Captain Quark - 0T

 3.Ø8

Spacetime: 97341.5.602

Spinning, spinning, spinning…Darkness.

Rain pattering on a glass ceiling. 

“Max!” 

“Yes?”

“Where are we?”

“No idea.”

“Where is everyone!” 

Muddle opened his eyes. Sian sat next to him, propped against a marble statue. She asked, “What happened?”

“What do you mean?” Muddle’s thoughts were fuggy. 

“Uhh…” Sian fumbled,  “...I think the time jump...went wrong…”

Muddle sensed something similar, but thought it had been a dream. Surely.

Suddenly fearing the worst, Muddle scrambled to find the One Watch. His panic only subsided only when he confirmed that the watch had not gone missing and, in fact, had not even been scratched. Muddle also noted that true to form, the One Watch had absorbed the latest Time Cheater. The watch displayed a miniature of the Sanctum of Secrets right next to the number III. 

Muddle was about to reveal this discovery to Sian when they heard voices. 

Sian touched a finger to her lips. Two men entered the echoey hall. Their shoes click-clacked on the tiles. One was carrying a flashlight. Lightning flashed and Muddle realized that he and Sian were in an expansive hall and there were things...no, not things...exhibits. Yes, that’s the word. There were dozens of exhibits scattered throughout the hall: gems, jewels, weapons, art. You name it. 

Muddle guessed that he and Sian were in an annex of a large museum. The air smelled old, but clean-old. Whisper-quiet ventilators dispatched the mustiness that can damage delicate, hmmm....what was the word? Antiquities! That’s it. Sian and Muddle were in an antiquities museum. But which one? The sooner they knew, the sooner they could begin tracking down the next Time Cheater. 

The men came closer. Sian strained to get a better look, but the flashlight glare prevented it. 

It occurred to Muddle that he was not as scared as he should be. Perhaps he had encountered so many freakisk oddities of late that, short of swallowing flaming swords, his brain refused to get worked up about trivialities. But there was something else. Muddle guessed he might be feeling blasé because one of the voices sounded familiar. Non-threatening. 

“There you are!” It was Rudyard, “Did you guys move? I could have sworn I left you in a different part of the museum.”

“Things like that happen around here.” The man accompanying Rudyard switched off his flashlight and clipped it to his belt. “This museum is full of surprises.” It took a few moments for Muddle’s eyes to adjust. When they did Muddle discovered that Rudyard’s companion was a man with a cheery smile, dark hair and a taste for poofy togas. Atop the toga, the man wore a dark tie, a black utility belt and a name tag that read, “Nightwatch: Lawrence P. Diog”. Lawrence extended his right hand, “My name is Diogenes. Lawrence Diogenes. But you can call me Larry.”

Rudyard attempted to introduce Sian, but she spoke first. “Where are Gellie and Ubie?”

“Oh, sorry,” Rudyard snapped his fingers, “I should have told you right away.” He handed Sian a folded note. “I found that in your hand after we arrived.” 

“Thank you, Rudyard,” Sian opened the note. She frowned and re-read the message before handing it to Muddle.

“What does it say?” Sian’s stony reaction made Muddle nervous.

Sian fluttered the paper, “Just read it.”

With misgivings, Muddle accepted the note. He strained to see the writing in the dim hall. The message said:

Dear SM&R, 

Sorry. We had to bail out of the time jump. Our Employer needed help. Don’t wait for us. We’ll catch up. 

Stay safe! 

Love, 

G&U

Muddle scratched his head, “Gellie and Ubie have an Employer?” He returned the note to Sian. “Did you know that?”

“No,” Sian looked uneasy, “It’s news to me, and makes me wonder what else I don’t know.” 

“This is an unexpected development, but…” Rudyard reasoned, “...I don’t think there’s cause for alarm.” 

Sian scrutinized the PI, “What makes you say that?”

“Well…” Rudyard speculated, “...if Gellie and Ubie’s Employer can pluck them out of an interdimensional spacetime jump, that Employer could just as easily—so to speak—pull our plugs. So…” The PI waved at their surroundings, “...if we’re still plugging, that means we have a powerful ally.” 

“That sounds about right,” Larry spoke up, “A lot of demigods pass through the museum. If they don’t have active supporters on Olympus, they generally don’t get very far. ”

“I see...” Sian responded, “...but we aren’t demigods...”

