Team Cowboy.

Chapter Five


The young boy meandered aimlessly around his bedroom, his cerulean eyes holding the exact hue of human tenderness that spilled from the street-lights on this lazy night. An Eve dying into Twilight began to amble the horizon's massive stretch into lands' unknown far beyond his neighbourhood, as daunting as the fall of hope. Every so often he would turn his muse to the path of sultry lavender in the skies, his echoing thoughts concentrating on nothing just to spare the pain of Something.

He was eyed from his possessions as he paced the swath of his room between his bed and the window, as he thought and through intervals within thoughts in which he plonked down on his bed to contain the unexplained ire building up within him. His thoughts were starting to drift from several readings in his mind, starting as plain-and-simply bored and halting at complete-and-utter despair over the apparent loss of yet another one of his toys.

Andy Davis stood up from his place on the bed, deciding once again to check his toy box to re-nsure that the Space toy had not been misplaced. But he still wasn't there. Wherever Buzz might be, he wasn't with Andy.

"Oh, I just know I put him somewhere." Trouble was, with this perspective on the situation, he had no idea where. "I swear I saw him just this morning." The murmurs-to-himself proceeded on for another good ten minutes before he finally decided to give up on that night.

The unexplained depression ensued, and the rest of his toys could only watch. Gaze upon the small boy as he felt his spirits come to pieces at the loss of both his favourite toys.

"And here, Mister McWhiggan, is your display area," started the manager, gesturing with his hands the half-section of the vast room in which the Woody's Round-Up collection was to be displayed.

The Chicken Man nodded, not really paying attention to what Konishi was saying but knowing he ought to nod in agreement. "Uh huh."

"And over this side, not that you should take notice," said Konishi, pointing towards another exhibit in the room's other half."Is our complete original collection of artefacts from the dated years of Space to the Max, a show which is still running on even today-"

Al scoffed, "What makes that show unique?" he asked, scrutinizing the pathetic set.

Konishi was keen to spread his knowledge, "It was the first children's sci-fi to star a female lead."

"Really?" asked Al with little respect for his potential client. "What an accomplishment."

A chortle from Konishi, "Maybe with time, Woody's Round-Up will become a big success and compare to them?"

"I highly doubt it." Remarked Al. "After all, what can compete with Woody's Roundup?"


"You god-darnit, good-for nothin' backstabber." Vexed beyond all realms of physical comprehension even after they'd spent a good deal of time in their display unit, the redheaded cowgirl threw herself with all her strength towards the boxed Prospector ready to tear him to pieces. She might've managed it, had it not been for Woody's interference.

His arms went around her waist as fast as lightning. "Hold on there, Jess." Clearly, Jessie had a better idea in mind as she still kept her eyes trained securely on her target, ready to rip the backstabber apart limb-from-limb. "We just need to-"

"We?" She exclaimed like that terminology was the worst personal insult he could've uttered. "There's no we in this, Woody!" When the venom touched her voice, Woody made sure to hold onto her extra hard so she wouldn't destroy something she'd later regret - preferably someone. "He's a no good-timin' son-of-a-gun." She just about managed to jab a harsh thumb over towards him, but the Prospector took no personal offence to that. "Do you honestly have the nerve-"

Woody ushered her silence by gesturing wildly with his hands. "Will you just listen for once?" Jessie's glower was cold, but she said nothing as she crossed her arms. "We not going to get anywhere by fighting! If we're ever going to get outta here, we need to think of a strategy together - as a team."

Jessie scoffed, idly with abhor, "Good luck with that."

The Prospector nodded his agreement. "That's 'bout the worst excuse for an idea I've ever heard," he shuffled his box to the side, facing away from them. "Besides, I like it here. What would make you think I'd want to leave?"

Teeth grit, Woody spat, "I wasn't talking to you."

"Fine!" Stinky Pete retaliated. "I never wanted to be 'part of your nonsense-talk anyway."

The Sheriff shook his head, averting his eyes to the velvet curtains concealing this section of the room, wondering who the toys far behind it may be.

Everyday, the Sheriff thought bitterly, rolling his eyes, everyday I'm going to have to deal with this, until we get out of here.

The gorging eyes sought them out from behind the restrictions of velvet rope and glittering glass, staring at the collection like a group of mad, giggling hyenas lost in the depths of the savannah fawning on easy prey waiting to take their share of the prized piece.

