The scene: Beach Party on the Island of Doktor Zymm! The little DFO stoner session has turned into a full luau, with various ninjas and technicians from the island base hanging out. Covalent Blonde is flat on her back, watching the stars, the dusty old box of snacks she found in the van in her outstretched hand. Ballsofsteelandfury is basting the pig, because it’s a luaua and there’s gotta be a pig. And Marc Trestmans Windowless Van is out in the water, throwing a beach ball for the stoned great white shark, who keeps swimming out and retrieving it.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van (throwing the beach ball): Hey, guys, I think I have a new pet, man!

Ballsofsteelandfury (basting away): Great, Marc. At least he’ll shed less than…

Moosemas Gorilla wanders by and smacks Ballsofsteelandfury on the back of the head.

Moosemas Gorilla: Ook!

Ballsofsteelandfury: Ow! I was gonna say… Cookiethulhu!

Moosemas Gorilla: Ook!

Covalent Blonde: Yeah, he doesn’t believe you.

Ballsofsteelandfury: How do you know?

Covalent Blonde: Because he just said…

Covalent Blonde sits up in the sand and looks at the box of snacks quizzically.

Covalent Blonde: Just what the hell is in these things?

Sitting near Ballsofsteelandfury is Don Po, Professor Po’s failed ninja of a nephew. He’s lightly strumming a ukulele and Bun-bun the campuchin monkey is sitting on his shoulder.

Don Po: I never wanted to be a ninja, y’know?

Ballsofsteelandfury (basting): Is that right?

Don Po: Yeah, I got pressured into it by my parents. They saw it as a real growth industry. Me, I always loved music.

Don Po strums the ukulele and three strings break.

Bun-bun: Eep!

Ballsofsteelandfury (walking over to Marc Trestmans Windowless Van’s van): It’s cool. Lemme just turn on the radio here…

Cue music:

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Woo! Cheap Trick! I think I, like, wrote this song, man.

Moosemas Gorilla: Ook?

Covalent Blonde: No, “She’s Tight” wasn’t their only song. Who tells you this stuff?

Cut to: A little-used U.S./Mexico border crossing,where the border patrol officer from Chapter 69 is holding up a loooong line of traffic that’s trying to get into the U.S. He’s moving pretty stiffly, thanks to the neck brace.

Border Patrol Officer (looking over a man’s I.D.): Hmm. Yer gonna have to pull over until I can verify this.

Man: Verify what? That’s my driver’s license.

Border Patrol Officer: Uh-huh. Suuuure it it, Mr. Delgado.

Man: Oh, for… I was born in New Mexico! And for that matter, so were my parents!

Border Patrol Officer: Just pull over so I can…

Suddenly a the sound of roaring engines echoes over the desert. It grows louder and louder. The border patrol officer looks up quickly from harassing the man in the car, then grabs his neck in pain.

Border Patrol Officer (grimacing): Oh, no. Not again…

Led by the Moosemobile, the DFO speeds toward the border crossing. Their motorcycles roar as the Moosemobile, avoiding the long line of stopped cars, crashes instead though the border patrol office. Wood splinters and glass shatters as the Moosemobile trashes the building, the DFO motorcycles close behind.

Future Moose (behind the wheel of the Moosemobile): YEEEEAAAAH!!! Now aren’t you glad we headed to Cancun after that Florida kerfuffle?

Señor Weaselo (in the passenger seat, draining the last drop out of a bottle of mezcal): If we could never talk about what happened in Florida again, that would be great.

Otto’s Brain (rolling around on the back seat): Woo! Hey, Weaselo, have you thought about what you’re getting Rob for Father’s Day?

Señor Weaselo responds by flinging the mezcal bottle out of the car. It flies high in the air, then comes down with a solid thunk on the border patrol officer’s head. He collapses into the dust.

Future Moose (glancing in the rear-view mirror): Nice shot.

The rest of the DFO ride past the unconscious border patrol officer on their motorcycles. The man in the car gets out, retrieves his driver’s license, then gets back into his car and drives through the remnants of the office. Behind him the long line of cars follows suit.

Yeah Right (on his purple & yellow bike): That was one crazy trip, huh, Teddy? It’ll be good to get home!

Teddy’s BOTW: Nrgh!

Yeah Right: You bet. I’m ready for some peace and quiet.

Cut to: The beach party again. It’s dying out somewhat. The fire is dimming, the pig has been consumed, and the weed is running low. There are some ninjas and technicinas passed out on the beach, and a few more splashing around in the ocean. Marc Trestmans Windowless Van heads out to the water, pig haunch in hand.

Ballsofsteelandfury: What’s up, Marc?

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: I just want to feed my shark, man. Like, I don’t want him getting hungry and eating one of the ninjas.

Don Po is snoring away on a log, Bun-bun snoozing away on his chest. Covalent Blonde moves his legs so that she and Moosemas Gorilla can sit down.

Covalent Blonde (eyes dilated): So you’re saying my penchant for violence is not just a reaction to the world around me, but a reflection of it?

Moosemas Gorilla: Ook.

Covalent Blonde (watching her hand make trails): You’re blowin’ my mind, man…

Suddenly there’s a roar of engines. A burning cargo plane soars overhead and keeps flying out over the ocean. There’s a distant explosion, which wakes up the dozing ninjas and technicians.

Don Po (groggily): Are there fireworks? I thought I heard fireworks.

Bun-bun: Eep!

Ballsofsteelandfury: No, that was a cargo plane. Huh. Wonder what it was carrying.

As if in answer, a yuuuge bale of weed falls gently from the sky. It’s attached to a parachute and sways with the breeze, which carries it directly into the campfire.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van (throwing the pig haunch to his shark): Woo! A gift from the weed gods, man!

Covalent Blonde (inhaling deeply): Let’s get this party going! Again!

Ballsofsteelandfury shoots the nearly impossible Texas panhandle double-twirl finger guns.

Ballsofsteelandfury: Yeah! Beach party bake-off!

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van (approaching the weed fire): Dude, this is, like, the best day ever, man!

Cut to: A few miles away. Another parachute is descending slowly towards the Pacific Ocean. This one is carrying two men. Or rather, it’s carrying one man, and the second man is holding onto the first one for dear life.

BFC: Yeah. This is just great.

Jerry (gripping BFC’s legs): It’s not my fault!

BFC: It never is. Remember that time in Hong Kong?

Jerry: Only vaguely…

BFC: Or Thailand?

Jerry: Hey, who knew ladyboys were a real thing?

BFC: Well, I hope you’re happy with yourself. Discount airfare on a cargo plane. That really didn’t raise any red flags?

Jerry: Not until that DEA helicopter opened fire. I thought we were just getting a good deal.

BFC: Well, that good deal of yours is going to land us in the middle of the Pacific, at night, with no land in sight.

Jerry: I know.

BFC: We’re probably going to drown.

Jerry: I’m sorry.

BFC: Or get eaten by sharks.

Jerry: It could be worse.

BFC: Seriously? We just got shot down over the Pacific…in 2017, mind you, not 1942…and we’re probably going to die before morning. How could it be worse?

Jerry: We could’ve flown United Airlines…

To be continued…