You mess with Harpo Marx, you get the horns.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

What I Did on My Summer Holiday - Part III

Sorry, I was momentarily distracted by Peter Graves nibbling at my elbow. Where was I?

Ah, yes! Summer Holiday! Emergency rooms! Hospitals! Dodgy doctors! Desolate bitterness.

What I Did on My Summer Holiday by Earl Fando - Part III: The Rogue Zepplin

Day Five - Beached:

Mum stayed the night in hospital and was released the next day after not being given all the tests she was told she should have. I long suspected that doctors only speak to each other about golf, summer homes, trophy wives (and husbands for female doctors), and malpractice insurance premiums (and only to complain on this latter point) and not a whit about their actual patients. Apparently, the doctor who suggested in the emergency room that a certain test should be done was never heard or more likely ignored by the doctor who ordered mum's release. Anyway, my brother nearly broke something on hearing the news, possibly a neurologist's loft wedge.

We had stopped by the hospital that morning and stayed for a few hours. Mum suggested we take the Littlest Fando to the beach so she could have some play time, and so we did, despite my loathing hatred for sand and seaweed. We also took the boogie board, which apparently is designed for use in the water and not as a Kleenex stand.

We went to a beach opposite the side of town with the very popular and well-known beach. (No, I'm not going to say the name.) There was a smattering of people here, which is like a spattering, only without as much saliva. I felt relatively safe knowing that the sharks were 30 miles away stalking the unpleasant masses of summer holiday-ers sipping Budweiser and harrassing the locals.

The water was brackish, but warm, which left me with the uncomfortable feeling of standing in the runoff from a bidet. Nonetheless, small fish and the Littlest Fando frolicked in the waves as did a few other nearby people in swimsuits completely ill-prepared to contain their bodies, or the bodies of people half their size for that matter. There was more crack than at a Colombian film premeire.

My lovely wife sensibly stayed on the beach and looked for shells and also watched to terns that decided to stand on a small dune and stare at us for 45 minutes. She said there were three to begin with, but one of them obviously caught a brainwave in the broiling sun and flew off to another dune. Just before we left there were terns and gulls standing on every little rise of sand to the horizon, staring at the open water. I assumed they all kicked the arse of the 5 or 6 pelicans monopolizing the fish out on the water.

We left in part because my child was creeped out by the masses of tiny mussels that were just under the surface of the sand. There were hundreds of air bubbles on the sand and if you dug down with your hands just a few inches, you'd pull up masses of tiny shells. All of them had living mussels in them and as soon as a wave would crash in, they'd burrow back down into the sand in unison. None of this is very amusing I realise. Did I mention that they all formed the words "Paris Hilton is a no-talented bimbo" if you whistled the theme from Showgirls? There I feel better, and I haven't even seen Showgirls.

I of course forgot to bring "flip-flops" and wound up with sand in every orifice of my body except my eyes and 3 pores. Good thing mum has a Shower Massager to blast it all out!

We arrived back at mum's place to find her there. We had Indian food for dinner. These aren't related. I just love a good curry.

Day Six - Quacks and the Women Who Visit Them:

I met my mum's doctor the next morning. Let's just say his bedside manner left much to be desired, such as a personality, or coherent questioning, or some sense of concern for living beings, or an actual bed, rather than the guerney situated in the back office.

Out of respect for my mum's medical condition, I'll say no more about this other than that I'm fairly certain the doctor never smiled once while we were there, not even when mum mentioned payment and he realized he could bill Medicaid. He made Dick Cheney seem like Jimmy Fallon.

The afternoon was quite nice. We pondered visiting a Ripley's Believe It or Not museum, as I'm very keen on things like "How many knitting needles can a person safely pierce their pectoral muscles with," "What's the world record for swallowing portable radios," and "Just how entertaining is contortionism?"

Unfortunately, Ripley's charges and arm and a leg to get in the place or even to watch a couple of short 3-D movies... Believe It ...or Not! (You had to know that was coming.) For those of you who were wondering whether the term "charges and arm and a leg" was rhetorical or not, well despite the fact that this is Ripley's, yes it was. Anyway, paying an actual arm and leg would be getting off cheap considering the actual rates, which were vaguely reminiscent of medical bills.