Blaring lights. Flickering shots everywhere. Cornering their vision, breaking into their eyes, filling their ears with the constant clickedy-click-click of privilaged devices which made no sense to them. First there were two adults, tourists of similar ages, pointing out the wonders of this valuable collector's set, reminiscing on their own childhood's where Woody's Roundup was the most popular show running to the rest of their small family. Then, the flash of a camera ignited and they turned, their eyes growing wide by the site of the Space Exhibit across from them.

The words, so many, flooded into his head, all at once. A cascading rivers of do's and don't's - of upsurging up's and dipping down's...

-Once the astronauts went up, children only wanted to play with Space toys-

He had to stop in his thought, just to keep himself from thinking about it.

More lights! More people. Next, a local school-group was herded in by a small group of adults. Some carried notebooks in their hands eager to take notes to go home and show their parents, whereas the rest - the majority - of students picked at their nails, whilst some had hoods thrown over their heads deviously listening to their headphones or looked to the distance, waiting for the time to pass...

One child turned to them before the others. "Look!" The shrill child proclaimed, a tiny hand shooting into the air. From this angle, it was impossible to distinguish this child from the rest of the flock.

There's no point-

"It's a cowboy!"

"My Mummy used to watch this show." A tired voice hollered above the noise of everyone else. Again, the speaker was completely anonymous. "And it was boring." Numerous responses of approval, a few of fluctuating dispute, and then the flash of cameras from the teachers - wanting to hold the memory in images for anyone and everyone else to share the wonder. The collectible fortune so lost in time difficulty arose trying to decipher the general opinions of the public. A few more murmurs of awe, several huffs of 'I've seen better' and then some more of 'They're so old!' followed promptly by a deep gasp of astonishment.

"Are they space toys?" Another child asked in disbelief, yet again just a figment of the spreading crowd heading towards the far end of the room, where the Sci-Fi exhibit was perched. One last flash of the camera, and then the Space Exhibit got yet another bout of bedazzle-time in the limelight

This schedule proceeded on for hours. Children and adults of all ages passed in and out of the large exhibit, bringing forth a completely fresh mien every time one group entered and another left. Some tourists would come on tour guides and would be told of how 'Woody's Roundup' had been a great success back in the old days and of the background to the show.

The Sheriff learned a great many things about himself that day. Firstly: he hated crowds. But then, still, there was a great deal more left to tell. Sheriff Woody was a character created by an ancient Arnold Crosby who'd invented the show on a whim when browsing through his father's old stack of Colt firearms back from the days in the old West. Intentionally, derived from the snippets of information on boards all over this half-section of the exhibit, Sheriff Woody was to be an arrogant character with a vain personality. The idea, however, was soon altered to appeal to their Target Audience, where everybody needed a hero - and, apparently, one with a heroine to call a Love Interest.

As the hours passed, Woody's mind went agape at the thought. Children looked at him with their eyes shining in joy at such marvellous wonders, before diverging their eyes to the brilliant space exhibit just across from them, but yet Woody felt no warmth from their happiness. With his thoughts reeling on his despair at being parted from Andy and the distraction to which brought forward the contemplation of he and Jessie being Love Interests in the show, the blazing museum lights lost their hue of brilliance and favour in his mind. Irony welled everywhere, but yet he would have none of it.

This was torture.

Breathless grasps of waking sunlight irked at the city streets putting the fragile night to bed once the darkness had succumb to the hands of the rising day. Buzz Lightyear saw in the skies from early on what it was like to watch the dark fade into the light. Keeping awake the whole time as to not waste a single moment when the light returned, he had to admire how breathtaking the Wake of Day was.

It starts off so gently, no more than a touch of radiance, then it blossoms over the hours and turns into a day which will never be completely forgotten. It was a marvelous sight, the onset of dawn proving to be his chance to carry forward.

The Space Ranger trudged on through the heavy bouts of sunlight, itching and pecking heavily at his parts, following his directions carefully to make sure he arrived at the airport in time. For if there is a light to guide you on the way through the dark, there is hope for a better tomorrow.

"Space toys?" For the fifth time since the end to that day had passed, the Prospector uttered his abhor to the circumstances.

