealous," Dot answered sourly before sticking her 
tongue out at Yakko.  Yakko, unamused, stuck his slipper-sporting foot 
out underneath his sister as she attempted to walk by.  Dot failed to 
see it and tripped right over Yakko's size 8 double D.  She fell to the 
ground with a *thud*, and her mirror was dislodged from her hand.  The 
mirror skidded across the ground and came to a rest directly underneath 
the base of the tower.
     Dot pushed herself angrily off the ground.  "That wasn't very 
nice," she growled at Yakko, who looked back at her smugly.  She got up, 
brushed off her conductor's jacket with her hands in quick and broad 
sweeping motions and went to retrieve her mirror, which was lying 
face-up in front of her.  "You're lucky that didn't break!" she yelled, 
half-wishing it had so her brother could be cursed with seven years bad 
luck.  As she reached down to pick it up, she noticed, right after 
noticing her own reflection, a flashing red light also being reflected 
in the mirror.  It seemed to be coming, strangely enough, from directly 
overhead.
     Dot looked straight up, and so did Buster and Babs, both of them 
wondering what she was looking at.  Buster turned toward Babs.
     "What's that light, and does it have anything to do with that 
little 'beep' I hear?" Buster asked her.
     "Oh, don't tell me you're actually not going to IGNORE that, too," 
Babs answered, with slightly more than a hint of annoyance as she turned 
away from Buster and crossed her arms across her sternum. 
     Buster squinted his eyes as he looke up, partially trying to get a 
better view of the flashing red light and partially flinching at Babs's 
comment.  His hypersensitive rabbit eyes, combined with his years and 
years of stuffing himself with beta caratene, could faintly make the 
light out to be a series of numbers, apparently counting off seconds.  
"It looks like some sort of stopwatch," Buster told everyone, "thirty 
seconds, twenty-nine, twenty-eight...and it's on this small, black box.  
Then, chuckling to himself, said "if I didn't know better, I'd say it 
was a TIME BOMB!"  He chuckled to himself again, then stopped short as a 
flash of realization overtook his mind.  "Wait...A TIME BOMB?!!!!"
     "A time bomb?!" echoed all three Warner kids and Babs.
     "We've got to do something," Yakko said.
     "Like what?" asked Babs, on the verge of panic, "how are we going 
to get up there?"  She spun around toward Yakko wide-eyed, and cluched 
her left knuckles inside her right fist, waiting for Yakko to spit out 
some sort of quick-acting plan.
     "Leave that to me," answered Wakko, running beneath the tank.  
Wakko reached behind him and grabbed his tail.  He began turning it like 
a pencil sharpener, and Wakko's neck began to stretch upward, elongating 
with each turn.  Wakko looked up toward the bottom of the tank at the 
flashing numbers.  0:00:12.  0:00:11.  0:00:10...
     Wakko reached the bomb with seven seconds remaining, he could now 
hear the beeps plainly.  Their shrill sounds, not unlike the cawing of a 
raven, were intensly pounding at his eardrums.  Six.  Realizing that he 
could no longer reach the bomb with his hands, he'd have to pry it off 
with his teeth.  Five.  Wakko bit into the bomb's casing and, with all 
his strength, began shaking his head, trying to rip the bomb from the 
tower.  Four.  Three.  Two.  Finally Wakko yanked the bomb free.  He 
spat the bomb out of his mouth as far as he could.  One.
     The bomb flew across the lot with the speed of a missile shot from 
a fighter jet...straight into a water barrel about thirty feet away.
     *KA-BLAM!!!!!!*  The force of the explosion shook the lot like the 
Northridge earthquake.  The water barrel shot a tower of water and the 
mysterious figure straight in the air like a bursted fire hydrant.  A 
loud screaming could be heard from the geyser of water.
     Buster, Babs and the Warners stood underneath the tower in various 
poses of shock.  "W-w-hat happened?" asked Buster in between pants as he 
rubbed his gloved hand across his chest.
     Yakko and Dot watched the strange figure that shot out of the water 
barrel as it flew almost vertically upward five hudred feet.  So 
powerful was the force that shot the figure up, it also managed to 
disrobe his trenchcoat, which spread out like a hangglider and floated 
off in another direction. 
     Babs put her arms around Wakko, who had now retracted his neck to 
his normal length.  "Are you all right, Wakko?" she asked.
     Wakko, noticing first that Babs' arms were around him, looked in 
her eyes just momentarily, then turned away and nodded weakly.  
"Uh-huh."  Babs breathed a sigh of relief, and she didn't bother to 
immediately pull herself away from him.
     Off in the deepest recesses of the lot, the quintent heard a loud 
*BANG*, like a flailing body just fell down from a lengthy height to the 
cold pavement below.
     "I think that guy was was trying to blow up the water tower," 
observed Dot.
     "Duuuuuh, ya' think?!" Yakko answered her sarcastically as he 
mocked his sister by twisting his index finger on the side of his head 
and stuck his tongue out.
     "But why would anyone want to blow up the water tower?" asked Dot 
to no one in particular.
     "I know why," called a voice in the distance.  Everyone turned 
around and looked toward the front gate of the lot.
     Standing there, just behind the car barrier, was Doctor Starkey, 
wearing a long pale grey trenchcoat and a pair of silver reflective 
Oakleys.  He made his way over toward the group of 'toons, who stood 
there in confusion.
     "Who are you?" asked Babs, as she strengthened her grip around 
Wakko, who, by this time, was too bewildered to even notice.
     "Don't you know who that is?" whispered Dot.  "It's RINGO!"
     "RINGO?!" yelled Yakko.  "Is that you?"
     Before the Doc could even answer, Yakko and Dot zipped over to him, 
each waving small autograph books in their fists.   "Can we have your 
autograph?" they asked as they raced over to the Doctor, inadvertantly 
knocking him to the ground.  "Can we, pleasepleaseplease??"  The Warners 
jumped on his chest and stared down at the Doc, who was now woozy and 
lying flat on his back on the pavement.
     "We own ALL your albums!" announced Yakko proudly as he counted 
them off on his fingers.  "We've got 'Sentimental Journey', 'Richard the 
Fourth'..., and of course..."

     "IT DON'T COME EASY!" started each of the Warner kids.
     "YOU KNOW IT DON'T COME EASY!
     IT DON'T COME EASY!
     YOU KNOW IT DON'T COME EASY!"

     The Doctor tried sitting up.  He got to the point where he was 
leaning up on his elbows before telling the kids "sorry, lads, but 
you've got me confused with someone else."
     "What are you talking about?" asked Dot.  "You're..."
     "No, I'm not."
     "But you look exactly like him!"
     "It's not me."
     "Are you SUUUURE you're not him?"
     Right then, Buster walked over and removed Yakko and Dot from off 
the good doctor's chest.  "Let him get up," Buster told them, "he knows 
what's going on with your tower."  The Warners did as they were told.
     "Right you are, lad," said the doctor as he stood up and brushed 
the pavement crumbs off his trenchcoat, "but that thing up there," he 
said, pointing to the water tank of the tower, "wasn't made to hold 
water."
     "Well, it wouldn't be the ONLY thing that can't hold its water 
around here," Yakko answered smartly, staring Dot right in the face.  
She put her hand over her mouth, giggled innocently, and her round 
cheeks turned a bright red.
     "Your water tower is really a rocket ship."
     Through his silver-tinted glasses, the doctor could make out the 
facial expressions of the Warners.  They were lost, hopelessly.  Each of 
their mouths hung wide open like zeroes on a football jersey.  Their 
puzzled heads were crinkled and folded up.
     Neither Buster or Babs could hide their disbelief any better than 
any of the Warner kids, who had just found out that their home of nearly 
seventy years was certainly not what they thought it was.  They hung 
their mouths as well, only slightly more shut than those of the Warners. 
     "A rocket ship?" Babs breathed out.
     Yakko and Dot stared back at the doctor with the same lost faces 
they had been wearing for nearly thirty seconds, before breaking out in 
insane laughter and rolling around on the ground like cockroaches going 
through rigor mortis.
     Yakko contained his laughter just long enough to force out "that's 
a good one, Ringo!", then resumed his laughing along with his kinfolk.
     "I'm not Ringo," the doctor reminded him, "and I'm not kidding 
about your home.  I can prove it."
     Without a word, the Doctor reached into his interior coat pocket 
and removed a small box with a short antannae sticking out of the top.  
In the center of the box's front face was a large red button.  The 
doctor pointed the antannae toward the roof of the tower and hit the 
button with his thumb.
     Wakko, with Babs's arms still around him, turned and looked 
overhead.  What he saw, he couldn't believe.
     From the base of the tank, two large tunnels appeared, each one 
painted bright red on the exterior, and read "CAUTION on the side of 
each. On two opposite sides of the tank, two large triangular red flaps, 
resembling airplane wing grinded outside the tank.  It was an 
unbeliveable sight.
     Wakko took a step back to take his home in...the home he thought 
he'd known for the past seventy years.  It...it DID look like some sort 
of rocket ship!  Maybe the Doctor was telling the truth!!  Wakko stood 
there, with Babs right by his side, still holding onto him and turned to 
face the Doctor.  He was awestruck.
     Yakko and Dot, however, were unimpressed.  Low-dipping frowns 
punctuated their skepticism.  "Oh, SUUUUURE," said Yakko as he placed 
his clenched fists against his hips, arms akimbo, "like we didn't know 
THOSE were there!"
     Getting hit with a flash of realization, Dot tugged at her 
brother's waistcoat.  "Psst, Yakko," she whispered to him, "we really 
DIDN'T know those were there!"
     "Just play along," Yakko whispered back, covering the side of his 
face with his hand to make sure that 'Ringo' couldn't see what they were 
talking about.
     "Well, then, 'Ringo'," began Dot, "if that IS your real name..."
     "But...it's NOT me real name," the Doctor interrupted.
     "AH-HA!!" screeched Yakko and Dot simultaneously. 
     Yakko jumped up onto the Doctor, planting his feet squarely on his 
chest and grabbing a hold of the collar of his trenchcoat, "we knew all 
along you weren't the real Ringo!!"
     The Doctor was taken aback, "but, I told you the whole time I 
wasn't Ringo!"
     Yakko's face dropped in dismay.  He let go of the Doctor's 
trenchcoat and slid down the length of his body.  "Darn," he said, "that 
shoots my theory."
     "Hey," Buster spoke up, catching the attention of everyone around, 
"what about the water tower being a rocket ship?  You said you were 
going to explain."
     "Right, right," began the Doctor, "but I think I could explain 
things a lot easier once we go inside."
     Yakko and Dot looked at each other quizzically, then at the Doctor 
standing before them, then back at each other, then back at the Doctor, 
then back at each other, then back at the Doctor, then back at each 
other, then back at the Doctor.
     Buster shook his head, and hid his mild disgust with the Warner 
kids inside the palm of his hand.  "Uh, guys?  Can we go up or not?"
     "All right," said Yakko, giving Doc Starkey the evil eye while he 
spoke.  "We'll go up, and then we'll PROVE you're Ringo!!"
     "Yeah," agreed Dot, "and we'll also prove our home is NOT a rocket 
ship!!!"
     "Yeah!  Wakko...the key."
     Wakko was about to reach into his jacket when it first realized 
that Babs still had her arms around him.  In fact, only now had Babs 
even realized it.  They both flashed each other big, wide smiles of 
embarrassment and mutally rosied their cheeks for one another.
     While Wakko reached into his blue turtleneck and pulled out his 
brown burlap gag-bag, Babs took a moment to consider what had just 
happened.  Had she MEANT to keep her arms around him the whole time?  
Well, no, she guessed she hadn't.   She must have just got caught up in 
the moment.  She probably had to have her arms around SOMEONE, and right 
now she really didn't feel particularly inclined to put them around 
Buster.  Nor did she think she'd feel particularly inclined to do so 
anytime in the near future.
     The wide mouth of the gag-bag was pulled open.  Wakko reached down 
inside and began removing a wooden ladder.  The ladder he slowly lifted 
out one foot at a time, until it reached the top of the scaffolding 
underneath the door marked with the gigantic WB.
     Doc Starkey watched this incredible, toony feat with the jaw of a 
largemouth bass.  The awestruck look on his face was not unnoticed by 
Yakko, who muttered "pretty neat, huh?  Betcha haven't seen anything 
like THAT before!"
*****