Instead, we went to a maze. Yes, an actual labyrinth. The premise of this form of entertainment is that you enter a confusing array of passages, wander about until you find the few locations you need to stop at, and then wander out again, dodging your fellow maze-dwellers. In other words, it's a lot like going to the mall, only they charge you at the door. The Littlest Fando proved quite adept at maze navigation, particularly at the end. She navigated by dolphin, as there were two artificial dolphins that were perched above a corner of the maze. All I managed to think of was to make fairly unconvincing dolphin noises as we passed them. That and periodically shouting, "Look out for the bloke with the big bull head!"

We then went to the go-carts again, just because my child really enjoys beating the crap out of her father on the race track. The race began quite early, actually. Whilst we were queueing, I reminded my daughter which of the cars was fastest the other evening, the #15 which was pioted then by a lovely young teenager who beat the trousers off of all the guys on the track, myself included (although she was the ONLY person who passed me, along with my adorable, lead-footed tyke). So, naturally my child managed to manoeuvre around the two people in front of us - despite my emploring her to be patient - and hop into #15, ready to slam the accelarator through the chassis and into the pavement. I'm not sure she's quite learnt where the brake is yet. The previous time we raced here she almost ran over an attendant, and that was while parking.

This time she got a fellow racer sent off. I didn't see the incident, being in the rather slow #11 car and impeded by a fellow who couldn't out accelerate my tortoise of a go-cart but maintained enough speed to keep me from ever passing him. So, I only saw whatever wasn't blocked by this bloke's large, hairy, slow-moving back. I should've pulled a Ricky Bobby on him.

Apparently, she went around some guy, who must've been in his thirties, and he passed her back but only by bumping into her cart. I am fairly certain she shook her fist at him and shouted "Idiot!" but only because she does that in the car to other, less respectful drivers when I'm driving. Like father, like daughter I suppose.

I made dinner myself that evening: Fillets and rice. The steaks turned out quite nice, but for the first time in my life I forgot to add butter to the Bearnaise sauce package which made for a much more pasty sauce. As mum can't have butter, it worked out I suppose; although she didn't actually try the sauce, preferring the American version of chop sauce, the ubiquitous A1 - which stands for something beginning with the letter "A." At least I did remember to salt the rice.

Next: Part IV - Le Grand Finale

We interrupt this comedy blog for a Peter Graves flesh-eating zombie report

Peter Graves not a flesh-eating zombie? What has Stew been smoking? More importantly, where can I get some of it?

However, I must protest Stew's insinuation that I'm some sort of undead Chicken Little who runs around disparaging celebrities at the mere sight of them eating what at first appeared to be oversized baby back ribs.

Let's go with the evidence. First of all, Peter Graves skin tone is exactly the same pallour as Carol Channing's and everyone knows that Carol Channing is a complete zombie, albeit a vegetarian zombie with an oddly cheerful expression.

Second, the clipped, stilted, droning, monotone manner in which Graves speaks is clearly zombie dialect. In Max Speebek's paradigm-shattering tome Run for Your $#%&ing Lives, the Zombies Are upon Us!, he explains how zombie dialect works:

"Zombies can speak almost any language, but most often speak varieties of English, German, and Japanese, although I once dated a zombie who spoke Swedish, was a flight attendant, and was as loose as a thumbless man's shoelaces...but those are a tenpence a dozen. I also thought I encountered a zombie in a film who spoke Esperanto, but it turned out to just be William Shatner in Incubus. Zombies also tend to speak in a clipped, stilted, droning, monotone manner befitting the presenter of a rather staid and ordinary television programme, such as A&E's Biography."

Third, I could have sworn I saw Peter Graves gnawing on a finger during a Biography episode about the life of Slim Whitman, but I must admit he was being very discreet with whatever it was. Come to think of it, it may have been Whitman's finger. That's not necessarily a bad thing.

Finally, there's this, a picture of a peckish-looking Graves with the title "Where Have All the People Gone" hovering above his head. I'll tell you where they've gone (If my theory is correct)... He's eaten them.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

I should know a flesh-eating zombie when I see one.

I was off honing my obsession with Peter Graves by watching 100 straight hours of his movies when someone told me that Earl had defamed the man. Taking a cheap swipe at a man of Peter’s caliber with the baseless charge that he is a flesh-eating zombie is not something I can take lying down. I normally give Earl the benefit of the doubt so I scoured the books to see what I could find out about Peter Graves and any flesh-eating zombie tendencies he may have. I think I have found the answer. Earl must have been watching Roger Corman’s 1959 film The Undead Sorority Girl who Conquered Earth, in which Peter plays the part of Dr. Ted Malone.