Not again. That voice was picking at his patience, the very burden to his thoughts. A blistering iron to the gentle ripples of a lake. Similar to the sound of a child crying themselves to sleep; yes, like that. Only, Woody cared very little for this crier. Woody looked to Pete again, deflating with his sigh like he ought not to be there. I should be with Andy!

"Space toys?" His insides began to plummet. Pete was in his box, staring pointlessly ahead at their competition with a snarl. "I can't believe this!" Woody let his breath go again, this time chucking out of him like there was something better to do with his time than listen to Pete rant on and on about something he didn't give two horse-shoes about. "Just our luck!" -and we've heard this all before- "Why did they have to put us up against 'em?" Woody didn't want to listen to any of this, so pressed the palms of his hands to his ears and sighed deeply. "They ought to know by now that Space Toys always win! Oh, call the tarnation! That ain't fair!" Pete ranted on and on in some breaking fit of rage. Woody plugged his fingers right into his ears, finding cohesiveness to the paint on his boots to be most fascinating. "How can this be justified?"

A sigh from somewhere not too far back in the distance, Woody heard a groan creep past his barrier. He turned his head, just slightly towards her, and felt everything in his Heart of Stuffing ache for her. Even bringing himself to imagine the circumstances for her happened to be on the same level as imagining himself never seeing Andy again, only the answer to the question for Jessie was incontrovertible. Emily'd made clear of her reluctance to deal with the collectible doll for keepsake the day she donated the toy. As for Andy - well, the chances were low because of him. It was his fault; he deserved this. Jessie, however, shouldn't have to deal with any of this.

In his ponder he barely noticed the absence of the whimpers from the corner, where Bullseye had been huddled scared out of his wits. Eyes showing great inquisitiveness, he looked to that same corner again to spot Bullseye shyly making his way over towards the cowgirl, sitting besides her and resting his head on her lap. She returned the look of his puppy-dog eyes with great melancholy, wishing no more but for this to be over for all of them. Bullseye was shaking now from the anxious pace his tail was wagging at, but was settled when Jessie lightly stroked his muzzle.

"There, there." She tried to soothe even though she needed the tranquillity in heart and mind herself. "It'll be okay, Bullseye."

Woody watched with dire weight to his eyes. Opening his ears to Pete again, he could only listen to him drawl on and on about their stupid competition. He wasn't finding any of Pete's opinions interesting, so found himself shutting off again to merely gaze with unpleasant ineptitude at the cowgirl and horse. This was his fault. Had he been quicker - or even more convincing - they mightn't be in this mess they're trying to get themselves out of.

"Are you even listening to me?" The rising Nerves within Woody shook at the yell in his thoughts, feeling like his bones had just been rattled for hours on end.

He was listening now, but he didn't want to. "No."

Then he turned away from Pete, blocking the rest of the world out from him as he tossed himself to the side, falling into a heavy and sloppy sleep.

Outside the window looking sleepily upon the early morning, the night began its peaceful descent into the Earth. "Yeehaw, cowboy!"

There was joy, simply by being held by his kid. "Hey, Buzz," he loved the sound of that voice, so cherished every last bit of it. "That mean ol' one-eyed-Bart has gone and taken Miss Peep in his big spaceship!" The Indications of upcoming adventure, he loved to hear. "We have to stop him!"

Buzz Lightyear was quick in his thinking. Gifted by the svelt tactics a child's everlasting imagination. "I have just the idea, Sheriff!"

A nod from the Sheriff. "At your lead, partner."

Standing for more than he knew, oh he had been clueless. Heroes save the day - and Andy loved them. The boy preferred two, but can settle with one.

"Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!"

A haze misted in the adventure. He couldn't remember it clearly, neither could he recall much action. The typical scenerio of 'the-space-man-speaks-words!-let's-listen!' which always won in the end.

The Pen over the Sword.

"Oh, Sheriff!" Before he knew it, he was at this stage in the game. "You were so brave defeating one-eyed-Bart and his evil minions! I owe you my life!"

A small chortle."It's nothing, ma'am Just doing my-"

"Oh, my gosh - is that Buzz Lightyear?"

She, Bo Peep of the Sheep, loosened the embrace he so dearly cravely and departed from him. To somewhere unknown, where he knew exactly where she was at. The coldness of the air's touch chilled him, relishing on the desolation in his heart.

He looked to his right.
He looked to his left.