     The cold steel door with the gigantic letters "WB" chiseled into it 
opened slowly, with an almost deafining screeching noise.  As Wakko 
pulled on the door handle, Yakko and Dot quickly stuck their heads 
inside.  It was dark inside the tower, as it usually was, as their four 
eyes scanned from right to left the interior of their domicile.  Nothing 
seemed unusual to them so far, save a flapping noise all of them heard 
as they prepared to go inside.  It sounded much like a flag flailing in 
the breeze, but none of them were sure where it was coming from, and at 
that point, none of them were interested in searching for the sound.
     As Wakko's strength-lacking, groan-heavy tug continued upon the 
front entrance, his siblings' heads ventured further into the room, 
allowing them to further check out what lie inside.  They could see most 
of the inside now, and nothing seemed at all different.  One final tug 
by Wakko opened the tank's door wide open, allowing everyone a chance to 
go inside.  Yakko took an uneasy step from the scaffolding inside the 
tank, followed immediately by Dot, the Bunnys, Wakko and the Doctor.
     Finally, the Warner clan saw something different.  Sticking out of 
the wall, parallel to the floor, were several chairs, resembling La-Z 
Boy recliners done up in cheap white leather, complete with saftey belts 
and neck supports.  The seats were all facing a gigantic screen on the 
ceiling, not unlike the ones that could be found on the original "Star 
Trek" series.
     In front of one of the chairs, the one closest to the ceiling, was 
a large panel with flashing lights on it.  The lights were flashing in 
different colors and in a patern that was reminscint of the clown face 
on a "Lite Brite" box.  A quiet, high-pitched "beep" could be heard from 
the flashing panel every couple of seconds.
     Yakko and Dot rocked back on their heels to better able take it all 
in.  All they could manage to get out were a pair of awe-filled "wow"s.  
Buster and Babs, standing behind them, looked up toward the ceiling with 
wonder.  
     "It's true," whispered Buster.  "This thing really IS a rocket 
ship!"
    "That's what I was sayin', me lad," said the Doctor as he put one of 
his rough, calloused hands on Buster's shoulder.
     Buster looked back up at him.  "B-b-but," he stuttered, "if this 
tower is a rocket ship, then..."
     "HOW DID IT GET HERE?" asked all the 'toons with a single voice.
     "Well," began the Doctor as he rubbed at his coarse, black beard, 
"that's going to take a bit of explaining."
*****

     The story could be dated back to the tail-end of the earth year of 
1977.  The Doctor was on holiday (having little else to do 
professionally, for various reasons) in Los Angeles visiting some old 
friends of his whom he'd not had a chance to see in several years, 
having been too busy running around from one corner of the globe to the 
next.
     It so happened that the Doctor's father had a friend that worked on 
the Warner Bros. studio lot at the time, and one day he invited the 
Doctor to come check out his workplace.  The man had been working on the 
lot for almost as long as the lot had been in exisistence, starting in 
1922.
     During the Doctor's visit, his friend told him the strange legend 
of the Warner Bros. water tower.  It seemed that no one who had been 
working at the studio since the tower was installed in 1923, could 
remember its construction.  It had just sort of showed up one day, as 
best anyone could guess.  Most employees of the studio just assumed Jack 
L. Warner had it installed one night or something.  Jack often did 
strange things with the studio, so this seemed like a semi-reasonable 
explanation.  Many things were still unanswered by the theory, but no 
one ever went to the trouble to find out.
     The Doctor, however, had an innate, boyish curiosity about a good 
many things, and this water tower mystery had revved it up, to say the 
least.  After some subtle coaxing, the Doc persuaded his guide to take 
him up to the tank so he could take a look at it himself, not really 
knowing what he might find up there but eager to discover it.
     That night, the Doctor went to look at the oddity for himself.  He 
inspected the outer wall of the tower's tank, and found nothing unusual 
about it, other than the fact that it was made out of steel rather than 
the usual aluminum.  He thought little of that fact as he made his way 
around the wall, feeling for any anomolies in the tank's construction.
     He found one.  Right there, at the WB shield.  It seemed there was 
a crease in between the tank and the shield, like the shield was some 
sort of door inside.  Quickly opening the door, he looked around the 
room, which did NOT contain water at all, but rather several objects one 
might find in a kid's room.
*****

     "Wait a minute," Yakko interrupted the story.  "If you went inside 
our tower one night, then where were we?"
     "Oh, you said November 1977, right?" asked Dot, to which she 
received a nod from Doctor Starkey.  "Oh, I remember.  That was the year 
we went to visit the Hickory Farms summer sausage factory!"
     "That's right," recalled Yakko.  "Wow, you should see that place 
during the winter months!  They're just a hub of busy little Christmas 
bees!  They go out and lop the heads off cows, donkies and octopuses, 
throw them in a blender, stuff the mixture in casing...all of that just 
for the summer sausage we all know and love."
     Doc Starkey, along with Buster and Babs curled their lips in 
disgust.  "Ewwwwwww!" they sung together.
     Yakko frowned.  "Hey, if you think THAT'S bad, you should see how 
they make their Smoky Cheese!"
     Fighting the pangs of nausea, the Doctor continued his story.
*****

      While the Doctor was looking around in the tower, several 
multi-colored lights began flashing from the top of the ceiling.  As the 
Doctor looked up to see what the lights were, he saw the easy chairs and 
the panel seem to appear from out of nowhere along the wall.
     Before he knew what was going on, the tower suddenly felt like it 
was shifting.  The tank leaned over at a  30 degree angle, tossing Doc 
Starkey into a wall.  He looked over at the control setup, and walked 
toward it.  An intricate pattern of lights blinked over and over.  
Seeing that he could now simply walk up toward the chair in front of the 
control panel, he did so, and had a seat.
     He watched in fascination as the light pattern, now steady in his 
mind, blinked faster and faster...then suddenly stopped.  All the 
hundreds of lights on the panel went dark, save one red button that 
blazed brightly.
     This was all too much for the Doctor to resist.  His mind was 
racing a million miles an hour in a fruitless effort to comprehend the 
unusual happenings he was witnessing.  He had to press it.
     The button made a quiet *beep*, and the red light went black.  The 
Doctor sat there, staring at the panel for what seemed like an eternity, 
waiting for something to happen.  For a while, nothing did.
     To say the least, the Doctor was disappointed.  He thought that 
maybe he'd found the answer to his riddle, but it seemed like some 
dead-end.  Maybe it was meant to be some sort of joke or something, and 
the Doctor didn't see much about it that was funny.
     He was just about to get out of his chair, when another flashing 
light on the panel began blinking.  It made two little *ding, ding* 
noises, and caught Doc Starkey's attention.  It stopped blinking, and 
stayed on for a couple of seconds.  It was a message light, apparently.  
Over a depiction of two ends of a belt buckle coming together were the 
words "PLEASE FASTEN SAFTEY RESTRAINTS".
     Suddenly, the entire tank began to rattle.  The Doctor's heart felt 
like it was ready to pound right through his chest as he heard metal 
shimmy, and then heard what sounded almost like a fiery explosion.  
Maybe, the Doctor thought, he ought to do what the warning light told 
him to do.  He looked down onto the seat and saw his saftey belt.  He 
quickly snapped the two ends together and sat back in his chair, his 
spine completely straight. He had no idea what was happening to him, but
he found the whole thing very exciting, if not a tiny bit anxiety-filled.
     The rattling quickly became louder and more intense, until the 
Doctor could feel his teeth jiggling around inside his jaw.  Out of 
curiosity, the Doc looked back upon the control panel, and again, all 
but one button was totally dark.  This one purple button was not 
flashing like the first.  It continually glowed its purple light.  Since 
this one seemed not as dangerous as the first, the Doctor pressed it, 
and the huge screen in front of him came to life.  It faded up, showing 
him a picturesque view of the stars above him.  The Doctor heard a 
louder explosion behind him, much more intense than any of the ones he'd 
heard previously.  He looked back at the screen, and to his horrific 
fascination, the constellations he was just moments ago admiring, 
suddenly seemed to be coming closer.  Or rather, he was closing in on 
them.
     In moments, the Doctor found himself in the black depths of outer 
space, something only a handful of men had done previously before.  The 
Doctor was not flying the ship, rather, it seemed the ship knew where it 
was supposed to go.  The Doctor, finally realizing he was helpless to do 
anything to stop his journey, sat back and enjoyed the view of the moon, 
as it grew larger and larger inside the view of his gigantic TV screen.
     The course the ship took, up to this point had been a fairly 
straight shot toward the moon.  For one brief, shining moment, the 
Doctor thought the ship might actually LAND on the moon.  He held his 
breath at the idea.  Would he, Doctor Starkey, be only the fifth man in 
history to walk on the surface of the moon?  Was it possible?  As the 
ship approached the moon, with no sign of going off course, the Doctor 
thought it was possible.  He could see the moon's craters clearly.  They 
looked like gigantic scars left from the war-torn streets of London as 
he'd remembered them as a child, growing up during the blitz.  But these 
craters weren't made by any war machine.  They were made by the 
unpredicatble forces of nature, which through millions of years, 
pummeled the surface of the moon with jagged space rocks and debris.  
These were not a thing of war.  No.  They had a magical quality to them.
     The Doctor felt a sudden shift in trajectory of his flight.  He was 
no longer heading toward the surface of the moon.  He was now headed in 
a path around it.  He could not help but feel a tiny bit of 
disappointment when he realized he would not be setting foot on the 
earth's satellite.  The feeling was fleeting, though, when he suddenly 
remembered that he was surely scheduled to stop SOMEWHERE.  The Doctor 
bit his lip and sat back, watching with more intesity than ever the big 
screen in front of him.  Now, he thought, he was going somewhere NO ONE 
had ever gone.
     Minutes went by.  The Doctor hadn't moved.  He was completely 
fixated on the screen in front of him.  He hadn't seen anything except 
stars on the screen since the moon's surface went out of view.  
Then...he saw something.
     It was some sort of planet, barely bigger than a balled-up United 
Kingdom.  He had no idea what to make of his situation.  He'd never 
heard of ANYTHING directly behind the moon.  Had...had he discovered the 
tenth planet in the solar system?  Why hadn't the ill-fated Apollo 13 
seen this?
     He had little time to sort it out in his mind.  He was getting 
closer.
     The rocket entered the atmosphere, looking like a fireball in the 
sky to the inhabitants below.  The Doctor knew there were inhabitants 
now; he'd already seen them in his CinemaScope.  They looked human to 
him.  In fact, they looked a LOT like...naaaaah.  Couldn't be.
     The tank came to a halt, landing on its side and digging a sizeable 
trench in the ground of the planet.  It had been a rocky landing for the 
Doctor.  He'd been jostled around pretty hard.  And, worst of all for 
him, the big screen seemed to have shut itself off when he hit the 
ground.
     There was a loud banging at the door.  The Doctor, in terror, 
whirled around in his chair and stared wide-eyed at the entrance.  
Whatever was on this planet was banging on the door, trying to come in.
     As fast as he could, the Doctor unbuckled and ducked behind his 
chair, peering over it to see who was entering.  He felt himself 
trembling.  He was about to meet aliens.  The poor Doctor's mind began 
racing.  What if they'd just taken human form to trick him?  Maybe they 
were really tall with several flailing tenticles and a black 
exoskeleton!  Maybe they were locusts, hopping from planet to planet, 
using up all the natural resources and then moving on!  Maybe it all had 
something to do with that Area 51 he'd read about in passing some time 
ago!!!  It was getting worse in his mind.
     A blinding ribbon of light unfurled through a crack in the door, 
which was being forced open by someone on the outside.  The Doctor's 
heart raced.  This could be the end.  And no one would ever know what 
had happened to him.  He took as deep a breath as he could and held it 
as he watched the door.
     Through the door poked the first alien's head, which looked to be 
armored with a bullet-shaped helmet.  The face was definitely 
human...for now, at least.  That could change any second, of course, 
what with all the shape-changing aliens out there.  Cautiously, the 
alien took another step in.  He was wearing body armor, specifically 
molded for him.
     The alien looked around the vessel.  "H-hello?" he asked timidly, 
and with odd politeness.
     The Doctor quickly rationalized his situation.  He was trapped 
inside a water tank with an armored alien, who also seemed to be toting 
a bow and carrying a pack full of arrows.   He was most likely 
surrounded by several other aliens like this one, and he had little to 
defend himself with.  It seemed to the Doctor the only logical thing he 
could do was to reason with the aliens.
     The Doctor lifted his arms into the air and stepped slowly away 
from his chair, which made a slight squeaking noise as he got up.  The 
alien whirled around to see the Doctor near the control panel of the 
ship.  "Don't shoot!" the Doctor told him, having serious doubts as to 
whether he would listen to his request or not.
     Rather than yanking out an arrow, the soldier stood there, 
bewildered.  His forehead scrunched, and his brown eyebrows shaped a 
"V", balanced delicately  on the bridge of his nose.  "Saaaaay, aren't 
you...?"
*****