The movie is classic Corman in that it makes little sense, has lots of cleavage, rubbery space aliens, more doctors than you could shake a stick at, and a budget lower than Tori Spellings wedding. Peter plays a scientist for NASA who is working on a top secret project to turn sorority girls into zombie astronauts to make up for a shortage of living astronauts. Since it is a well known fact that most sorority girls have no souls, Dr. Malone decides they would be the quickest to produce. One of the new sorority zombie-nauts is launched into space and her capsule turns up missing after passing through the tail of a comet.

One of the classic scenes in the movie involves Peter and Mamie Van Doren, who plays the leader of the sorority zombie astronaut army who returns from space to threaten the earth, facing off in the closing minutes of the film.

Leader: Resistence is futile. We will destroy the human race and replace it with our zombie army.

Dr. Stevens: You’ll never take us, we created you and we can… (zombie leader disintegrates him with lasers from her eyeballs)

Leader: Is there anyone else who wishes to speak?

Dr. Malone: What, so you can disintegrate me with your lasers too?

Leader: Who are you? You intrigue me with your subtle logic.

Dr. Malone: Ted Malone, scientist with NASA, and… the man who created you.

Leader: Then you know that all of mankind must be destroyed for the greater good of the universe.

Dr. Malone: I know man has messed with fire for many years now. We have made war and used weapons which are terrible in their form and function. We in the scientific community are playing God and have unleashed a Pandora’s Box of problems on the world. But we have done many good things too. Man has cured disease, we can fly from coast to coast in a day now, and by 1970 we will be living in bases on the moon. Man may have made his mistakes, but we are learning, and God willing, we’ll put those lessons to use.

Leader: It is too late, we have made our decision.

Dr. Malone: Then you give me no alternative than to use the Hydrogen bomb I have planted beneath this building for just such a possibility.

Leader: You have called our bluff, Dr. Malone. Please return with us to our home planet and take ten of us as your brides. Accept our ways, and we will leave Earth alone.

Dr. Malone: For the good of man… did you say ten of you?

Leader: Yes.

Dr. Malone: Then for the good of man, I will make this ultimate sacrifice. Dr. Collins, Dr. Mulhaney, Dr. Barnard I will miss you and our sardonic banter.

Dr. Mulhaney: Oh Ted, must you go.

Dr. Malone: The world needs this Betty, and maybe I need it too.

Oh, that’s the part that always gets me. Tears start flowing and I just have to turn it off or I’ll be a wreck for the rest of the night. Anyhow, I can see where Earl may have confused Peter for the zombie so I will forgive him for the gaffe. Now, it’s time for me to get back to Peter in the 1963 sci-fi classic The Thing that Ate the Leech People on the Moon.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

What I Did on My Summer Holiday - Part II

More Summer Vacation as promised. I know you're sick of it already, but it is awhile since I've done a running bit so suck up and see it through...

What I Did on My Summer Holiday by Earl Fando - Part II: Sancho Panza goes Surfing

Day Four - Tuesday (possibly):

On day four, my mum had a stroke.

You're probably thinking that's some sort of sick joke, and while we here are not above that sort of thing (Just ask Stew - it's in the bylaws), I'm perfectly serious. A mini-stroke of some sort is what the doctors at the emergency room said she had, but no one seemed completely sure. Fortunately, mum has recovered and is undergoing a battery of tests. I thought the algebra was a bit out of place, but I'm not a doctor.

However, when you visit an emergency room, you do tend to notice things. First off, the attendants at the hosptial we went to had the sense of urgency of the Paleozoic era. Mum was doing fine until she tried to get out of our mini-van at the emergency room and suddenly collapsed. After making sure she was still conscious, which was a fair bit better than me at the time, I ran into the emergency center along with a very helpful passer-by, and announced loudly to two official looking people that my mother had just collapsed in the driveway and might be having a stroke.