“Oh, sure…” Larry chuckled, “...that’s what they all say. Anyway, …” He fine-tuned his point, “...it’s not who you are that matters, it's what you’re doing. Take my word for it…” The nightwatchman jingled his keys, “...you’re on a quest.”

“How do you know what we’re doing?” Muddle asked. 

“Rudyard told me.” Larry nodded at the PI. Before Sian and Muddle could light into Rudyard, Larry added, “Plus, I’ve had your visit on my calendar for the past three moonths.”

“What?” Sian gasped, “Three moonths?! How can that be?”

“Well…” Larry spluttered, “...I need at least three moonths to optimize a VIP museum tour. You wouldn’t want your visit to the Athens Museum to be a waste of time, would you?”

“Well no…” Sian conceded, “...but…”

“And, before you say anything else…” Larry pushed on, “...thanks to my advance planning, I already know where to find your next Time Cheater. 

“WHAT!” Sian and Muddle shouted.

“Yikes!” The volume of their combined shouts knocked Larry back a step. Through force of habit, he scanned the museum to see if his guests had disturbed any other VIPs. Seeing nothing amiss, Larry lowered his voice instructively, “As soon as I heard that you were scouring spacetime for abnormal technology leaps, I knew exactly which exhibit you needed to see.”

“Really!?” Sian crossed her arms, “I thought Athenians were great philosophers, but iffy technicians. At best.”

 “That’s a common misconception,” Larry nodded, “...and that’s why I’m taking you to the Pyrotheus exhibit?”

“Pyrotheus?” Rudyard combed his memory, “You mean the guy who stole fire from the gods?” 

 “He’s the one…” Larry confirmed, “...if anyone understands the hazards of tech-…” Before Larry could finish he was interrupted by three toga-clad men. Instead of breezing through the doorway one by one, all three slammed into it at once. A dictionary-sized bronze box that they were carrying flew into the exhibit hall and skittered across the floor. 

“Oh, no,” Larry covered his face, “Not these guys.”

Following their collision, the trio's leader growled, “Spread out!” Then he started slapping faces, pulling hair and poking eyes.

Sian was aghast, “That’s horrible!”

Rudyard hooted, “That’s hilarious! What are the Three Stooges doing in the Athens Museum?” 

Larry bristled, “Where else would they be?” The nightwatchman seemed simultaneously elated and mortified that this troupe of clueless comedians would call the Athens Museum home. “Of course…” He added, “...most people know them by their other names: Playdoh, Socrazee, and Aristipple.” 

Rudyard’s jaw dropped. 

The Stooges yowled, “Woo-woo-woo!!” and “Nyuck-nyuck-nyuck!” before making another dash for the door. Though no one could have seen it coming, the Stooges once again jammed shoulder-to-shoulder in the doorframe. Instead of ricocheting backward this time, the Stooges popped through like three whiny corks from a bottle. 

The reason for the Stooges’ extra momentum became clear when a cyclops poked his gigantic head through the door, “Now, I seez ya’ nawdy liddle nobodies! C’mere so’z I can squish ya’ like pancakes!” Being far too large to squeeze through the doorway, the cyclops thrust an arm into the hall and tried to swat the Stooges like bugs, “Whack! Whack!! Whack!!!” The cyclops’ pounding caused exhibits throughout the hall to shake, rattle and roll.

When the Stooges realized that they were beyond the cyclops’ reach, they grew emboldened and began taunting him, “Nya-nya, Polyphemus! Your breath smells worse than your mama’s army boots.”

"Waaah!!" The cyclops wailed, "Quit talkin' 'bout my mommy!" 

“Oh, no…” Sian groaned, “That’s not good.”

“Back up! Back up!” Larry hissed, "If we can sneak out before the cyclops smells us, we’ll be fine!” 

“Okay!” Sian motioned for Rudyard and Muddle to follow Larry, “We’re right behind you.” Quieter than mice, they backed through the maze of artifacts. 

The Stooges continued having a fine old time. They stuck out their tongues, swatted their fannies and capered about like fools—all the while tossing their bronze box from one to the next. Predictably, Polyphemus grew so enraged that he tore through the intervening wall like it was made of styrofoam cups. As the homicidal cyclops towered over them, the Stooges had the audacity to look surprised. 

Obscured by a plume of plaster dust, Larry whispered, “Stay calm! We’re almost there.” 

Sian examined the rear wall. She saw nothing but a smooth expanse of plaster. If they were closing in on an escape hatch, she had no idea where it was. 