     The Doctor was escorted to the castle by a company of the King's 
soldiers.  They led him down the Main road, past hundreds of gawking 
citizens of Woodstock Land, each asking amongst themselves if he was the 
man they thought he was.  Several rumors had already been spread that 
the great Ringo had come to save them from their troubles.  The Doctor 
refused to confirm or deny any of the rumors until he found out what was 
going on.  The Doctor found it odd, though, that the citizens of this 
world would dress as they did.  It was eerie.  Most of the clothes the 
inhabitants were wearing were only a few years out of style from the 
ones that could be found on earth.  Some of them, in fact, were very 
much still in style.  Curious, he thought.
     In a matter of minutes, the Doctor found himself inside the throne 
room of the King this planet, waiting on the King, whom he was told 
would be joining him shortly.  He looked around the throne room, seeing 
beanbags thrown on the floor, large bookshelves, a computer, a large oak 
desk with several papers, pens, an incense vase, and a very odd looking 
purplish plant.  He had never seen anything like it before.  Curiosity 
got the best of him, and the Doctor moved over to inspect the plant 
closer.  He rubbed one of the purple leaves in his fingers.  It felt 
smooth and leathery.  Suddenly, another one of the plant's leaves 
reached over and slapped at his digits, causing the Doctor to yelp as 
yanked his hand away in surprise.
     He turned around, still holding his scolded hand tilted forward 
away from his body, as he heard a chuckle behind him.  Standing in the 
doorway was the King, his two hands pressed against his belly.
     The King introduced himself, and they exchanged handshakes.  The 
King could tell by the way the Doctor kept looking around the room in 
wonderment he had many questions.  Well, yes, of course he did.  Who 
wouldn't?
     The King found he couldn't answer any of the questions like how the 
planet got there, why several tribes of people resembled various epochs 
of modern history.  Those questions were best left to philosophers.  All 
he could answer, though, he did.
     In rather lengthy detail, the King explained that for centuries, no 
one knew of the existence of the earth anymore than earthlings knew of 
the existence of this planet.  How Earth was discovered (a few hundred 
years before), no one was really sure.  Several legends about the 
finding of the sister planet were fashioned, but most were too 
incredible to put stock into.
     King Woodstock, who started his reign around what was the Earth's 
turn of the 20th century vowed to put a representative of his planet on 
Earth within the next thirty years.  It took nearly twenty-two years, 
but a space ship was designed to fly from one planet to another, thanks 
to the tireless work of several scientists who worked 'round the clock 
since Woodstock's vow was made.
     A person was selected to command the space ship on its maiden 
voyage.  The person was trained, physically and mentally, for the 
hardships he might have to endure during the trip.  He was educated in 
the epoch the Earth was in, the roaring '20s, to be exact, and learned 
all about Al Capone and Gangsterland, radio broadcasting, how to pick up 
flappers, and, most importantly, the art of disguise.
     While preparations were being made for the departure, many of the 
scientists assigned to train the Commander started to complain about the 
selection he made.  The Commander was abrasive, constantly losing his 
temper, and had let the comeradere of being the first of the planet's 
citizens in outer space go to his head.  He saw himself as invincible, 
and as every day of training passed, became increasingly tougher to 
control. Some of the scientists even expressed concern that he wouldn't complete 
his mission, but the King merely shook his head at the suggestion.  His 
people were traditionally easily-influenced by power.  The Bee-Boppers 
tended to be like that.  The King shook his head and said simply that he 
would do fine.  Maurice WAS the man for the job, the King was sure, and 
that's all there was to it.
     It was finally launch day, and all was prepared.  While many 
worried about the success of the mission (or even whether or not they 
could get the rocket off the ground), there worries were needless, or so 
it seemed.  The launch was not only successful, but it occured without 
an inkling of a hitch.  The flight path was monitored all the way from 
the planet to Earth, and nothing had gone wrong.  The rocket, the King 
learned later, had even been cleverly disguised as a water tower when it 
had landed on earth.  No one would ever suspect it to be what it was.
     The mission was not scheduled for a specific length of time.  
Maurice was under direction to find out as much information as he could 
about the Earth before, in his judgement, he felt a threat of being 
discovered.  For several weeks after his landing, information was being 
broadcasted up to Woodstock Land at fairly regular intervals.  However, 
after some months had passed the transmissions were coming back less and 
less frequently.  What once had been an almost regular weekly check-in 
by Maurice started becoming once a month, then once every two months.  
Soon the interval between contacts became so long, the King started to 
worry that Maurice may have been discovered.  By the middle of the next 
year, Woodstock Land had lost all contact with Maurice.
*****

     The Doctor interrupted his story to look at his wristwatch, which 
Dot could not help but notice, too.  She let out an appreciative 
whistle.  "Hmm.  A Rolex."  She panned her head around to take a glimpse 
at Buster, who was standing a few feet away, next to Wakko, who was 
standing next to Babs.  Dot looked at Buster's wristwatch.  Some Bugs 
Bunny watch, of which there were a million others, it looked like to 
her.  Maybe, she thought to herself as a half-cocked smile formed on her 
lips, she should drop her crush on the Blue Boy and play up to the 
Doctor for awhile.  He was loaded, he must have been.  The thought was 
fleeting, though, as she realized that it probably wouldn't work out.  A 
'toon and a human.  She liked to keep the love inside her own species.
     Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the Doc blurt out "I'd 
love to finish this story, but I'm afraid my time is short."
     "Wait," Babs said, almost in protest, "what about the missions?  
What about this Maurice guy, and these Bee-Bop-A-Lulus or whatever you 
called them?  I still don't understand."
     "I'd love to stay and finish the story, lads," Doctor Starkey told 
them apologetically as she shrugged his shoulders, "but what am I 
supposed to do?  I need to get going."
     "WHERE?" all the 'toons asked in one discordant voice.
     "To the planet," he told them.
     Yakko extended his arms out from his chest and waved his hands in 
circular motions, as if he was waxing a car.  "Holditholditholdit," he 
shouted, "I think I speak for all of my kinfolk when I say there is no 
way in heck I'm letting you take a space journey in my house until I 
hear the whole story.  I'm not even sure I believe half of it!!"
     Doc Starkey was about to plead with them to just do as he asked, 
but then a idea struck him.  "Well, there's only one way you're going to 
get to hear the rest of the story."
     "And how's that?" asked Yakko, unconvinced.
     "You'll all have to come with me."
     Crossing his arms, the Doctor waited for a reaction, which was slow 
in coming.  It took all the 'toons a few seconds to grasp what they had 
just been asked.
     Four of the 'toons were bewildered, but Wakko looked excited, 
almost enthusiastic, as if he'd already packed all his bags and was just 
waiting to be asked.  "You mean, you want us to go into outer space with 
you?"
     "Certainly," the Doctor said, trying to fight back a smirk, "I'm 
going to need some help when I arrive on the planet.  And besides, if I 
were you, I'd want to go.  I wouldn't want some stranger flying MY house 
across the solar system."
     The Warners could offer no argument with THAT logic.  They "hmm"d 
to one another for a couple of moments, before Yakko took a step 
forward.  "All right," he said a bit guardedly, "we'll go with you, but 
you've got to promise to explain everything else while we're on our 
way."  The Doctor nodded firmly in response.
     Buster and Babs, with Wakko in between, stared blankly back at the 
Doctor standing before them.  Wakko turned toward Babs, and could see 
she was at a loss.  The prospect of space travel certainly didn't excite 
her, and might have even scared her a bit.  Wakko couldn't tell exactly.
     As Buster stuterred incomprehensibly, trying to find words to form 
some sort of response, Wakko cleared his throat in Babs's direction.  
She turned toward him, and he looked into her eyes.  She was lost, and 
now there was no doubt in his mind that she was scared about taking this 
trip.  "You don't have to go, Babs," he said weakly.  "This isn't your 
responsibility."  Wakko whirled around to scowl at his brother and 
sister after they began making low snickering noises.
     Babs started, "um," which recaptured Wakko's undivided attention.  
He looked at her sympathetically, commiseratively, as she told him as 
bravely as she could muster "well, I wouldn't want anything to happen to 
you.  I guess Buster and I can tag along."
     "Exqueeze me," Buster told her in mild annoyance, "what do you mean 
'we'??  I don't want anything to do with this!!  Babs, this is 
insane!!!"
     Babs growled, then leaned over and got right in his face.  "If you 
don't wanna go, FINE."  She pointed behind him to the tank's door.  
"There's the exit.  I'm not going to make you do anything.  If you don't 
want to go, then get out!!"
     "Fine," Buster grumbled as he turned to leave.  "I sure hope you 
don't become some alien delicacy or something!!!"  Buster marched 
straight out the door, circled his course without breaking a single 
rhythmic step, and marched back in.  He bunched his shoulders and his 
neck together.  "Oooh, you know I can't leave you to face unspeakable 
danger in the dark void of the unknown all by yourself," he mumbled in 
Babs's direction.
     "Well, then," bellowed the Doctor triumphantly, "I guess we can be 
on our way."  He removed his remote control from his pocket and hit a 
button.  A whirring noise, like an elevator makes, could be heard as the 
rocket started to lean over to one side, sliding everyone and everything 
toward the low end of the room.  When the leaning stopped, the tower was 
tilted at a thirty degree-angle.
     "Would you all be so kind as to take your seats?" the Doctor asked 
politely.  He looked around, but he didn't see any of the Warners 
around.  He was about to ask Buster where they had gone to, but Buster 
anticipated his question and pointed over toward the rocket ship's 
seating arrangement.
     Standing in the aisle were Yakko, Wakko and Dot, all dressed like 
airline flight attendants, each in a blue, boxy felt hat, jackets with 
wings clipped onto the chests, and sexy short skirts.  Dotty was holding 
a set of instructions up to show the rest of the passengers what they 
should do in case of an emergency water landing, Yakko was visually 
aiding the others how to fasten and unfasten their seat belts, and Wakko 
was doing an above-and-beyond the call of duty demonstration of the 
air-sickness bags.  His nose and mouth were fully surrounded by the bag, 
and plenty of unpleasant gagging and other unappetizing noises were 
being released, making the Bunnys and Doc Starkey feel queasy.
     "And just think," Yakko observed, "this is BEFORE the onflight 
meal."
     "This is going to be a long journey," the Doctor noted to himself 
as he rolled his eyes heavenward.
     The Warners jumped in their seats and clicked their saftey 
restraints onto their laps, and was soon followed in process by Buster.
     Babs walked up the slanted wall toward the seats.  There were two 
empty ones available, one next to Buster and one next to Wakko.  
Thinking only of how mad she was at Buster, she walked past Buster's 
next door vacancy and sat next to Wakko, who beamed at her as she sat 
down.  She returned his huge, enthusisastic smile with a modest smile of 
her own.
     Buster couldn't believe it.  He'd just been snubbed, and by his 
best friend in the whole world!  He sat, staring at them with his jaw 
dangling lifelessly several inches below where it normally hung.  He 
shut his mouth, and clenched his molars tightly.  He sat deeply and 
roughly back in his chair and crossed his arms.  He mumbled to himself 
as he glared at Babs through the corner of his eyes.
     The Doctor sat in the control seat and buckled up.  Within 
microseconds, Yakko was leaning over and looking at the control panel.  
"Say, Ringo," he begun.
     "I'm not Ringo."
     "Whatever.  Can you teach me to fly this thing?"
     The Doctor scratched his head.  "Well, I suppose I can try on the 
way there.  A little bit, anyway.  Now sit down and prepare for 
takeoff."
     He pressed a button on the control panel, and the engines at the 
back of the ship roared to life.  Fire blasted from them, glowing a 
scorching blue.  The inside of the ship began to shudder, as everyone 
sat back in their seats.  Babs put her hand on top of Wakko's as he held 
onto his armrest.  He glanced over toward her, but she did not look 
back.  She had shut her eyes, hoping this whole takeoff wouldn't take 
very long to end.
     The Star Trek viewscreen turned on in front of them, showing a 
crystal clear depiction of the full moon and the bright stars millions 
of miles away.
     There was a blast from the engines, much louder than they had 
blasted when they had started up.  The Warner Bros. water tank broke 
free of the bondage of the support beams that held it in place, and it 
lifted off slowly into the black abyss.
*****
CHAPTER FOUR

     Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream
     It is not dying, it is not dying
     Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void
     It is shining, it is shining
     That you may see the meaning of within
     It is being, it is being

--The Beatles  "Tomorrow Never Knows"
 

     "I hate flying...I hate flying..." Buster mumbled to himself over 
and over.
     It wasn't just the flying that was troubling him, either.  He was 
scared.  He was scared about what might await him when he got to 
wherever the heck they were going.  He sat back as far into his chair as 
he possibly could and tried to envision whatever he could to take his 
mind off his situation.  Soon, images appeared in the eye of his mind.
     There were white marble busts of the people he was travelling with, 
all in two rows, headed toward his line of sight, one row staggered a 
bit from the other.  The first bust was Yakko, his face chiseled in an 
oddly serious expression.  "I sure hope this works," Buster could hear 
in Yakko's whispered voice as the stone face and chest passed him on the 
left. 
     Next, on the right, was a bust of Dot, smirking in a tantalizing 
way (or rather, as tantalizing as was possible for the little mutant) 
and winking her eye.  As she passed, Buster heard "what say we blow this 
popsicle stand, Big Boy?"  Buster shuddered mentally.  He didn't even 
want to think about who she might be talking to.
     On his left was Wakko's bust.  Buster whinced as he saw the 
likeness of the middle Warner sibling.  His face was contorted in what 
almost looked like pain.  The empty eye sockets of the kid seemed to be 
looking straight through Buster, pleading "Buster, help me!  Please!" it 
whispered.
     Buster felt a tugging on his eyes, as if his mind were trying to 
pull his lids open.  He stirred in his chair, and his body spasmed ever 
so slightly.  The bust of Wakko had terrified him, but he could not yet 
awaken from his self-induced trance.
     Before Buster, in his trance, could look back over to the right, he 
heard Babs's hushed voice growl at him "I don't ever want to talk to you 
again, Buster Bunny!"  Buster pulled his eyes away from the Wakko bust, 
which had still refused to surrender his attention back to him, and spun 
around quickly to catch a glimpse of Babs's bust.  Her facial expression 
didn't look as angry as her words sounded.  In fact, if anything, she 
was saddened, even hurt.  The forehead was not squinted down like an 
enraged Babs would generally have.  If anything, the folds in her fur 
pointed up.  Her eyelids lazily hung at half mast.  Her mouth was gently 
sloped downward.  There was no doubt in his mind.  The expression was 
pain.  Not like physical pain, the way Wakko's had been, but an 
emotional wound, the worst kind of wound.
     Buster snapped awake, breathing like he'd just finished running a 
marathon.  He put his hand on his chest.  His heart was pounding hard 
against his palm.  What had happened?  Was it all a dream?  It must have 
been, he said to himself.
     As quickly as he could manage, Buster collected his thoughts.  He 
looked around.  Yes, he was still on the space ship, seated next to an 
invisible rider.  He looked over across the aisle, and there was Babs, 
huddled up tight against Wakko, their arms draped over one another.  It 
wasn't clear who was giving the emotional support to whom.  They both 
looked like they needed it pretty bad.
     Up toward the front, Yakko and Dot looked to be having a ball.  
Their attenions were fully focused on the screen in front of them, 
gazing intensely with delight as if they both were watching a movie.  
Yakko pointed toward something onscreen, and the Warner sibs both went 
"oooh".
     The screen.  Buster had almost forgotten.  He looked up.
     Right in front, the Doctor was sitting at the control panel, 
occasionally pressing a button, but mostly just monitoring the activity 
in his scope.  Buster looked past the doctor toward the only window to 
the universe.  A comet, looking as large as a new Lincoln Continental 
streaked across the picture tube, leaving a dazzling white tail behind 
it.  Out in space, nothing else but distant pinpoints of light could be 
seen.
     It was then that the Doctor punched a button on his control panel.  
The engine noises moaned as they slowed down.  Buster kept his eyes 
fixated on the screen.  As the engines slowed, the rocket began a gentle 
descent, and the screen exposed the celestial objects ship had been 
flying above, the most notable of which was the moon.
     Buster stared as wide-eyed as a a schoolboy.  His black pupils 
slowly metamorphized into balls, shaped with a bumpy landscape, just 
like the brillian luminescence of the satellite he stared into.
     Without taking his eyes off the moon in the viewer, Buster reached 
over and tapped Babs on the shoulder.  "Babs," he said distantly, 
"look!"
     Wakko and Babs tentatively broke off their huddle, but still 
refused to take their eyes off one another.  Wakko's adam's apple dipped 
in his throat as he swallowed.  Slowly and simultaneously, they both 
turned toward the viewscreen.
     A "wow", just barely audible to Babs, escaped from Wakko's vocal 
cords.  Babs herself was entranced by the rugged beauty of the moon in 
front of her.  Babs felt fearless now, although she was unsure why.  
Maybe the sight of the moon had awakened her spirit.   A huge smile 
brightened her cheeks; a twinkle of moonlight shone in her deep eyes.
     Buster's eyes shut tightly.  He didn't want to think about what was 
going on outside the ship, or where he was heading or what might happen 
when they got to wherever the heck they were going.  He focued his 
attention on his flight companions, particularly Babs.  If Babs was this 
excited, just imagine what Shirley the Loon would be like right now if 
SHE had been here.  She'd probably be doing cartwheels down the rows of 
chairs!
     Babs studied the surface carefully.  They were so close to it.  She 
felt if she reached her hand out she could touch the soft dust lying 
motionlessly on the moon's face, and crumble it and let it fall beneath 
her fingers.  She wondered what it felt like.
     Her thoughts were interrupted as a tall figure passed in between 
her and the screen.  It was the Doctor.  Babs was taken aback with 
surprise as she saw the Doctor walk toward the back of the ship.
     She was not alone in her bewilderment.  All the others watched the 
Doctor with puzzlement on their faces.
     "Hey, Doc," shouted Yakko, with just a touch of worry in his voice.  
"I know this is probably none of my business, but shouldn't you be 
flying the ship?"
     "No need," the Doctor answered succinctly.  When we get this close 
to the moon, the King's guardsmen use a tractor beam to bring the ship 
in."  The Doctor walked around the ship several times, trying to get 
some feeling into his legs, which had been numbed by a lack of 
bloodflow.
     Satisfied with the response, everyone had a seat and enjoyed the 
view.  The moon was still getting larger in the sight of the screen.  
And larger.  And larger.
     Yakko sat up once again, noting the oddity.  If the ship was being 
controlled by someone on the ground, then that person sure wasn't doing 
his or her job very well.  "Uh, Doc," began Yakko again, "are you SURE a 
tractor beam's got us?"
     The Doctor stopped his pacing and took a look at the screen.  Sure 
enough, the moon was filling much more of the viewer than it should be.  
The Doctor started a quick jog back toward the control panel, when he 
accidentally caught his foot in the locking wheel mechanism of the 
Warner's front door, which was now, due to the angle the ship was 
flying, on the floor.  The Doc tripped, and hit the floor with a thud.
     He regained himself quickly, and tried to pull his foot out, which 
was now wedged in between two wheel spokes.  He yanked and yanked, but 
to no avail.  "Mates," he yelled.  "I'm stuck."  Quickly, he pointed a 
finger at Yakko.  "You," he said, "you've been watching me fly the ship.  
Pull us up!"
     "Oh, gee, thanks," Yakko countered sarcastically.  He took a quick 
look up at the screen, and saw there was little time to argue.  They 
were no more than a few hundred feet away from the surface of the moon, 
and were quickly losing altitude as the moon's gravity force was kicking 
in, pulling the ship toward it.
     Yakko stepped  up in front of the control panel and surveyed it, 
just as Wakko, Dot, and Babs rushed over to him and huddled around him, 
filled to the brim with anxiety.  "Well," they all shouted at him, "DO 
SOMETHING!!!"
     Buster, meanwhile went over to the Doctor and helped him to remove 
his shoe so he could pull his foot out of the wheel.
     "Hmm," Yakko thought to himself as he surveyed the control panel, 
"maybe I should've been watching more carefully."  For the next several 
seconds, Yakko took the time to thoroughly rub his chin with his palm 
back and forth, every now and then taking a break to run his index 
finger in between his lips.  Few on board were happy with his 
deliberation.
     After much struggling, twisting and body manipulation that would 
put a circus contortionist to shame, Buster and the Doctor managed to 
wrench the elusive foot out of the door's wheel, which made a vivacious 
*thunk* as it was freed.  The Doc immediately jumped up and rushed over 
to the control panel, semi-accidentally shoving Yakko out of the way as 
he got there.
     The Doctor quickly pounded a bunch of buttons in what seemed to be 
an almost random pattern, or at least as far as Buster could tell, as he 
managed to observe what the Doctor was doing.
     Everyone sat heavily back in their seats, stiff-necked and braced 
for any impact which may occur.  Only Dot had the courage to peek out of 
her left eye as the ship neared the moon's surface.
     Only a solid patch of yellow-gray could be seen in the 
monitor...that, and a golf ball.  "I am Tiger Woods," she said in a 
whispered voice as she sat in her chair.
     The ship was struggling, slowly, painfully to break the gravity of 
the moon.  Several rockets on the left side of the ship fired, trying to 
lift the vessel up, giving it some altitude.  They were barely 
successful, as the left wing of the ship scraped the moon's floor, 
knocking celestial moon particles up off the surface, some of which 
floated away from the satellite into the blackness.
     The Doctor let out a sigh of relief as he slumped into his chair.  
He wiped his heavy, perspirated brow with the back of his hand.  "That 
was a close one," he added.
     Dot growled to her oldest living relative, "thanks a LOT, Yakko!!  
You REALLY saved the day!
     "So sue me," Yakko retorted dryly.
     Wakko and Babs turned to one another.  A genuine look of concern 
was in each of their eyes.  "Are you okay?"  Wakko asked her.
     "I think so.  Are you okay?"
     "Uh huh."
     Buster put a hand on the seat in front of theirs and leaned over 
toward them.  "Are both of you okay back here?"
     His words fell on deaf ears.  Babs and Wakko continued their 
conversation without missing a beat.
     Buster positioned himself closer to where they were seated.  From 
them he heard nothing but light conversation between the two of them.
     "I'm getting hungry."
     "So am I.  Let's go see if there's anything in the fridge."
     The two companions unfastened their seat belts and walked down the 
wall toward the Warner refrigerator, stepping right past Buster like he 
wasn't even there.  Buster watched them leave with a puzzled 
fascination.  "Well, as long as everyone's alright, I guess that's 
what's important," he said to them as they walked away.  His words went 
unnoticed again.
     ...Or at least, that's what Babs wanted him to think.  As she made 
her way with Wakko toward the fridge, she inwardly smiled to herself.  
This was easy, she thought, and fun, to get on Buster's nerves.  He 
deserved it, too, that creep.  And besides, Wakko wasn't such a bad guy.  
It wouldn't be  really hard for her to have some interest in him, she 
thought, if she wasn't so hung up on Buster.
*****