Of the two, a middle-aged woman and a man in his late twenties to early thirties, I think the woman responded faster. She did this by looking over at the man and saying in a voice resembling Ben Stein, "You'd better get a chair, Bueller." All right, she didn't say "Bueller", but I think she mouthed it. The man then slowly ambled his way over to a wheelchair and then began pushing it out of the door at a rate that would easily been surpassed by a chipmunk towing a 747. If I could have caught a chipmunk I would have had it push the chair. All that was missing was him spitting tobacco into a nearby spitoon and mumbling, "I reckon."

Once he reached the driveway, twenty minutes later, we set about getting mum up.

"I can't get her in this chair by myself," he announced, frowning and weakly tugging mum by the wrist.

I and the helpful passer-by (Whose name I never did get, I'm embarrassed to admit) lifted mum in the chair, aided in a modest way by the attendant. My wife, who has some medical knowledge emphasized the need to get my mum inside as quickly as possible. At this, the attendant broke into a rather lazy stroll. I beleive my wife may have given him the American version of the "V" sign behind his back at this point, though she has never confirmed that.

Once mum was situated in a room four hours later, we settled down to wait to be able to visit. A few minutes later the middle-aged woman came out and said that we could visit her, one at a time. Later we found out that twosies were just fine with the actual nurses and doctors, and I and the Littlest Fando were able to sit with mum and watch the nurse repeatedly stab her with a needle, looking for a vein for the IV. It wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't kept raising the needle above her head and humming the theme from Psycho. With as many times as the nurse failed you'd think mum was on heroin.

We wandered back and forth between the waiting room and mum's room. The interesting thing is that you have to pass through a secure door to get back there, but just any old person can walk into the waiting room. I think the extra security is to protect the male attendant from violence from the relatives of patients. In any case, my child and I had the secret pass code memorized within four trips back. If you're ever there, it's "5-7-9."

There were other people in the lobby as well. Some of these were very nice, if talkative and extremely revealing people, including one poor woman whose husband was a transplant patient, whose transplant seemed to be failing. The main problem was that he couldn't keep down his anti-rejection medicine, due to nausea, and the emergency room, being a medical facility of the highest order, didn't have any in a form that could be given by IV. Bloody brilliant.

Other types of people in the waiting room were the ones who would sit in your chair the moment you got up to go to the bathroom, or walk over to the emergency room desk, or over to the vending machines, or to stretch your legs for 3 seconds. I would have sat down on one of them if they hadn't broken wind at that precise moment.

Then there was the teenage couple who were so obnoxiously loud they must've thought they were in a cinema. Thankfully, they kept the expletives to a mimimum and hopefully the Littlest Fando still thinks the "F-word" is "fart." (Yes, I know - two flatulence jokes in one post.) Nonetheless, after about 10 minutes, I dearly wanted to put them in the emergency room. I kept telling myself, "They're already here, so they'll get a room really quickly." Thankfully, Christian grace won out, in the form of my lovely wife shaking her head and grabbing my arm everytime I started to make a fist and get out of my chair.

There were two tellies on in the waiting room (No, this isn't a Scum Scum sequeway), one of which had on Fox News and the other Nickelodeon. Please offer you own jokes, as we try to avoid partisanship here. (Conservative readers can substitute the words "Fox News" and "Nickelodeon" with "CNN" and "Cartoon Network" much to the same effect.)

Finally, it always amazes me as to how long it takes to get anything done in an emergency room. I realise that there were some actual emergencies going on at the time that involved direct and immediately life-threatening trauma (or so they offhandedly mentioned a time or two) although you'd think passing out in a hospital driveway with a suspected stroke would qualify for a "stat" or two. The doctors and nurses on ER were the Justice League of America compared to this lot, which seemed to just stand around, slowly fill out paperwork, flirt with doctors, or determinately avoid eye contact with the patients and their family members. I suppose we aggrevated that last bit by asking for the bedpan a few too many times, but it couldn't be helped... I couldn't find the loo.

Anyway, as I said, mum is doing better and is being evaluated (after being released from the hospital after only a couple of tests by an associate of her regular quack... I mean general practicioner), so hopefully all will be well. Prayers are appreciated.

Next - Part III: Felicitous Ambivelance

Monday, August 07, 2006

******Breaking News******

Apparently there is breaking news from Cuba (pronounced COOOBERRR) concerning Fidel Castro and his medical situation. We take you now to Havana where government spokesman Hector “Havana Bob” Chuppacabra is giving a press conference.