“Ha!” The cyclops roared, “You stupid nobodies tawt ya’ could run away! Din’t cha!” The cyclops hoisted a tree-size club over his head. So focused was he on the Stooges that Polyphemus failed to realize how low—on a cyclopean scale—the ceiling was. The club shattered a huge swath of the glass ceiling and, luckily for the Stooges, became entangled in a roof beam. 

The Stooges were imbeciles, but they were smart enough to spot a stay of execution when they saw one. While Polyphemus struggled to free his club, the Stooges turned and hightailed it directly toward Larry and his tour group. 

Seeing them pelting toward him, Larry howled, “Nooooo, you idiots! Run the other way!!” 

“Eyyy!!” Polyphemus fumed, “I tawt I smelted sumpin’ else.” The cyclops wagged a torpedo-sized finger at the nobodies, “Stay put ya’ stinky liddle meeces. I’m comin’ jus’ soon’s...” Polyphemus tugged and twisted, but his club would not come free. At length, the cyclops decided to put his whole back into the job. On the count of, “Wuuun! Toooo!! Freeee!!!” Polyphemus yanked with all of his might. 

The good news for the Cyclops was that he managed to free his club. The bad news was that, in doing so, he brought the roof down on his head. Most creatures would cash in their chips if a largish building fell on their heads, but cyclopians are not typical by any measure. The cyclops roared, “‘Eyyy! Kin sumdie help meee? I’m stuck unner a pile o’ stoopid rox!” 

Seeing that the cyclops was once again at a disadvantage, the Stooges spun on their heels and raced back to the rubble pile. 

“You idiots!” Larry excoriated, “Now might be a good time to escape don't you think?” 

True to form, the Stooges mocked Larry for being a killjoy. 

“And to think…” Muddle gaped at the Stooges reprising the idiocy that they had sorely regretted only moments ago, “...no one has had a larger impact on modern civilization than those dipsticks.”

“Yeah…” Rudyard opined, “...it’s shocking, but then again…”

“...it sure explains a lot. Doesn't it?” Sian QED'd.

Still playing hot potato with the bronze box, the Stooges clambered up the rubble pile and resumed bad-mouthing Polyphemus. 

“Hey, Larry,” Sian proposed, “I think we’d better get out of here, don’t you?”

Larry had his ear pressed to the rear wall and was so deep in concentration that he didn’t hear Sian. When he failed to respond Sian tapped his shoulder. 

“Aaagghh!” Larry jumped like a spider had landed on him. When he saw it was Sian he apologized, “Sorry, I thought it was those idiots coming back for help.” 

“Funny you should mention that...” Sian pointed at the Stooges, “We need to scram before those nincompoops resurrect Polyphemus.”

No sooner had Sian said it, than the rubble pile began to move. 

“Yikes!” Larry’s eyes popped, “I’m going as fast as I can.” 

There was a roar from beneath the rubble and then a gigantic fist punched through the debris. Once again, the Stooges had the audacity to look surprised. They wailed, “Woo-woo-woo!” and “Nyaah, nyaah, nyaah!” as Polyphemus freed one appendage after another. 

Muddle shook his head, “...those idiots…!!”

“It’s gotta be here!” Like a plaster pianist, Larry’s fingers danced across the wall, “...it’s gotta be...right here!”

Suddenly, the debris pile erupted like a geyser. Polyphemus sat up and roared, “Hah-hah!! So dere yuz are!” The Stooges hugged each other while the cyclops dug through the rubble for his club. 

“Oh, no…” Rudyard covered his eyes, “...this could get ugly.”

Sure enough. Polyphemus found his club and flung the weapon at his enemies. The Stooges hit the dirt and the club missed them by millimeters. Sensing their lives were hanging by a thread, the Stooges leaped to their feet and, once again, sprinted away from the only visible exit.

Seeing the Stooges race toward them, Sian vented her fury on the only thing that at that moment she hated more than the Stooges: the rear wall. Sian kicked the wall so forcefully that she smashed a sizable hole in the plaster. Her kick also jarred loose the mechanism that Larry had been searching for. A small metallic cylinder, about the size and shape of a motorcycle handle, popped out of the wall. 

Larry hurrahed, “Way to go, Sian!” He grasped the cylinder and, in doing so, activated a camouflaged turbolift. Larry pressed a button on the base of the cylinder and the lift’s doors obediently whisked open. The doors made a kitschy whooshing sound that any Star Tech fan would instantly recognize. Muddle could feel Rudyard’s eyes burning the back of his head, but he refused to make eye contact—as doing so would only cause trouble. 

