“OK, where do you want this?” wheezed the conspiratorial handbag.
“Over by the fastening, behind the lizard.” replied mysterious-figure-numero-uno.
“Sure thing boyo!”
“That’s Boy Oh to you!”
Edgo manfully (well, hippofully, since he's not a man) shifted the filing cabinet, revealing the faded, tattered slip of paper which had fallen to the floor and been blown underneath the cabinet by a mysterious gust of otherworldly wind.
[The narrator pauses to gulp for air after that overlong sentence].
When Edgo tried to stand up straight, though, he found his back disagreed strongly with the concept of straightening. He called immediately for his three monkey masseurs.
[A two hour massage session later].
"There. That's better," sighed Edgo as he slumped into his heavily reinforced recliner. "Now where was I?"
[Edgo was dead soon after, his absent-mindedness and tendency to amnesia making him easy pickings for a disgruntled hyena who Edgo had helped send to prison].
"Howdy pardner!" shouted the Cockney cowboy.
"Shhhhh... There're dinosaurs around," whispered Franky.
"What's a dinosaur?!?" questioned Bill (the cowboy), loudly.
"I'M A DINOSAUR!!!" growled a tiny ornithosaurus, as it bit into Bill's leg.
"Yowee!!!" yowled Bill.
Then, thankfully, the universe collapsed under its own entropy, allowing an escape from this tale of cowboys, dinosaurs and Franky.
Farouk screamed. It was a surprisingly high-pitched scream for such a large man. Why was he screaming? The answer to this question is not readily apparent. For the answer we need to go back to a time when Farouk was 20 years younger than he is now. A time 20 years ago. That means that if the year is now 2000 (which it is) that we are now going to have a look at 1980. Or thereabouts.
The year: 1980. The place: Farouk's local fruit stall. The fruit: a tomato. As Farouk lifted the tomato, it screamed. A high, keening wail.
"What's wrong, Mr.Tomato?" asked Farouk, simply because it seemed to be the kind thing to do.
"Well..." was the beginning of a painful seven hour talk of woe and misery from the tomato, culminating in "... and now I'm here."
Farouk had no choice. He became the first ever tomato counselor. Tomatoes everywhere came to Farouk's office, lay down on his comfortable couch, and unburdened themselves of their many and varied problems.
Then, one day, probably 20 years after the fruit stall incident, since that would almost make sense, the Psychiatrists Association of the World took away his license. They had just discovered Farouk's specialisation in tomato head-shrinking and considered it reflected poorly on them. Which caused Farouk to scream,
"Noooooo!!! Tomatoes are people too!"
"How can I get him to notice me?" sobbed Collie van den Berg.
"Sugar-coating might work" replied Marion, her assistant, helpfully.
"But what could he possibly see in a peanut like me?" wailed Collie, tears flowing in translucent, torrid streams down her nutty cheeks.
"Oh, even walnuts like Prince Vernon need the support and acceptance of nuts as wonderful as you, no matter what your differences might be."
"Maybe a good salting would do the trick?" attempted Collie, the tide of her tears receding somewhat, as she allowed herself to dare hope for the love of a walnut so grand as Prince Vernon.
"Yes! That's the spirit!" smiled Marion, glad to see her friend and employer find some comfort.
"Hmmm..." pondered Collie and Marion, plotting simultaneously.
"Go on then! Divide me!" screamed the already fractured fraction.
"But we have no common denominators!" returned the more stable fraction.
"Can we still be friends?" queried the first fraction, hesitantly.
"Of course!" answered the second with unbridled enthusiasm.
"Screech!!!" gargled the pneumatic Wolfman.
He had a very large purple handbag hanging from his left hand. It contained two oxygen welders, with floral patterns adorning them. They didn't actually work though, which made them useless, except as paperweights, or unwieldy weapons for hand-to-hand combat.
Trouble was a-brewin' at the old Walston mansion. This was to be expected, as it was totally nonsensical. Which made it paradoxically easy to understand. But still quite confusing.
"Oh, how glorious!" startled Mrs. Boxingworthy.
What she had neglected to mention was just how glorious it actually wasn't. But never let the truth stand in the way of a good startle.
"Um..." remonstrated Master Top, remonstratingly.
Then the figurative fireworks began, with aliens landing; cardboard boxes spontaneously flying open, and then closing themselves again; grass growing backwards; and the ever-present Catalogue Fairy providing much amusement with her impression of Mikhail Gorbachev.
Luckily, even with all of this, no one was hurt.