     For awhile the voyage of the tower was uneventful.  The Doctor 
wasn't necessarily pleased by that fact, either.  There SHOULD have been 
a tractor beam by now, hauling his ship into the planet he sought.
     Some talk had started among his passengers that maybe there was no 
planet to discover.  Maybe this guy was some sort of nut.  The 
chattering wouldn't have bothered him so much if the word "mutiny" 
hadn't sprung up in the conversation a couple of times.  He was getting 
a not-too-faint feeling everyone was beginning to lose faith in him.
     His eyes wandered back and forth across his viewscreen, searching 
for his relativley miniscule planet.  He'd never actually had to find it 
himself; the tractor beam had always brought him in.  He did have a 
faint recollection of the path the ship travelled while being pulled in 
from the other side of the moon, and tried to follow that path as best 
he could remember it.  It had been so long since his last journey, 
though, it was hard for him to remember the exact path it took.
     The ship wandered aimlesessly around the moon.   If the Doc had 
been able to hide that fact, he would have been alright, but the 
viewscreen gave away his secret to a magnified degree.
     A low moaning noise coming from behind him caught the Doctor's 
attention.  He turned around to see what it was, and there was Yakko and 
Dot, sprawled out on the ship's floor, play-acting as if they were 
ancient mariners, writhing in pain from scurvy.  "Captain,"Í pleaded 
Yakko in a gravely voice, "turn the ship around."
     "We're not going to make it alive," added Dot in similar tone.
     "Will you knock it off?" growled Dr. Starkey at the Warners, 
letting them know he was beginning to lose his good humor.
     After a moment, Yakko got off the floor and bounced his way over to 
the Captain's chair, playfully, yet roughly punching the Doctor in the 
arm.
"Say, Doc," he started, "you never did finish your story."
     "What story?"
     "You know, that one about the first time you came to this planet."
     "Oh," answered the Doctor.  "Where did I leave off?"
     Yakko scratched his head.  "Um, you were talking about that guy 
Maurice and Betty Boop or something."
     A puzzled look popped onto the Doctor's face.  Why in the world 
would he be talking about Betty Boop?  Then, suddenly, the answer came 
to him.  "Ohhh, you mean Maurice and the Bee-Boppers!  Well, as I was 
saying about them..."
*****

     ...King Woodstock said the transmissions with Maurice had been lost 
entirely, and no one was sure why.  Maurice had never alluded to any 
possible problems in his communication with the planet.
     After several meetings with his advisors, King Woodstock decided 
the only thing he could possibly do was wait for Maurice to return with 
the rocket ship.  The cost of building the prototype rocket was 
staggering, and there was hardly enough government money to sponsor the 
construction of another rocket.  Also, by this time, the public-at-large 
felt that something had gone awry with the mission and had subsequently 
lost interest in the space exploration project altogether.  It was 
hardly worth pursuing something that was both financially draining and 
politically unpopular, thought the King.
     Months passed.  Then months began turning into years.  Years into 
decades.  Nothing had been heard of from Maurice.  It had been so long, 
the King and his counselors had left him for dead or discovered.  In 
either case, they'd never know what was happening down there on earth, 
and the King had little heart to try again.  The last thing he wanted to 
do was send another citizen of his planet to earth.  It was too 
dangerous, and he knew, deep down inside, that he'd never be willing to 
embark on such a dangerous journey himself.  He couldn't in good 
conscience ask someone else to do something he was unwilling to do.
     After the years had gone by, Maurice had been all but forgotten 
completely.  Every now and then, the King would look out the window at 
the sky, toward the fat, yellow moon and wonder what Maurice saw beyond 
it.
     Fifty-five years later, almost to the day after the 
glorious-but-apparently-ill-fated launch, as King Woodstock was just 
sitting down to enjoy his dinner, he heard a noise.  A rumbling, much 
like the rumbling he'd listened to the many years before.  He recognized 
it, after all that time, and sprang up from his dinner table.  It 
couldn't be!  As fast as he could, he bolted to a large, plate-glassed 
window  in the dining room wall and looked out toward the horizon.
     Off in the distance, beyond the mountains that marked the border of 
Woodstockland and the dwellings of the Bee-Boppers, decended the yellow 
rocket ship.  It shimmered in the late afternoon light as brightly as 
the day it had been constructed.  The only thing that had changed was 
now, instead of a solid yellow ship, the letters W and B were painted on 
the door.  Camoflauge, he guessed.  The ship sank out of sight behind 
the mountains.
     The King raced toward the exit of his dining hall, much to the 
surprise of his three-year-old daughter, who abruptly stopped daintily 
shovelling strained carrots into her mouth to ask where her father was 
going.
     He was going to call his troops.  The rocket had landed!  He 
couldn't believe it.  He was as excited as a young boy on Christmas 
morning, rushing around to unwrap his presents he had anticipated 
opening for weeks.  It was the same thing, except he had waited for over 
half a century.
     Within minutes, an armed escort of rag-topped Thunderbirds was 
taking the King toward the border of Bee-Bopperland.  They were riding 
straight toward the setting sun, and that blurred the King's vision.  
Off in the distance, he was sure he saw a barrier at the entrance of 
Bee-Bopperland.  Funny, he thought, there had never been a barrier to 
the entrance before.
     The King's escort was stopped at the border by two large 
individuals who were dressed in khaki military uniforms, the likes of 
which he'd never seen before.  The King, angered that he was not going 
to be let inside a part of his OWN kingdom, demanded that the bugs step 
aside and let his escort pass, to see what had become of the rocket.
     They would not let him pass.
     Blood red went the King's face with anger.  He very rarely, in 
fact, he almost never got angry, but he was furious.  He barked at his 
T-Bird driver to run over the barrier.
     The King's driver revved the engine hard, making it sound like a 
bear waiting to attack its wounded prey.  He put the car in gear and let 
go of the clutch.  The car snapped straight ahead, throwing back the 
head of the King and the driver, and broke the car barrier lying ahead 
of it, snapping it like a twig.
     It was a quick drive to the landing site, but for the King it 
seemed like he had gone to an entirely different place.  In front of 
him, huge crates marked "DANGEROUS: FLAMMABLE MATERIAL" were being 
unloaded from the rocket ship.  The seemingly-maddened throngs, all 
looking like they were concerned for  no one but themselves, were 
tearing off the crates' tops, and removing their contents.
     The King would never forget the first time he laid eyes on them.  
He had never seen anything so repulsive, so stomach-turning, so 
downright horrendous as those white suits the Bee-Boppers were throwing 
onto their bodies as fast as they could.
     Having been met with this terrifying sight, the King had forgotten 
all about finding Maurice, but then the memory quickly reemerged in his 
mind.  He looked around, but could not find him, not that the King was 
even sure what he looked like anymore.  He stood up on the bucket seat 
of his avacado green chariot and shouted out, demanding to know the 
location of Maurice.
     A haunting voice, as ghoully as any he'd ever heard before, 
resonated out, answering the King.  It sounded like the cold north 
winter wind blowing against the southbound traveller.  It was Maurice.
     From straight ahead in the crowd, a tall, muscular figure strode 
out.  Suddenly, silence fell onto the Bee-Boppers.  The King could not 
believe what he was witnessing.  In a matter of minutes, the whole of 
the Bee-Bopper population, no, there entire collective unconscious had 
changed.  They were not who they were twenty minutes before when the 
rocket touched down.  It was in their eyes.  They were different, and 
whatever happened to them, it was going to be bad news for King 
Woodstock.
     The King found himself face-to-face with Maurice, himself 
brandishing the white suit.  Stuttering, the King asked Maurice what was 
going on, and what had happened to the Bee-Boppers.
     Until the day he drops, the King will never forget the answer.
     "I have learned much.  I have learned  much about Earth, and I have 
learned just as much about you.  We are not the Bee-Boppers anymore.  I 
have renamed us.  You will call us the Heebee Geebees now.
     "Your days are numbered, Woodstock.  Your days are numbered."
     Ten days later, the invasion began.
*****

     "Weird," commented Yakko as he thoughtfully rubbed his chin.  "So 
what happened with the invasion.
     "It was a major flop," Doc Starkey said sourly.  "The Heebee 
Geebees were unprepared for the invasion, and the Woodstocklanders would 
have nothing to do with the tacky get-ups the invasion force was 
wearing.  Eventually the Heebee Geebees were run out of Woodstockland, 
but, before he retreated, Maurice vowed that someday he'd return.  And 
now he has."
     "That still leaves one question," Yakko announced, "how did the 
water tower get back to earth?"
     "Well, the guy that was trying to blow the tower up was an agent of 
the Heebee Geebees, sent here years ago to pilot the shuttle as far away 
from Woodstockland as possible, to keep it out of the hands of Woodstock 
and his army.  I know, because I've been looking for him for fifteen 
years.  He wanted the tower blown up so I couldn't travel back in it, or 
bring any help."
     "Hmm," thought Yakko to himself, "I wonder where WE were at the 
time?"  Mentally, he tried to imagine where he would've been...it was 
1978...oh!  Of course!  He and his siblings were camped out for a month 
and a half in front of Mann's Chinese Theater to catch the opening of 
"Annie Hall".  That's where they had been.
     "Woodstock's scientists eventually manufactured a remote-controlled 
system to fly the tower back, and it just so happened that the first 
time they used it, I was on-board."
     The rest, as they say, is history.
*****

     The planet must have been SOMEWHERE around.
     Buster looked up from the seat he had taken in the front row, 
sitting sideways, almost lying down with his feet propped up on the seat 
next to his.  He watched as the Doctor scanned the scope yet again, 
looking for some sign of the planet.
     It was not until now that Buster realized he was sitting in the 
seat all by himself.  He looked around, curious as to where everyone 
else was.  Asleep in the back row of chairs were Yakko and Dot.  All the 
excitement was too much for them, he guessed.  They were both snoring 
rather loudly, both of them sounding like clogged garbage disposals 
trying to clear themselves of edible waste.  The sound grinded in his 
eardrums, and after a few seconds Buster had to shove two fingers inside 
his sensitive ears to stop the noise.  He clenched his teeth together as 
hard as he could.  Still, he thought, he'd much rather put up with Dot's 
snoring than have her arms tied constantly around any part of him she 
could grab.
     Buster again looked up, and his eyes wandered around the room 
searching for Wakko and Babs.  Babs, mostly, but since she had been 
spending so much time with him since that evening, he just automatically 
assumed they were together.
     Seeing no sign of them, Buster got up off the chair and strode down 
the wall toward the kitchen, their last known whereabouts.  When he 
neared, he saw a pink figure standing in the corner next to a black 
figure, and assumed it was them.  He couldn't tell what they were 
doing...but they were AWFULLY close together.
     Suddenly, they stepped out of their dark corner and into the light 
where Buster could see them.  Buster flinched, then tried to act 
nonchalant about watching them.  He started pacing aimlessly around the 
room as if that's all he'd been doing the whole time, but his 
play-acting was needless, since neither Babs nor Wakko ever took their 
eyes off one another as they walked toward the exit of the kitchen.
     They were giggling, both of them, like infatuated little children.  
The mere sound nauseated Buster.  'Oh, that's just SICK,' he told 
himself as he pressed one hand firmly onto his belly.  He watched as 
they went back toward their seats, never even acknowledging his 
presence.
     For some reason, Buster started getting angry watching them.  Being 
the consummate showman, one of Buster's countless pet-peeves was being 
ignored, especially by his consort, who also happened to be his best 
friend.  'If Babs wants to spend time with Wakko,' Buster told himself, 
unaware of the mild twitch the right side of his face was making, 
'that's perfectly fine.  But she doesn't have to pretend that I'M not 
around!'
     Buster's concentration was momentarily broken from a loud 
announcement from the Doctor.  "Oh, there it is!" he yelled, referring 
to his lost planet, which he could now see in the upper right hand 
corner of his viewing screen.  Buster watched as the Doctor slammed his 
finger down on an orange button and the entire ship pitched hard to its 
port side.
     Everything in the ship was thrown to the right, including various 
articles of furniture, and Buster himself, who was out of his seat and 
not wearing a saftey belt.  The rabbit slammed into a side wall 
spread-eagled.  He slid off the wall in that same position, before 
regaining his composure and standing up.  "Thanks for the warning, Doc," 
Buster grumbled as he wearily rubbed the back of his head.
     "Sorry," the Doctor called back to him.
     Before he had regained full use of his mental functions, Buster saw 
Wakko leap up out of his chair next to Babs and run off.  Buster's eyes 
didn't follow Wakko to see where he was going, though (although by the 
way Wakko was running, Buster deduced he was headed toward the nearest 
restroom), but rather stayed fully fixed on Babs.  Buster mosied over 
toward the pink bunny, who didn't see him approaching.   He stared at 
her for a moment, partially out of guilt and partially because he didn't 
know what to say to her.
     After a moment, Babs turned her head, and saw Buster standing 
there.
*****