There was nothing there; yet, he could still hear everything and all he didn't want to hear. Bo frollicking over the Space Ranger's space-suit, the kindred hero thanking her politely for her comments, the giggle she made when the great Buzz Lightyear approved of her new hair-do.

A muscle tightened around his heart - nothing but stuffing that can be ripped and torn until there's nothing left. Games should make him feel alive; Games should bring him the adrenaline to believe in anything and everything. Yet, now he was struggling to accept that he was still toy. Even in this awful place.

"Woody?" Eager, he turned his head. Expecting half-heartedly a look of compassion. Again, there was nothing. He dropped his head, accepting his fate where he stood in his chasm of darkness. "Psst!"

His eyes shot open. "Yes?" tried Woody, but his voice refused to work with his will. "Hello?"

Turning, the Sheriff tremored into a drooping fall that killed his heart.

For plastic is always stronger than the stitching.


"Psst." Woody tried not to groan when he felt himself awaken, just gently by a small tap on the shoulders and by the carry-on of the hushed voice. He recognized that one, he thought, but he didn't think he should. The thick southern taste to it just didn't quite fit one it should of Andy's room, instead falling into a category of persona so strange to him, didn't meet the criteria of memories that should be lathering inside his mind, congenial with his thoughts and loyalties. He shouldn't be hearing this voice from this toy of whom he shouldn't even know.

Woody's come to mind after living the unreal was woefully inadequate and he woke with a sigh, after having dreamt of being with Andy once more. That was why the voice sounded so foreign to him, perchance against fate to be hearing it. Jessie the Yodelling Cowgirl was not a part of his life with Andy - and she never will be. The dream tore him between the fiction of his own creating and Reality; at home a thousand miles away; with his beloved sickened and surfeiting on nothing… One kind of separation that did things to a Toy's mind….

Woody would know - he's been parted from Andy before.

Andy was his owner - he needed to be with him.

"Pst, Woody?" The Sheriff turned to the sound of her voice, groggily. He didn't want to speak, but he guessed they had to sooner of later, to clean up this mess they've perched themselves into. "Woody?"

He looked at her, idly, "Yes?"

"I think the Space toys are trying to come over to us."

Woody's eyes went wide. "What?"

She risked one glance behind her, where she could hear the gentle talk in the distance, travelling closer by the second. He followed her gaze, contemplating, but there was nothing but the velvet curtains sheathing the display to behold. He glowered at her again, troubled as to why she would wake him up at a time like this. "There's nothing there."

She hushed him, her hand cutting off the offending noise. Taking his hand, she hauled the reluctant Woody over to the very edge of their display unit. Past the dispaly's prized background of saloon bars and school buildings to fix... "Just listen."

Nothing, but the sound of their own breathing. "Jess, I really don't-"

"Just be quiet, will ya?" She sheathed his cry-hole with her hand, listening intently to something that obviously-wasn't-there. "I've heard them talking for a while, but they're coming closer."

He initiated his objection by grousing heavily into her hand. Jessie glowered at him.

"Did you hear about the 'Newbies'" came a voice, penetrating his thought. He turned his head, looking to Jessie in bewilderment. Then, he felt embarrassed. Why is she always right…? He couldn't tell much of whom it belonged to, however, as it was so discreet he barely heard it at first, so listened closer.

"Oh, yes." This was closer and higher pitched than the first he'd heard. Footsteps were heading their way, but that was impossible. No-one was in the museum, and there's no way to get out of the display cases without a key. Unless, of course… "I heard they had a very successful day, surprisingly."

The frown on Woody's face cocked. "Do you think they know the way out of the cases, yet?" His emotions didn't know which side of the scale they should settle on first. Eyebrows heaving, he pressed his ear to the glass.

"But there isn't a way out, is there?" he muttered under his breath.

"Of course they won't." That was almost enough for him to depict the entire nature of said character. Almost at once, he could tell this one was female - quite the irksome one, too. Someone to give orders, boss others about. A role-model followers must adhere to. A leader. Someone like him, in charge and one-lucky-soul-with-their-own-show. "They're new, after all," the stranger said in a mocking tone. Woody frowned, tilting his head just slightly to Jessie who looked just as mystified. "I was the first and the only one to find out where it was."

A moment of silence, apart from the pit-pattering of small footsteps. "So you're going to show them the way out?"

The leader chortled, "I'll be nice and make their day."