The moment the doors flew open, Larry and the F3 charged into the turbolift. As they raced across the exhibit hall, the Stooges yowled, “Wait for us! Hold that elevator!! You can’t go without us!!”

Socrazee held the bronze box aloft and shouted, “See, I’ve got it! Nyuck-yuck-yuck!”

Larry plugged the portable controller into a housing on the lift’s inner wall. The cylinder blinked yellow as it activated the lights, controls and bio-comfort systems in the lift. Following a lightspeed sequence of safety checks Larry’s controller switched to an inviting shade of green. The moment it shone green, Larry clutched the cylinder and shouted, “You can shove your stupid box where th-...!!”

The turbolift doors snapped shut right in front of Socrazee’s stunned face.

---

“That wasn’t very nice,” Sian frowned. 

Larry’s eyes were glued to readouts streaming above the turbolift’s double doors. In response to twists and tweaks from Larry’s practiced wrist, the turbolift could fly up, down, sideways, or carve pretty much any inertial trajectory that was permissible in four-dimensional spacetime. 

“Aaagghh!” Larry grouched as the turbolift hit a computational speed bump and diverted to a track named the Westworld Spur. “Trust me…” Larry looked troubled by the unexpected detour, “Those clowns don’t need help. All they want is an audience.” 

Rudyard studied the innumerable inertial controls that Larry was monitoring, “How can you make sense of all those readouts?” 

“No kidding,” Muddle chimed in, “I can barely keep up with the GPS in my car.”

It wasn't easy, but Sian managed to keep a straight face. 

“It’s all down to skill...” Larry bragged, "I’ve been doing VIP tours for an eternity, so…” The nightwatchman eased back on the throttle as the turbolift approached its destination, “...I’ve learned pretty much everything there is to know about these babies.” 

The turbolift came to rest. Before Larry could open the doors, the turbolift displayed a mandatory safety presentation. A hologram that looked remarkably like Larry's paternal grandpa winked to life beneath the doors. Sounding like an old train station conductor, Grampy laid down the law, “ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS: To provide a full immersion experience, all Athens Museum Backstage Exhibits operate on a 2Real2Sim retrologic platform. Not only will VIP Tour Guests witness history in the making but, thanks to the magic of +99.95% RealDeal facticity, VIP Tourists will literally participate in the making of history.” 

“Hey…” Muddle pointed accusingly at the hologram, “...that sounds a lot like my…”

“Sorry professor…” Larry deactivated the hologram, “...we don’t have time for academic digressions...”

Sian and Rudyard gave Muddle a dirty look for wasting everyone’s valuable time. 

“Ahem…” Larry smoothed his ruffled feathers, “...as I was saying, we have arrived at the Pyrotheus Backstage Exhibit. This exhibit contains scenes of extreme torture that may not be suitable for all audiences. If you are under the age of seventeen or find the sight of human entrails disturbing…” Larry leveled a prescient eye on Rudyard, “...you may wish to remain in the turbolift during this portion of the tour.” Larry signed off, “Are there any questions?” 

“Uh, yeah…” Muddle raised a hand, “...I’d like to get back to…”

“Please be advised...” Larry ignored Muddle, “...the weather in this exhibit tends to be windy and wet. If you don’t have an umbrella, you are welcome to borrow one of mine.” With that, Larry unlocked the turbolift’s safety seals and retracted its doors. 

When the doors opened Larry looked confused. He expected to gaze out upon Pyrotheus, the hero who had stolen fire from the gods and, for his trouble, had been sentenced to an eternity of having his liver pecked out by a giant eagle, but nothing remotely like that was on display. Instead, the tour group had ringside seats to a night raid by Greek soldiers. The soldiers were wheeling a large wooden horse toward an imposing enemy fortress. 

Larry mumbled as he re-examined the turbolift’s navigational controls, “This is...crazy…I...could have sworn...” 

While Larry struggled to figure out where his VIP tour had gone wrong, there was a shout in the distance, “Hey, Larry! Thank Zoots I found you!”

One of the Greek soldiers began waving at the turbolift. The other soldiers tried to strangle their noisy colleague, but he fought out of their clutches and sprinted toward the turbolift. “Hold on, Larry,” the soldier shouted, “I’m coming!” It was difficult to see in the dark, but it looked like the soldier was carrying a smallish, metallic box. 