     This was certainly not good, thought the Doctor.  It was bad enough 
that no tractor beam had hauled them ceremoniously into a 
maddened-with-delight crowd; it was bad enough the Woodstockian Royal 
Guard attempt any radio contact with him, which meant they hadn't 
tracked the ship by radar.  Either/or was a sign something was 
wrong...the Doctor didn't want to think what BOTH meant.
*****

    "Yes?"
     "Um," started Buster, "I-uh, I was wondering about something."  
Buster took a seat next to Babs, who was playing as nonchalant as she 
could, and doing quite a number on Buster.  "What's with this sudden, 
shall I say, 'interest' in the Warner kid?" he asked, motioning toward 
the potty room with his thumb.
     Babs felt a rush of wicked glee rising up from her diaphram.  She 
had to fight to stifle a victorious giggle, but she managed to supress 
it so that Buster didn't even notice.  "Why, Buster?" she asked with a 
childish innocence.
     "Well, I mean, you and him have been...and, y'know, over in the 
kitchen and everything..."
     Babs waved her hand at him in an "oh, get over it" jesture.  
"Puh-LEASE," she began, "he was just showing me the interestingly wide 
variety of cereal the Warners keep in their cupboard!  Did you know they 
have boxes of corn flakes from 32 different countries?"
     As interesting as this witty banter was to Buster, he felt like 
they both were skirting the issue.  He looked Babs straight in the eyes 
and asked her "are you mad at me?"
     Suddenly, Babs's face grew solemn.  She squinted her eyes and the 
dimples in her cheeks were gone.  "Yes, I'm mad at you."
     "This isn't about that stupid card, is it?" Buster asked, suddenly 
feeling extremely defensive.
     "What do you mean that 'stupid' card?"  Babs got right in Buster's 
face.  "Don't you understand what I was trying to say in there?"  Buster 
rolled his eyes way back in his head.
     It was certainly time for some damage control, Buster decided.  
"Babs, that's NOT what I meant!"  It was too little too late, though.
     Babs's face suddenly contorted.  She was not angry anymore.  She 
was hurt.  A look on her face, certainly not far from tears, replaced 
her angered visage.  Babs's eyelids hung lowly.  Her mouth had a slight 
downturned pout.  "Buster," she began evenly, before lashing out "I 
don't ever want to talk to you again!"
     Before he could even react, Babs hopped out of her seat and ran off 
to the other side of the room, putting as much physical distance between 
her and Buster as she could possibly manage.
     From his seat, Buster could only stare at her.  She was hiding her 
face in a pillow from the overturned Warner couch, which had been 
knocked around during the voyage.  His ears twitched.  Two things 
troubled him.  Babs, obviously, was one.  The other were her words.  Not 
so much the words themselves, but that they seemed so familiar to 
him...like he'd heard them before.
*****
CHAPTER FIVE

     I hear the clock a'tickin' on the mantle shelf
     I see the hands a'movin', but I'm by myself
     I wonder where you are tonight and why I'm by myself
     I don't see you, doesn't mean you don't love me anymore

--The Beatles  "Don't Pass Me By"


     "HANG ON!"
     The Doctor had already ordered everyone to their seats.  Yakko and 
Dot did so only grudgingly, everyone else were seated without question.
     Everyone's eyes were transfixed to Doc Starkey's viewscreen.  Not 
that it helped them see where they were going.  After the Doctor found 
the planet, he made a beeline straight for it.  They entered into the 
planet's atmosphere and were met with a blinding mob of angry black 
clouds.  It was nearly impossible to see anything between the thick, 
stifling blobs of smokelike sky, or the constant flashes of lightning.
     The tower jerked one way or another at random intervals.  So 
violent was the turbulance that every shimmy summoned a "whoa!" from at 
least half the passengers.
     Doctor Starkey gritted his teeth.  He was going to get through this 
storm, no matter what.   People were depending on him down there.  They 
hadn't summoned him for no reason at all, he knew that.
     It wasn't helping his nerves any that in the row right behind him, 
Yakko and Dot had their hands raised over their heads and were 
screaming, like they were on some kind of cheesy roller coaster at a 
penny-ante theme park.  The Doctor gritted his teeth and tried to ignore 
them.
     He squinted hard.  Tiny, almost imperceptible beads of persperation 
began to congregate around and within the wrinkles of his forehead.  His 
mouth opened up to let his tongue out.  It made its way toward the 
corner of his mouth, where it was captured in between his pursed lips, a 
good inch of it pointing upward toward a pulsing artery near his temple.
     Then, like a bullet ripping through a paper bag, the apex of the 
tower broke through the heavily-lined black clouds above Woodstockland.  
The Doctor quickly pulled the ship up to level out his trajectory.
     Through the viewscope, the 'Toons behind him gazed in bemused 
fascination at the planet.  It's exotic, yet eyecatching colors sung to 
them.  Even from this altitude.  A mutual "wowwww", only as loud as a 
gentle summer breeze could be heard from the Captain's chair.
     Dot's eyes widened at the sight.  Never before had she seen 
anything like the vast, rolling, multi-hued landscape.  The gently 
sloping hills, the wide, fertile valleys.  It looked like the negative 
of an Ansel Adams color photograph.
     Next to her, her eldest brother sat, leaning toward the viewscreen, 
his eyes every bit as wide.  He was taken in completely by the 
beautiful, exotic land that lie just underneath.  It was breathtaking.
     Babs, still seated, pursed her lips hard.  She couldn't imagine a 
place more beautiful.  Unconsciously, she put one of her hands on 
Wakko's, who was seated next to her.  Wakko was so taken aback by the 
landscape filling the viewscreen he barely noticed himself put his other 
hand on top of Babs's.
     The Doctor, meanwhile, barely noticed any of the landscape.  He sat 
back heavily in his chair and wiped the persperation off his pounding 
forehead.  He let out a heavy puff of air.  "Whew!"  He sounded 
exasperated, but he was satisfied that he had kept his wits during the 
bumpy ride.
     Then something blasted the water tower from outside.
     The whole of the passengers flung their heads backward as the ship 
was struck.  Something hit the ship from ahead of them.  The Doc quickly 
punched several buttons to swivel the viewscreens point of view around 
to a more straightforward look.
     The silence in the ship was only broken by the sound of *ZZZZAP!* 
as some blue-colored lasers were fired, hitting the sides of the ship.  
In front of them was a large, midnight black blimp slowly making its way 
straight toward the tower.
     "It's them," the Doctor said, short of breath as a look of 
horrified recognition formed on his face.  "It's the Lead Zepplin 
Patrol!"
     "Who are they?" demanded Yakko.
     A nutshell explanation was given quickly by the Doctor as he 
attempted to pull the ship up and over the zepplin. 
     More lasers were fired, this time only a spark of one grazed the 
port side of the tower just before it climbed high into the clouds, 
jumping over its attacker like it was a hurdle in a track race.  The 
Doctor punched several buttons on his control panel, and the viewscreen 
cut to a rearview look at the tower's pursuer.
     The black zepplin turned, slowly, deliberately toward the tower, 
which was now streaking off in the distance, trying to outrun the 
slower-moving helium balloon.  The airship pointed itself toward the 
rocket, and began firing a long, continuous stream of blue lasers at the 
ship.
     The water tank was far more mobile and faster than the zepplin, but 
it could never outrun the lasers.  Before the Doctor could steer clear 
of the lasers' path, the tank took a blow to one of its starboard rocket 
engines.
     Inside the ship, pandamonium ensued.  The laser blast on the engine 
caused an earthquake-like pounding through the entire tank, tossing 
loose furniture and other Warner possesions around like a hurricane 
throwing loose leaves and paper.
     The ship lost acceleration, and slowed down.  Even so, It was still 
considerably faster than the zepplin, but it wasn't pulling away as fast 
as any of the passengers or the driver would have liked.
     In the front seat, the Doctor was crouched down so that just his 
eyes and hands were over the top of the control panel.  He'd had to 
avoid the flying debris zooming around his head after the previous hit 
the water tank had taken.
     Meanwhile, the zepplin repositioned itself, and fired another 
stream of lasers at the ship.
      The first laser blast jackhammered the underside of the ship, 
directly beneath Babs's and Wakko's row of seats.  The blow unfastened 
the chairs from the floor, and the seats jumped into the air.  The empty 
chair in the row sprung from the floor and flew directly at the huge 
viewscreen.  It crashed into it, spidering glass across the entire 
inside of the tower.  The occupants ducked their heads, just avoiding 
the glass being showered across the room.  Babs and Yakko both let out 
terrified screams.
     They both landed face up on the floor with a thud, both rendered 
almost helpless to move.  Yakko and Dot let out a yelp.
     "Ohmygosh," shouted Buster.
     "It's okay," Babs told him, breathing heavily.  "We're both okay.  
Right, Wakko?"  Wakko, breathing just as deeply, nodded in agreement.
     Then, the tank was hit with yet another laser burst from its 
pursuer.  The blast, as powerful as the previous one, connected fully 
with the door of the tank.  The shot was so forceful, the tank's door 
gave, and the door blasted open.
     Air was instantly sucked out of the door of the tank, and every 
unfixed object in the tank was getting sucked out with it, including 
Babs's and Wakko's chairs.  They began sliding toward the opened door.
     Babs let out a bloodcurdling scream as her chair slid across the 
floor toward the opening.
     Wakko, who was within arm's length and also sliding right along 
with her, grabbed ahold of Babs's armrest with one hand.  With the other 
he tore at his seat belt buckle, which unfastened loudly.
     Immediately, he rolled over, off of his chair and onto Babs's.  He 
quickly unfastened her seatbelt, and, holding onto her hand, yanked her 
out of the seat, just as both the seats fell out of the ship.
     They quickly discovered, though, that they were no better off, as 
they were still sliding toward the open door.  Babs grabbed a tight hold 
on Wakko's waist as the two of them dropped out of the ship.
     Before they fell toward the ground, Wakko grabbed hold of the 
locking wheel in the middle of the door with one hand.  The door hung 
downward beneath the ship, and the wheel was all that was keeping them 
from falling.
     "We gotta do something!" yelled Buster.
     "How?" asked Yakko.  "If we get up, we'll get sucked down the hole, 
too!"
     "Let's make a chain!" yelled Dot.
     Without a word, Yakko got out of his seat and climbed over it, 
holding on to the back of the seat, then jumped down onto the seat 
directly behind it.  He wrapped his legs around the armrest and yelled 
to Buster in the next row "give me your feet!"
     Holding onto his own armrest with a vice grip, Buster slowly 
extended his ankles toward Yakko's outstretched arms.  Yakko took a hold 
of his legs with a crushing grip, one that would have made Buster howl 
had he been able to feel anything but fear.
     Buster gulped hard, and then let go of his armrest.  He fell to the 
floor with a *thud*, and then skittered with his arms and hands as best 
he could across the floor toward the opened door.
     Had Buster been breathing rather than gripping his breath tightly 
in his lungs like a knotted balloon, he would have found breathing 
nearly impossible.  The air in the tank was rushing out faster than it 
could be drawn inside gasping lungs.
     With no little difficulty, Buster made it to the open portal.  He 
pulled himself over the edge of the hole, extending his body and Yakko's 
as far as was 'toonally possible for either one of them.  From there he 
could see Wakko desperately gripping onto the locking wheel with one 
hand.  His other hand was dangling free.  Clinging with both hands 
around his waist was Babs.  Both of them were flailing in the 
hurricane-force winds that thrashed outside the ship.
     Buster slowly lifted one of his hands off the floor.  With all 
necessary speed, he lowered his hand down toward Wakko, and Wakko lifted 
his free hand toward Buster's.
     Wakko was just about to grab Buster's hand...when Babs's grip 
around Wakko's waist began to fail.  She started sliding slowly down the 
length of his body, letting out a bonechilling scream as she did so.
     Quickly,  Wakko grabbed one of Babs's hands with his free hand.
     'That's not good,' Buster thought to himself.
     Watching in horror as Babs dangled down toward the ground, 
suspended only by the none-too-powerful grip of Wakko, Buster's mind 
raced.  What could he POSSIBLY do?!  He couldn't reach them, and even if 
he could, he didn't have the strength to pull them BOTH up.  He had 
never felt so helpless in his life.
     Babs shut her eyes tightly and started muttering a little prayer to 
herself.
     Buster's eyes then caught Wakko.  His face was contorted in agony 
as he hung like a spider clinging onto its final spindly thread of a 
web.  He howled.
     "Buster, help me!  Please!"
     Then his grip on the wheel gave out. 
     Buster watched in terror as he saw the two figures tumble toward 
the ground, shrieking.  Their bodies falling, as if they were falling 
into a rainbow colored abyss.  Within seconds, they were so small he 
could no longer see them.
*****