Jessie scoffed at her side, her hands against the thin, and surprisingly not-sound-proof glass. "S'not like we ever wanted to be here in the first place," quarrelled Jessie, not so loudly. "We don't need nobody's help."

"Oh, that is such a nice thing for you to do, Maxine." Another, strangely feminine voice cooed, the voices coming closer and closer. "You see, Jill? That's why she's the star of our show." Woody perhaps imagined the scoff of another he heard afterwards. "She always has the interests of others at heart. Doesn't she, Bob?"

The cow folk duo briefly wondered how many parts there were to this group, until they heard something quite from the usual - a bark.

"Bob only takes your side because he's biased, Phil," came the first voice he'd heard before. Woody and Jessie listened in to their conversation, troubled at what-in-the-world they were going to do next. "If I had two bucks, I'd bet-"

"Pipe it down the both of you," intercepted the curt leader. "We need to give these newbies the blessing of our greeting."

A sharp breath came out of Jessie, one close to the premonition of one with an urge to rip the stuffing out of someone else. "Why - I'll show her a greeting," she scowled in ire. "We don't even wanna be here in the first darn place. Why would we want their help?"

"Jessie, shush," retaliated the Sheriff, disclosing his busy thought to descry what the space group was saying: There were several harsh comments of pipe-it-down-wlll-ya, and then some more. Woody concentrated, listening closely as the concoction of noices seemed to drift farther and farther away until he couldn't hear them at all. He frowned, that's strange.

He wished he could look past those velvet curtains; to see what he should be expecting even when he'd done his best to block them from his thought the whole day, staring right at them but too far away to scrutinize them clearly through the crowds. He didn't know what to expect. All he knew was that the people loved them.

There was an amble confusion, "Woody - can you hear them anymore?" asked Jessie, frowning.

"No," he answered, slowly. "I don't think I can."

Stillness to the atmosphere made Jessie curious, pressing her ears to the glass in the hopes that there was still something there no matter how small it may be. There was nothing. "Where did they go?" she wondered, mainly to herself.

"I'm not sure," replied Woody, squinting through the missing light. "Could they be going back?"

"Wouldn't we hear them if they did?"

"You've got me."

With a dejected sigh, Woody turned around heading to where he'd been sleeping. Jessie watched his movements with a sad glint in her eyes. In her pause, she flitted her eyes carefully to Bullseye, twitching in his sleep to where Jessie had just been resting sleeplessly beside him, then to Pete, slumbering smugly in his box with his hands behind his head. She scowled briefly, then returned her gaze to Woody, carrying the great burden of loneliness she felt inside him, weighing her down.

She walked over to him, crouching against the glass, "You don't think we can get out of here, do you?" said Jessie, more of a statement than an innocent question. The frown he wore fluctuating, fluctuating lower and lower.

He lifted his arm testing the stitches, troubled in thought, "Oh, I don't know," Woody admitted as though defeated. "I've just been trying to think of a way to escape ever since Al had us in the suitcase," -Jessie swallowed a gulp- "but the more I think about it the harder it gets."

A sigh, "I know what you mean. It's like when you try to get yourself to stop feeling afraid of the dark. The more you think about it, the more you see that there can be anything there," he heard the frown to her voice, deflating. "I mean... Well, the more you think of something the more complicated it can become." She sighed, blinking. "When Emily gave me away-"

A small crash from behind them made them gasp, waking up the other two toys. In shock, their heads shot over following the source of the commotion. What they saw left them befuddled in their places.

"Oh, Phillip!" snapped an angry female voice. Jessie and Woody stepped back, eyes widened. "I told you to lift Jillian up - not drop her!"

"I'm sorry, Maxine." This one sounded even more feminine. "Jill was just a tad heavier than I expected."

An angry grunt filled the space when another one of the toys was lifted into the case from a gaping hatch none of the others had noticed before. "Why don't you shut up, Phillip, and help Bob up here?"

The cowfolk were frozen in their silence, eyes agape at the sight. So that was how one could escape.

"Oh, sheesh, Jill. Looks like someone woke up with a bad hair-day-"

"No, I did not!"

The first toy they'd seen clapped her hands, shutting them up. "Stop arguing and shut up! The newbies aren't getting a very good first impression of us." Another toy was lifted into the hatch - a very controlled dog who sat orderly waiting for the command of his master once up there. Then, Maxine (presumably the one which'd just spoken) hunkered down by the hatch and helped the final toy up: A man with a voice higher than a drunken mockingbird's.