Reporter: Hector, Rob Flauta - Kommunist Peoples Daily, is Papa Fidel even healthier now than he was before entering the Peoples Medical Center?

Havana Bob: Si Rob, thanks you for this totally unplanned question which you have asked. In fact, El Presidente is five times healthier than when he entered the hospital and will probably actually outlive all of us. Yes, over here.

Reporter: Déjà Vu – Kommisar Follies and Tiger Beat, what is Fidel’s favorite color and then I have a follow-up question?

Havana Bob: This is a very tough question and one that I have put to El Presidente many, many times. I think if he were here he would probably say olive drab. You had a follow-up?

Reporter: Briefs or boxers?

Havana Bob: El President goes Commando, it does get very hot down here. Yes, here.

Reporter: Eduardo Quaxakjdial - Oaxacoatiolan Picayune, is there any truth to the rumor that Raul Castro has been used to give his brother a total organ transplant and his corpse disposed of in el Bahía de Cochinos?

Havana Bob: This is the typical propaganda spewed by the American Press. Who told you that, Ann Coulter?

Reporter: (hanging head) Si.

Havana Bob: Have you learned your lesson?

Reporter: Si.

Havana Bob: And you won’t try any more silly thinking?

Reporter: No.

Havana Bob: No more questions please, we have heard that El Presidente is leaving the hospital at this moment and we have television cameras there at the moment.

Play video

Havana Bob: This is a capitalist trick all cameras will be seized immediately.

What I Did on My Summer Holiday - Part I

Well, I promised in my last post that I would fill everyone in on the goings-on of the Fando family and so here it is. Please take into account that I've taken my allergy medicines for the day and so my memory may be slightly fuzzy on one or two details. Wherever that occurs, I'll take great care to embellish things to make them more interesting than they probably were.

Given that I read once that blog posts should be short and pithy, I'm breaking this up into a few parts. So here's part one.

What I Did on My Summer Holiday by Earl Fando - Part I: The Expanding Universe

Day One - Saturday:

We spent most of the day in the car, which wasn't so bad given that it was 184 degrees Farenheit outside. For those of you from Europe, particularly Britain, complaining about the recent heat wave there, you haven't really experienced heat until you've watched local wildlife burst into flames on the highway. Unfortunately for our auto insurance, the armadillos leave shrapnel.

We had lunch at a Chinese restaurant we'd eaten at before in a town somewhere on the Mississippi River... All right, alongside the river. Don't be so technical. The food at this establishment was slightly more flavourful than corrugated cardboard. They also had something that resembled sushi, but tasted like rice, seasoned with styrofoam. I did eat some boiled peanuts that afternoon. They were overcooked to the consistency of mushy peas.

We spent the night with family, avoiding overpriced hotels and the everpresent "strange bathroom hairs" that come with them.

Day Two - Sunday:

Some more travel to my mum's on the Gulf Coast. She's lived there since divorcing dad ages ago and lives in a bungalow right on a very attractive bay. I use the word bungalow because it sounds much nicer than economy flat. We have dinner at a Red Lobster's which is alarmingly similar to our hometown, non-coastal city, 600+ miles from a large body of water Red Lobster. Except that this one has fried oysters on the menu, which I order just to be different. They are all right, tasting moderately like oysters.

No boiled peanuts today, just the oysters and breakfast at a Cracker Barrel. The Cracker Barrel is one of those quaint places done up like an old southern "general store" (that's "shop" to those of you in Islington), except the products are all familiar brand names or made in China or both, and there are no large rats under the floorboards. Just to give you and idea of the quaintness of this old postbellum atmosphere, my child managed to purchased a stuffed doll here... Patrick the Starfish from SpongeBob SquarePants. Even now I can hear SpongeBob's mocking, bubblish laughter accompanied by the underwater strains of Dixie.

Day Three - Touristy Stuff:

We spend day three sleeping in, napping, eating at a much better Chinese restaurant than the one on the road (the sushi actually resembled sushi here) and then blowing a mind-numbingly large amount of money on things like carpet golf and go-carts. My child once again demolished me in go-cart racing, having the advantage of being 100 pounds lighter whilst driving vehicles with only 5 HP engines. At one point I was passed whilst climbing a hill by a go-cart attendant with a pegleg.