     It was agreed.
     Despite the Warners' and Buster's adamant initial argument, the 
Doctor said there was nothing they could really do to go down to the 
ground and rescue Babs and Wakko...and doing that was making the 
gigantic leap of faith that the two of them had even survived the fall.  
It wasn't likely.  After a few minutes, the Doctor's logic prevailed, 
and Yakko and Dot shut up.  They acquieced, deciding that there was so 
little they could do with the Lead Zeppelins still chasing the ship, and 
the ground crew most likely already notified of their presence in the 
air.
     Buster, however, refused to stop protesting the decision.  He was 
worried sick, about both of them, but about Babs in particular.  For the 
past half hour after she and Wakko had fallen, he'd been hardly able to 
stifle a good sobbing. 
     Now he was sitting, by himself, in the back row of passenger's 
chairs.  He was leaning forward against the seat in front of him, his 
arms crossed and resting heavily on the chair's back.
     A salty tear was stinging his eye.  He blinked several times, but 
didn't have the energy or the strength to wipe it away.   He sniffled.
     Was there anything he could have done?  The obvious answer was 
'no', there was nothing more he could have done...but that answer was 
too easy for him.  Maybe he could have moved faster when he first saw 
they were in trouble.  Maybe he shouldn't have waited for Yakko to help 
him.  Maybe he should have just gone after them as soon as he could 
have.
     "Beating yourself up about it isn't going to get them back, lad," 
the Doctor called from the front of the ship, as if he'd been watching 
Buster the whole time.  Buster looked up.  The Doctor hadn't moved from 
his chair or give any indication that he even knew where Buster was, 
much less what he might have been thinking.  Instead, the Doctor's 
attention was apparently full on the controls in front of him.
     The two Warner kids, their heads hung low and their shoulders 
drooped, dragged their feet over toward Buster.  They both sat down, 
heavily, near him.  Dot let out an audible sigh.
     The rabbit turned toward them.  "I'm sorry, guys..." he began, 
before he was cutoff.
     "Wasn't your fault," Yakko replied bitterly, not bothering to look 
at Buster.  Then, suddenly, Yakko whipped his head around toward the 
rabbit.  "Do you think there's any chance they're...I mean?"
     Buster took in a deep breath.  It seemed like the first breath he'd 
taken since the tragedy.  He nodded, slowly at first, and then stronger 
and more confidently.  "If anyone could have survived that fall, it 
would be Babs and Wakko."  Buster felt like a huge boulder had been 
taken off his head, just by saying the words.  It was true, if anyone 
could survive that fall, it would have been those two.  He truly 
believed it.  All he had to do now was convince himself that anyone 
could survive that fall.
*****

     Not since the last corporate Christmas party, when he went a little 
overboard on the eggnog, had he felt this bad.
     He was struggling to even open his eyelids.  They held steadily, 
like his eyelashes had been woven together.  Maybe it was better that he 
couldn't open his eyes, he began to think to himself.  If he did open 
them, he might wake up and find out he was dead.
     Wait a minute, how could he be talking to himself if he was dead?  
Well, he'd never been dead before, so he really didn't know.  Better 
open his eyes now and find out if he really was dead.  Better to know 
now than be surprised by it later.
     Slowly, deliberately, his eyelids unfastened themselves.  
Everything was out of focus, but there was something definitely moving 
in front of him.  He rubbed his eyeballs with his closed fists and tried 
looking again.  Still hazy, but slowly coming into focus.
     Branches.  That's what was moving.  From a tree.  A tall tree.  The 
reddish leaves were swaying gently in a mild breeze.
     For the first time, he'd realized that he was on his back, looking 
up toward the sky.  He felt absolutely exhausted.  He tried turning his 
head, but his neck was as stiff as a rusty hinge.  He was sore all over.
     Almost immediately, he wanted to sleep, but he wouldn't let 
himself.  First things first, he had to figure out where he was.  
Struggling against sleep, he slowly sat up.  His stomach felt like an 
orphan accordion, lying tattered and unused in the corner of someone's 
attic for generations.
     He struggled to a sitting position.  Placing both his hands on 
either side of his head, he jerked his neck to the right, and then to 
the left, making loud, stomach-turning cracking sounds each time he did 
so.  It hurt like heck to do it, but he knew it would hurt worse later 
if he didn't do it now.
     He looked around.  He was evidently in some kind of forest.  
Vegetation of all the colors of the spectrum surrounded him.  Plants, 
trees, roots.  Name it, he could see it from the spot where he was 
seated.  He was so impressed with his newfound landscape, he lost 
himself for a moment gazing at the shrubbery that he was watching just 
moments ago from inside the water tank.
     It could have been worse, he guessed.  He was scraped up a bit.  
The right side of his face felt like he'd been shot up with novicaine.  
He seemed a bit out of sorts.  One of the sleeves of his blue jacket had 
been ripped, and several of the arm patches were gone.  Yep, it could 
have been a lot worse...
     ...then he remembered.  The fall.  Wakko's mind flooded.  Holy 
jeebers!  Where's Babs?
     Any previous tiredness he felt vanished instantly.  He jumped up to 
his feet and started looking around nervously.  Darting around as 
quickly as he could, Wakko searched everywhere.  In bushes, in holes, in 
shallow puddles of water that dotted the land around him.
     In frustration and fright, Wakko tugged at his flailing ears 
sprouted out of his baseball cap.  He gritted his teeth with worry.
     "BAAAAAAAABS!!!!"
     He waited a moment to listen for a reply.  He cupped a hand to his 
ear, hoping to catch an even barely perceptible sound from her.
     Nothing.
     He inhaled deeply, filling his chest to full capacity, and was 
about to holler again, when he heard something.
     It wasn't much to hear, but it was something.  It sounded like a 
small coo, like a pigeon would make, but the pitch was much higher.  It 
sounded dull, too, like the pigeon that made the noise wasn't entirely 
coherent.  Wakko impatiently waited for another sound.  And it came.  
Some rustling leaves, and another small, helpless coo.
     It was followed by a much louder sound: "YAAAAA!"  Wakko smacked 
himself in the forehead, and raced toward the noise.  It was Babs, 
alright, and she was screaming!  Before he ran three full, steps, 
though, he heard something else: a loud, dull *thump!*
     Underneath the tree he had just moments before been under himself, 
lay Babs, flat on her face.  Wakko rushed to her side and helped her 
push herself off the ground.
     "Babs!  Are you alright??"
     Babs spit out a mouthful of moist dirt clods and purple leaves.  
"Yeah, I'm just peachy," she said sarcastically.  Then, realizing what 
had happened, threw her arms around Wakko and hugged him with all her 
might.  "Wakko!  You're okay!"
     Wakko emitted some grunting and groaning noises, sounding sort of 
like "yes, I'm fine."  Babs released her grip somewhat and Wakko 
returned her embrace.  "I was so worried about you."
     Looking up, Babs told him "yeah, I guess the tree broke our falls."
     Although they both were still feeling a little wobbly, they helped 
each other get onto their feet.  Babs clapped a hand to her forehead, 
and rubbed along down across her cheek and onto her neck.  Her whole 
head and face were pounding.  Cautiously, holding onto Wakko's arm, she 
took a couple of calculated walking steps.  Feeling like she could 
sufficiently hold her balance, she released Wakko's arm and ventured 
tentatively a little further.  She would be alright, she supposed, so 
long as they took it easy.
     Then, she realized, both she and Wakko were lost.  Strangers in a 
strange forest on a strange planet.  Yeah, she could walk a slow, easy 
pace with Wakko...but to WHERE?  Any vague notion she might have had 
about which direction the water tower was flying while she was in it was 
completely gone, and Wakko wasn't likely to have the slightest idea, 
either.
     Wakko answered her unspoken question.  "I don't know what we should 
do."  He shook his head solemnly, averting his eyes so he didn't look 
straight into hers.
     Babs felt helpless and afraid.  Not so much for her, but for Wakko.  
It had been at least partly her fault he was down there with her, 
anyway.  Had she not been playing up to him to annoy Buster, something 
that hadn't worked anyway, he might not ever have fallen with her.  He 
would probably have been seated closer to his brother and sister and 
would never have had his chair blasted loose from the floor the way hers 
had.
     The only thing Babs could see as being worse than the predicament 
she and Wakko now found themselves in, was that she might be all alone 
in this forest.  While the thought of being lost AND alone sent shivers 
down her spine, she'd rather have had that happen than to have dragged 
Wakko into the same situation with her.
     She steadied herself.  She looked up at Wakko.  He was meandering 
around, a short distance away now, surveying the surrounding area.  
Finally, he looked back at her.  "I don't know about you," he began, 
"but I'd rather get moving, trying to find some help rather than just 
sitting here waiting to be found."
     Scratching her head, Babs thought about their options.  She doubted 
it would help their cause to stay put...plus, maybe the Lead Zeppelin 
patrols knew where they were, even if Doctor Starkey and the other 
'Toons didn't.
     "Okay," she said finally, smiling at Wakko, "which way should we 
go?"
*****