“How strange…” Rudyard squinted at the soldier, “...do you know that guy, Larry?”

“Wha-…?” Larry answered dizzily. Seeing that the soldier was mere sekkents from reaching the turbolift, Larry shouted, “No! None of this is right! We have to get out of here!” Larry’s hands were so shaky that he couldn’t reactivate the turbolift. 

“Easy, Larry,” Sian reached for the turbolift control, “Why don’t you let me fly this bird?” 

“Hey, wait! With each stride the soldier’s shouts grew more urgent, “I’ve got it, Larry! Look!” He waved the metallic box over his head.

“I don’t get it,” Larry shook his head, “This was not part of the itinerary.”

“Not to worry, Larry.” Cool as a cuke, Sian shut the turbolift doors, “We’ll get this bird back on course in no time.” 

The soldier pounded on the turbolift. His voice was muffled, “Hey, Larry, let me in! I’m here to help. Trust me!”

Larry’s complexion had turned pasty. He looked at Sian and croaked, “Let’s get out of here.”

---

 

Larry was at a loss. Following their unprecedented navigational glitch, Larry rebooted the turbolift’s retrotravel controls and then set the lift on autopilot. Larry explained that traveling on autopilot was like riding in a log flume. Every move that the turbolift made would be confined by rigid navigational parameters. Foolproof as that sounded, the turbolift continued to malfunction. 

The lift’s next default destination was supposed to be the ancient Olympic Games. Instead of basking in the grandeur of the first Olympiad, the turbolift delivered the tour group to a creepy labyrinth. The moment that Sian opened the doors, a massive minotaur tried to force its way into the turbolift. Sian had to practically empty her phraser to drive the bull-man back far enough to escape. 

The turbolift’s next preset destination was supposed to be the moment when Odysseus discovered the Golden Fleets. But instead of witnessing that glorious spectacle, the turbolift deposited the tour group at the climactic battle of the war between the Titans and Olympians. Just as Zoots was preparing to hack Cronuts into a heap of fish bait, old man time shouted, “Hey, Larry! I hear you’re looking for this!” Then Cronuts flung one of those confounded bronze boxes toward the turbolift. 

The box would have hit Larry right on the numbers if Sian had not slammed the doors shut. As the turbolift departed from the scene the bronze box struck the lift with a brassy klunk and then clattered to the ground. 

Larry was at a loss. Never had one of his tours been plagued by so much mishap. The nightwatchman’s last hope was to reboot the entire VIP Tour. Doing so would involve journeying back to the moment when Larry had received the FF’s tour request from a mysterious party named, “The Mightiest of All.”

“It’s our only hope,” Larry explained, “If we can find a way to reconnect with an undisturbed spacetime corridor, we should be able to break out of this recursive spacetime floop.”

“What in blazes…” Rudyard looked lost, “...are you talking about?’” 

“No need to answer.” Muddle cut in, “Explanations only increase the number of things he’ll never understand.”

Deaf to the catfight, Sian said, “Let’s make that jump, Larry.”

Larry pointed at a glass-covered ‘Reset’ button above the turbolift control box, “In the interest of full disclosure, I have never done this before.” He took hold of a little hammer that dangled from the emergency box, “The Reset button is programmed to restore the turbolift’s original 2Real2Sim factory settings.”

Sian nodded, “Sounds good to me.”

Larry didn’t seek input from Muddle or Rudyard. Instead, he began pecking at the glass. After a blippet of fruitless pecking, Sian nudged Larry aside and smashed the glass with her fist. She swept away the stray shards and urged Larry to proceed. 

“Okay, thanks…” Larry reached for the Reset button and offered one final word of advice, “...2Real2Sim resets can make passengers feel a bit queasy, so…” 

“Wait! What?” The word ‘queasy’ caught Muddle’s attention, “I have a very delicate stomach…”

“So do I!” Rudyard quailed, “Do you have any Dramaquine tablets? I can’t even ride an escalator without a double dose of Dramaquine!”

Sian closed her eyes, “Just push the button, Larry.”

Larry did as he was told. The moment he hit the button everyone realized that Larry had wildly understated the rigors of the Reset. Throughout the Reset process Muddle felt like he was being kneaded from head to toe by a barbaric dough hook. Time and space churned this way and that without rhyme, reason or respite. Until...