She also beat me in carpet golf for the first time ever, although I confess to stabbing at my penultimate putt rather recklessly to concede the victory, depsite the fact that Stew has seen me attack putts in much the same way on a full-sized golf course.

We did get the opportunity to walk out on a large pier. We saw a large school of small fish jumping out of the waves in unison to catch insects, which was a fairly uncommon sight, even in these parts. My child was completely uninterested, preferring to sit and grouse about wanting to go out on the beach and frolick in the waves. I explained to her that I despise the beach because of the way in which sand finds its way into every single orifice of the human body. Indeed, even on the pier a steadily rising layer of sand was forming between my toes and at least one other location which shall remain nameless, but rhymes with "coin."

After dodging the numerous fishermen on the docks, their hooks, and at least one dead fish of indeterminate species and expiration date, we were on the beach within five minutes. Less than 20 minutes after that my child bought a "boogie board." I'm still not absolutely sure of the function of this device, other than to observe that it seems ill-suited for dancing, and is much too large to fit in anyone's nostril.

No boiled peanuts today, as I forgot, being distracted by sleep. Also, the sand is in my ears and all over another part of my body which rhymes with "drum."

Next: Part II - The Gloaming

I'm sure he's very worried...I would be

We are always concerned for the welfare of dictators and oppressors here at the Dictionary. As members of the Dictators, Oppressors, and Others Deserve Illness Empathy (D.O.O.D.I.E.) collaboration we strive to feel the pain of our totalitarian friends. Sure they may kill detractors, imprison dissidents, and enrich themselves at the expense of their people, but hey, they get sick too. When we heard about the impending surgery for Fidel Castro, the organization went into effect. We immediately sent him a card, FTD fruit basket, and wishes for a speedy recovery.

We were also pleased to see that Elian Gonzales, the youngster who was returned to Cuba lo those many years ago, had sent Fidel his greetings and wishes for a speedy recovery. We submit for your approval a copy of the letter.

Dear Grandpa Fidel,

I was so worried when I heard you were sick with CENSORED. I am having a lot of fun in Re-Education Camp 37 located in CENSORED. I am very good at tobacco leaf origami, baseball, and model boat making. I plan to learn all I can and use this knowledge someday for the glory of Cuba. Thank you again for saving me from the capitalist evils of video games, Slurpies, regular meals, fun, free thinking, and Honey-Nut Cheerios.

Grandpa, I am worried you will need further treatment. Please consider going to The Mayo Clinic in the United States of America. I hear they have wonderful treatment even for dictators and beloved leaders like you. You could even take me with you to assist you and pick up things you might need. Please consider this as I am very worried about you.

Very worried to the point of distraction,


p.s. Tell Raul hi for me.

Here's our fingers crossed that everything will go quickly.

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Not a Moment Too Soon

I'm back, and I can see that it's... well, I'm sure you read the title of this little opus already. Odes to a jar of mayonnaise? Peter Graves? It's like Rowan and Martin have taken over, disgusied as Bert Kwouk and the Ritz Brothers. I'm not sure what that means, but I think it might be quite profound.

Right, then...In any case, it's good to see two posts from Stew in a single day, and that Nuffy is still loonier than Orson Welles in a frozen foods commercial. (If you listen closely to the link, you can hear Orson pouring himself a drink. It must've been Gallo, and it must have been time. Hear Orson rhapsodize about peas and July here.)

Anyway, my holiday was interesting and not without incident, as I shall relate to you in another post, just to keep you in a state of suspense.

Finally, I must protest Stew's assertion that Peter Graves is living. I have it on good authority that Peter Graves has been a flesh-eating zombie since 1997. In fact, they could only film the Biography bits with him after that time by using a telephoto lens and discreetly chaining him to the plush armchair directly behind him. Even then they could only use the takes where he was coherent and not drooling.

The outtakes reel is pretty hilarious actually... except for that unfortunate bit where he broke loose from the chains and bit off the big toe of a sound engineer. That was awful, though I must admit you can hear the biting sounds and the engineer's cries of pain in extremely high fidelity. The bloke could work under pressure, that's for sure. Of course, now the poor bastard is a zombie too. He's still got the job, being talented and in the union, but it does make for a complex set, what with all the space and chains required.

Where was I? Ah, yes. I'm back. Someone please give Nuffy a strong sedative, and tell Stew not to get too close to Peter and his sound man unless he enjoys the idea of being served tartare'.