     There was obviously no point in trying to sleep anymore.  What 
little sleep he'd had that night in the cramped, uncomfortable confines 
between the armrests of his little coach-style airline seat was 
restless.  If not for looking at his watch several times during the 
night to see what time it was, he would never even have known he was 
sleeping.
     What few dreams he'd had that night all centered around Babs.  His 
unconscious mind developed several frightening scenarios about what had 
happened to her after she fell out of the tank.  Buster purposely tried 
to put those out of his mind.  Not that it was working, but he didn't 
want to think that anything bad could possibly have happened to her.  As 
much as he tried, he still wasn't sure what he could believe.  "If 
anyone could've survived, Babs could," he'd told Yakko yesterday.  He 
rubbed his eyes; he told himself that he was getting  the sleep out of 
them.  They were just words.  He didn't know.  
     There were other words running through Buster's mind as well.  
"Buster, help me, please."  Wakko's final plea to him for help.  Those 
words were haunting him.  It wasn't entirely because Wakko was pleading 
for help and he couldn't offer it to him, either.  It was something 
stranger than that.  It was like he'd heard those words before.
     Buster was a nervous wreck as he sat there,  his head resting on 
his shoulders.  His hands and arms were shaking.  His stomach bubbled 
and whined constantly.  He felt sick.  Maybe he knew deep down inside, 
he told himself, that he was never going to see Babs again.  He belched 
loudly.
     "My GOODNESS!" a petite little girl's voice rang out, catching 
Buster's attention.  Buster got up onto his knees and looked back behind 
his chair.
     Over on the other side of the room, Yakko and Dot had set up a 
table and two chairs.  Both of them were seated, scarfing down on large 
bowls of brown-colored cereal.  Synchronously, the two Warner kids were 
shoveling heaping spoonfuls of cereal into their mouths, crunching it 
loudly.
     "Want some breakfast?" Dot asked Buster cheerfully, flashing him a 
large, chocolate-stained smile.
     Buster sat heavily down again.  "Not hungry," he answere 
succinctly.  He placed his hand gingerly on his stomach.  He really 
WASN'T hungry, and the idea of sharing a morning repast with Yakko and 
Dot wasn't doing much to bolster his appetite.
     Shock showed on Dot's forehead.  She turned toward her brother, 
staring questioningly.  Yakko thought nothing of it.  He shrugged his 
shoulders and continued munching on cereal.  Dot, however, would have 
none of that nonsense.  Leaping from her chair, she bounded over to 
Buster's passenger's seat and grabbed him by the collar of his sweater.  
"Oh, don't be SILLY!" she said playfully as if Buster couldn't have beed 
doing anything but joking when he said he wasn't hungry.  She yanked him 
out of his seat and started dragging him toward the breakfast nook.
     "Hey!" Buster protested as he tried to tug against her vice grip on 
his shirt collar.
     "You HAVE to eat breakfast!" Dot told him in a loud, matriarchal 
voice.  When she and Buster reached the table, Dot reached around behind 
her back and removed a small, stainless steel infant's high chair.  She 
slammed it down on the floor at the head of the table,  and then plunked 
Buster down on the padded, acrylic-covered seat.  She then clamped a 
large metal tray on the seat, locking it as tightly in place as she 
could.  Buster struggled fruitlessly in the chair with his arms pinned 
to his sides, held fast by the food tray.  Dot busily tied a white bib 
with a picture of a dopey-looking giraffe on around his neck.  That 
done, Dot threw a powder blue baby's bonnet on top of the growling 
rabbit's head for good measure.
     Yakko, not taking a break from shoveling cereal into his mouth for 
an instant, handed Dot the box of cereal.  Dot grabbed the box and a 
large bowl from off the table and poured Buster a small moutain of the 
brown nuggets.
     Buster stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth and made a 
disgusted, scrunched-up face at the bowl.  Dot poured the remainder of 
the milk, about a half gallon, into the bowl and noisily inserted a 
spoon into the mixture.
     "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!" Yakko told 
Buster as he looked at him out the corner of his eye, still crunching 
away.  As he spoke, brown morsels of half-chewed cereal flew out of 
Yakko's mouth, getting into Buster's facial fur.  Buster was helpless to 
avoid the flying treats, as movement was all but impossible in his 
miniature tower prison.
     Dot looked up at the rabbit, and frowned when she saw the food 
particles on his face.  Impatiently, she grabbed a corner of the 
rabbit's bib, licked the terrycloth with her tongue, and proceeded to 
wipe Buster's face.  Buster moaned, and tried desperately to move his 
head from side-to-side, trying to avoid the facial wipe.  "Hold STILL!" 
Dot ordered him.  "This is only going to be worse for both of us if you 
struggle!"
     Satisfied with her job of cleaning Buster's face, Dot let go of 
Buster's bib and picked up Buster's vat of breakfast.  In defiance, 
Buster clenched his jaw shut.  He was NOT going to be any further 
disgraced by being force-fed a bowl of chocolate cereal like some infant 
whose mother wanted to gag him with strained peas.
     Undettered, Dot shoved a serving ladel into Buster's bowl and 
scooped out a healthy serving of the chocolate rocks and brown
milk.  Waving her elbow around in a small circle, she enticed the 
rabbit, "here comes the plane into the hangar!  Zoom!!"
     Determined to tough it out, Buster clamped his jaw shut harder.  
This was going to be a test, and Buster wasn't about to lose.  As the 
ladel approached closer, Buster shook his head and hummed out "Mmm-mm."  
Dot tried it from a slightly higher angle, and again was met with a 
denial.
     There was only one thing left for the kid to do.  She frowned, and 
then, with her index finger and thumb, pinched Buster's nose shut tight 
so he couldn't breathe.
     In vain, Buster tried thrashing his head around wildly so his nose 
would slip out from between Dot's fingers.  Dot, however, maintained her 
vice-grip pinch on Buster's pink schnozz.  Buster felt the air supply in 
his lungs starting to give out.  A great pressure was building up from 
his chest, and Buster had to give in.
     A giant wheeze escaped Buster's mouth as he exhaled.  Then as he
started to inhale, the ladel of cereal was lanced into his mouth, 
catching him by surprise and nearly choking him.  Dot put one hand on 
the bottom of Buster's jaw and slammed his mouth shut tight.  Buster 
swallowed.
     "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Dot asked him matronizingly, 
batting her eyes at him.
*****

     The ball was in the King's court.
     Before him, on a piece of royal parchment, his own royal parchment, 
no less, was written in black-inked caligraphy, the terms of his 
kingdom's surrender to its most feared enemy.
     He stood there, staring at the paper on the desk, on his desk, 
surrounded by several of the Heebee Geebee's top brass, right in front 
of Barry, Robin and Maurice.  Maurice was smoking a Kool cigarette, and 
had his feet comfortably propped up on the desktop.  It annoyed the King 
no end that the four inch-tall heels of Maurice's shoes were badly 
scuffing up the stained mohogany finish.
     "Well?" asked Maurice to the King before taking a puff from his 
cancer stick.  "We don't have all day.  Are you going to sign or not?"
     There was a quill pen dipped in an inkwell at the end of the desk, 
not more than a foot away from the King.  It wouldn't have been hard to 
sign the document and put an end to the senseless destruction the Heebee 
Geebees were still inflicting on his loyal subjects.  He could deal with 
giving up his power.  He could deal with living inside a room in the 
courtyard and being under veritable house arrest.  That's not what 
worried him.
     Right there on the parchment, the second and third paragraphs were 
what worried him.  The second gave Maurice total political power over 
his kingdom.  Who knows what the crazed insect might do during one of 
his famous temper-tantrums?  Would he force the populace to dine on 
Hamburger Helper three meals a day?  Would he, if he got up on the wrong 
side of bed, ration out gasoline so much that it would become nearly 
impossible to purchase?  Would he do what the Cabbage Patch People had 
done in their homeland and tamper with the formula of Coca-Cola?  No, 
even Maurice wouldn't do something as foolish as that.
     The third paragraph the King found even more bone-chilling.  If he 
signed the terms of surrender, he would give up all parental rights to 
his only daughter, Kathy.  She would become a ward of the new regime, 
and Maurice could decide her fate.  This, more than anything, the King 
believed, is what Maurice wanted.  His daughter.
     Shakily, the King reached down to the desk and picked up the 
inkwell.  He removed the quill pen from the ink, and then tossed the 
entire contents of the inkwell onto Maurice's spotless white jacket.  
"Never!" the King shouted defiantly.  "You'll never get your hands on my 
daughter!!"
     Maurice reacted with disgust.  His suit had been soiled.  Now he 
would have to take it out and burn it, which, when he thought about it, 
really wouldn't be that hard to do.  That time he was standing too close 
to his barbecue grill he found that out.  But still, it annoyed him.  He 
slammed his fist onto the desktop.  "Take him away!" he barked at his 
men, who grabbed the King and dragged him out of his own throne room.
     Everyone else filed out of the room after the King and his jailers.  
Maurice sat there at the desk, his brothers at his sides.  He growled 
loudly "this isn't over yet!  Kathy will soon be mine!!"
*****

     "What's wrong?"
     Buster looked back at the eldest Warner.  Actually, it was more 
like he was looking past him at the wall behind him.  Had he not spoke, 
Buster wouldn't even have noticed he was there, despite the fact he was 
standing not three feet away.
     Buster didn't feel like answering.  He just plain didn't feel up to 
talking.  His head was pounding, and his stomach was doing likewise.  
His mouth was dry.  His tongue was dry, too.  In fact, the inside of his 
mouth was hurting him.  His teeth even hurt.
     It wasn't going to do any good to ignore Yakko, Buster thought to 
himself.  Yakko wouldn't let himself be ignored.  Buster took a deep 
breath into his shallow lungs and replied froggily "I'm worried about 
Babs."
     "I'm sure she and Wakko are just fine," replied Yakko coolly.   
Buster found the words uninspiring.  He sat further back in his 
passenger's seat and put a hand lightly on his erupting belly.  He 
looked back up at Yakko, who gestured with his thumb toward the front of 
the ship.  "THEY'RE not the ones I'm worried about," he said frankly, 
"it's our friend, Captain Stubing."
     Only then did it occur to Buster that Doc Starkey had been flying 
the water tank for nearly thirty straight hours without a wink of sleep.  
Buster scratched his head.
     "He's been at that control panel a long time," Yakko continued.
     "Maybe we'd better check on him," Buster interjected as he sat up 
out of his seat and followed Yakko to the front of the ship.
     As they approached, neither Buster or Yakko could see anything 
physically wrong with the Doctor.  He'd been quiet for at least a couple 
of hours now, but that was the only symptom Yakko had noticed of the 
Doctor losing his stamina.
     When they reached the control panel, Yakko tapped the Doctor on the 
shoulder.  The Doc looked up.
     "Say Doc," Yakko started, "you okay there?"
     The Doctor answered with a wide-mouthed yawn, releasing a 
refreshing odor of morning breath right in Yakko's and Buster's faces.
"Ughhhh," they commented, in unison.
     "I'm doing just fine, lads," the Doctor told them.  "I feel as 
upity as if I just got out of bed."
     "Your breath smells like you just got out of bed, too," Yakko told 
him matter-of-factly, "but it's good to hear you're doing okay."
     With that, Doctor Starkey let out a little snoring noise, and fell 
forward limply on the control panel.  He was out cold.
     That wasn't the worst of the Toons' problems, either.  It seemed 
that whatever buttons the Doctor fell asleep on commanded the ship to 
make a power-dive straight toward the ground.  Everyone on board pitched 
forward violently as the ship descended toward ground zero at a steep 
angle at an alarming rate of speed.
     Yakko looked up at what remained of the ship's viewscreen.  Sure 
enough, the ship was losing altitude and all set to crash land on terra 
forma, in what Yakko estimated would be slightly less than one minute.
     "This is NOT the way I like to start off vacations," Yakko told 
Buster.
*****

END OF BOOK ONE

Acknowledgements:

The author wishes to acknowledge the following people for their 
contributions to "YWT Book One":

Kevin "T-Bone" Mickel, as always, was a tremendous help.  He gave me 
several comments and critiques to help shape the story in to what it's 
become.  He has powers and abilities beyond those of any normal TTA 
fanfic mediator!  (Only Kevin will understand or appreciate that 
compliment.)

James "Da Playah" Payne and Rebecca "Caffine Girl" Littlehales, thanks 
to you two, too!  Both of them, the former my good buddy with no writing 
ability whatsoever, but with tons upon tons of useless knowledge about 
the Beatles, and the funkiest white man ever to step onto a dance floor, 
the latter a noted fanfic author of her own who also has a mountainous 
heap of useless Beatles info cluttering up her brain.  Only the smallest 
sliver of the facts they've both provided me with made it into Book One, 
but the stuff in Book Two will be packed with information ad nauseum.  
You have them two to thank for that.

Brad "Half-Pint" King is next on my "Gee, t'anks" list for providing me 
with the AMC Gremlin driven by the Heebee Geebees.  Ironic that he needs 
a booster chair to look over the steering wheel.  His favorite meal is 
short ribs, and he can order them off the children's menu whenever he 
goes to a restaurant.  He's also not very tall.

And, of course, to you, the readers.  :*  I love you all!  Well, most of 
you...

Watch for "YELLOW WATER TOWER (Nothing is necessary...) BOOK TWO: THE 
BATTLE" coming soon to a mailing list or FTP site near you!
*****