“Here we are!” Larry sang out. Somehow, the nightwatchman had come through the Reset like a sunbather at Club Med. 

Muddle checked with Sian and Rudyard. Both looked precisely as dreadful as the history prof felt. The word “queasy” did not even begin to capture their misery. 

Annoyingly, Larry was so chipper that he performed a peppy little cha-cha dance. Eager to make a fresh start on their trouble-plagued VIP Tour, Larry unsealed the turbolift doors and...

All hell broke loose!!

Instead of stepping into VIP Tour HQ, Larry and his luckless tour group were greeted by none other than...the Three Stooges! 

Larry screamed, “Nooo, not agaaiiiinnn!!” Like a nightmare from which they could not awake, the Reset had returned the tour group to the moment when Larry had slammed the turbolift doors in the Three Stooges’ faces. 

The Three Stooges whooped “Woo-woo-woo!!” and “Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk!” as they bounded into the turbolift. Polyphemus was still hot on their heels. But before the cyclops could claw the Stooges out of the lift, Sian shut the doors and whisked the lift to safety.

With the Stooges crammed into the turbolift, there was hardly enough room to breathe. Larry screamed, “You idiots!!”

“Hey! What?!” The Three Stooges yelled back, “Who are you calling idiots?”

“You!” Larry barked, “I’m calling you idiots!!” 

“Well, if that’s true…” Playdoh shoved the bronze box into Larry’s hands, “...then you’re an even bigger idiot…”

The Stooges sang out in unison, “...any fool knows you can’t travel to ancient Greece without an Antikythera Mechanism!!”

Larry’s eyes fell to the bronze box. He turned greener than Commander Spork and moaned, “...whoops...”

---

“Wow!” Rudyard whisted, “It doesn’t look like much.”

Sian, Muddle and Rudyard were standing around a deceptively modest exhibit. The artifact they were examining looked like nothing more than a crumbling lump of corrosion--but looks can be deceiving. In this case, upon closer examination, a wondrously complex mechanism containing innumerable gears, wheels and readouts peeked out of the corrosion.

 

“Yeah…” Larry chuckled, “...looks can be deceiving. That mechanism...” He smiled lovingly at the crumbling lump of bronze, “...is the most extraordinary navigational instrument ever built by humans.” 

“Amazing…” Sian breathed.

“No kidding…” Muddle scratched his head, “...how could something so extraordinary become entirely lost to history?”

Larry tapped his nametag, “It’s what I call job security. Sometimes we have to preserve wonders for eons until people learn their true value.” 

“You mean…” Rudyard couldn’t resist the opportunity, “...until people accumulate enough poetic intelligence to use their brains properly?”

Larry ignored the PI. Instead, he backed away from the exhibit and flashed a Vulcan peace sign, “Live long and perspire.”

“You too, Larry,” Muddle clasped Sian and Rudyard’s hands, pressed the One Watch against the exhibit and transvaporated flawlessly. 

---

Meanwhile…

---

Uranus Blowhard was standing on the fifty-yard line at Super FoosBowl LVII. Having paid enough to bring Elvis back from the dead, the attendees booed lustily at the disappointing halftime show.

"That's right! Get it all out." Clueless as ever, Uranus Blowhard fell in with the boo-birds, "You have every reason to be disgusted. Shillary Claptrap is the worst! And I mean THE WORST!!" Just for fun, Blowhard started chanting, "Lock her up! Lock her up!"

When no one took up the chant, Blowhard tried another old favorite, “Four more years! Four more years! Four more...” When that chant belly-flopped also, Blowhard whipped out his iPhony and sent Igor an urgent text, “HELP!! My best material is bombing!”

Lurking in the shadows beneath the stage, Lutin responded, “Don’ vorry, ees feex!” 

Moments later, Blowhard’s banged-up wheel ship descended from the heavens. Fearing for their lives, the FoosBowl fans were mightily relieved when the wheelship assaulted them with nothing more dangerous than Blowhard’s MAGA chant. 

The chant started off low and slow.

MAGA! MAGA! MAGA!

With each beat, the hypnotic chant became faster and louder.

MAGA!! MAGA!! MAGA!!

Fans tried to resist, but the chant killed so many brain cells that they were soon overwhelmed.

MAGA!!! MAGA!!! MAGA!!!

Before you knew it, sports fans the world over were cheering. 

MAGA!!! MAGA!!! MAGA!!!

MAGA!!! MAGA!!! MAGA!!!