Whilst Woody stood there unsure of what to do, he observed their outfits briefly. Maxine, a slender-sized toy with stringy golden hair which did wonders framing her face, wore a red and black space-suit with a special silver patch on the front to identify her significance and purple boots, holding a removable helmet in her hands. A perfect picture with a meaning to her name - what every toy would dream for. The odd-talking man, his set age perhaps in his thirties, wore the same clothing without the special patch but had head of hot-pink hair and was considerably taller than his partner.

Well, they're definitely aiming towards a female target-audience, thought Woody awkwardly as he bit the inside of his lip. The one named Jillian, however, protruded in appearance like an dust on a book. She was dark-haired, holding eyes of the intellectual person scowling at the rest of humanity for their ignorance, dressed in an orange and black coverall with a communication device attatched to her left ear. Bob the Dog sat beside her, wearing red boots and an amber coloured suit with a helmet on his head.

Bullseye eyed that specimen, curious, before gesturing to Woody and Jessie to break them from their spell. Once the others had prepared themselves, Maxine turned to them and faked a winning smile.

"Hi, there," she greeted, stepping honourably towards them. "I'm Max, team captain of Team Astronauts, from the popular children's show 'Space to the Max'," she held her free-hand out in offer to the Sheriff, "and I, along with my team, would like to wish you all an affectionate welcome to the Konishi Toy Museum."

Woody took her hand, incredulous. "I'm Woody, the Sheriff of Woody's Roundup."

"A Sheriff, did you say?"


She smiled, benevolently. "Well," started Maxine, taking her hand away from the handshake and pointing behind her. "This is Phil-" There was a gasp, then the scurrying of footfalls. Jessie about stepped back just as the pink-haired man reached for the end of her braid, eyes gorging in fascination.

"Is this braided?" asked Phil, the shrill to his voice now seemingly louder than it had been before. ""Oh, I really wish I could do that with my hair! And it's ginger!"

"It's not ginger!" The redheaded cowgirl defended, pacing some more distance between them, swatting his hand away feeling dumbfounded.

"Just ignore him," recommended Max, rolling her eyes. She leaned closer to Woody to announce, "He's gender-confused. Anyways, this is Bob," - she said, referring to the dog - "and this is Jillian, our trusted navigator."
Jillian made a half-hearted attempt to smile.

Woody arched an eyebrow, "Is that all you came here for?"

"Now, don't be rude," Max started, curtly. "Tell us who you all are."

He hesitated, but continued anyway. "As I said, I'm Woody. This is Bullseye - this is Jessie," Woody said, pointing carelessly to the horse and cowgirl duo. "And this... This is Pete." He almost scoffed at the box, but stopped himself. "Now, is that all you came here for?"

"No," Max crossed her arms. "We also wanted to wish you all luck."

"Luck?" Pete repeated, speaking for the first time. "For what?"

"For our little war-of-competition," she took note in their expressions, feeling triumph inside. "Why? Do you not know?" The quiet spoke for itself. "The Museum has to cut off one of their exhibits, accordingly one in this sector."

Jessie looked at her, uncertain. "Wait, if they can't afford anything else, then why are accepting another collection into their museum?"

"Well, it's a long-story..." She went on, pacing slightly. "But, to keep it short, they want to add variation to their displays before cutting back. To allow the public to choose which theme they like the best."

Woody was nonchalant. "Well, that doesn't matter, anway. 'Cause we're getting out of here."

"But you can't!" came the voice of Jill, her eyes glimmering with an odd sense of superiority. "It's impossible."

He frowned, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you can't get out. None of us can. They seal the doors up at night, and they're our only chances of escape-"

"What about vent ducts?"

"They're all bolted tight." Jillian informed. "Believe me, sir. I've tried."

Warily, Jessie stepped forward, "So what happens if we're cut off?"

This was where Max's face turned sombre, almost as if contemplating her team's own slim chances of failure. "Well, that's where the problems lie."

Pete scoffed, turning around in his box, "What in the good-of-tarnation are you trying to say, you vile space toy?"

"If either group fails," began the leader on a serious, hard-hearted note. "It's a trip straight down to the dumps."