Teresa drove the orange International down her lane just in time to see a man in black disappear through the side door of the mini barn. She parked the tractor and heard Bill inside great him loudly. "Well well, sit down stranger, that ain't piss on the seat. I just came in from the swamp country and the dew's still on my feet." That old Rangey Lil poem was wearing thin but it still made Teresa smile as she pictured Bill sliding his boots off a chair. But for who? She put her ear to the door.

"I got a better idea than a spa at the Homer salt spring" said the man in black. Teresa peered through a crack in the door and noticed the stranger puffing on a cigar stub. "What the hell are you doing all dressed up like that Meesh?" asked Bill. "Its the sabbath" came the reply as Teresa swung the door open in disbelief. Sure enough, it was Meeshaw. Memories of the wing sauce deaths at Hamburg beach and the ruination of her Anchor Bar welled up in a rage that moved her to rip a rutabagha hoe from the wall and swing it with all her might at Meeshaw's head. Meeshaw was accustomed to such manoevers, having been captain of the Ohsweken lacrosse team. Instinctively he dropped to the barn floor but landed so hard on his ass the air in his lungs was forced out with pressure sufficient to blow the cigar butt from between his lips a distance of over twelve feet. It landed in a pail of gasolene that Bill was using to clean tractor parts. It was a perfect shot.

The three of them made it to the door of the mini barn just as it whooped into an orange ball of flame and smoke. They ran down the lane a safe distance and turned to watch the barn dissolve into a raging inferno. It was surprisingly quiet and as the structure collapsed Bill could tell that the cattail swamp was burned to the ground as well. Bill yelled "Oh no, my snake ranch is gone too. All of them are burned up" directly into Meeshaw's blackened face. "You two #$%&ers better leave right now" yelled Teresa "before I beat your #$%&ing heads in." As Bill and Meeshaw ran to Meeshaw's old pickup, Teresa began to think about her insurance deductible and the effect the whole event would have on the budget for her new wonder building.

As Meeshaw found third gear on Bottom Line, he turned to Bill and grinned "don't worry I got a way better plan than snake skin boots ever was." "Oh Lord here we go again" thought Bill, and the look on his face betrayed his dismay. "What is it this time?" he asked.

"I bought the old Farkin barn on the Niagara River" said Meeshaw and "I plan it for a luxury golf condominium. You can get in on the bottom and make a killing Bill. We need a minor variance, but I got Pastor Mennon in my pocket already." "Who's Pastor Mennon?" "Oh he be the new CCB chairman. The Toronto government trained him for years to come down here and run the place like a theme park - ha ha."

As they rolled up to the Farkin barn Bill asked a very intuitive question. "How does golf fit into an old barn like this?" "Good question Bill, answered Meeshaw. Can you still drive a long ball?" "Sure." Answered Bill, as Meeshaw reached behind the bench seat of the pickup and pulled out a Ping Beryllium 9-iron, a box of golf balls and a beautiful over and under twelve guage Wingmaster.

As they climbed the stairs to the third floor of the Farkin barn, Meeshaw explained the intricacies of shotgun golf. Akin to trap or skeet but instead of shooting clay pigeons, the shooter targets golf balls hit from a building. "The ceilings is twelve feet, that makes lots of room for a golf swing" Meeshaw explained "and there is enough room in the barn for twenty-eight condos with every one set up with driving and shooting platforms aimed over the river. Its so beautiful it makes we want to cry. I experimented with birdshot but the best results are with triple-ought buckshot. Here, drive one up over the water and I'll show you."

They were on the top floor of the barn at one of the several dormer windows that characterized the Farkin barn style. Bill drove a ball from the window high over the river and Meeshaw fired, missed and fired again blowing the ball into a gazillion pieces. It was spectacular and the echo inside the barn was very loud. They did it again. There was a tremendous commotion on the coal oil dock across the river at Lewiston New York.

For that Sunday evening a binational tribute to General Brock had been planned by the forts on each side of the river. The signal to start the celebration was to come from the old cannon at the Queenston redan, just upriver to the south of the Farkin barn. Billy Hillyard Sr. was to fire the redan cannon signal at dusk. On the American side, Retired General Clint Leghorn of the Youngstown Legion was in command of the American segment of the tribute located downstream at Fort Niagara. From his barstool in the Fife & Drum, General Leghorn listened carefully to the shotgun golf booms from the Farkin barn and issued the command to return the salute, despite protests about the time of day from his men.

Six cannons of different sizes fired from the walls of Fort Niagara were timed to clearly echo the first six notes of "oh oh say can you see". Inside the officers' commissariate of Fort George on the Canadian side, Billy Hillyard Jr. was jolted out of a sound sleep by the cannonade from the US side. He rushed to the main redoubt above Navy Hall clad only in long johns and a tricorn hat. Billy ordered his "men" to fire the reply. In their shock at seeing Billy in such a state, the four young summer students under his command lit all six bangalore fuses related to the salute plus four more for no good reason at all.

The Canadian salute was as impressive and touching as the American. The British cannons fired the first six notes of "God save our grac-ious Queen". Fortunately, three of the extra bangalore fuses stopped and died at the touch holes of three unloaded cannons. The fourth was connected to a fully loaded cannon containing an eighteen pound ball stuck in its breach since 1814. For reasons known only to the great one upstairs, that ball chose to fly on that afternoon of pre-mature festivities. The concussion of a loaded cannon firing is altogether different than a simple black powder salute. Billy was knocked to the ground.

The large eighteen pound ball was still clearly visible flying towards Fort Niagara as Billy reached the top of the wall at Fort George. It looked like it would fall short, yes it would, for sure. Right through the roof of the US Coast Guard office building. The impact was audible and men of the Coast Guard could be seen running from the building towards the docks.

Meanwhile, a short distance up river, Meeshaw and Bill continued their friendly game of shotgun golf which Billy and his "men" listened to with confused looks all round. The US Coast Guard heard it too and within minutes a red and white gunboat roared out of the Coast Guard boat house with five sailors in full body armour, manning three fifty calibre machine guns. The gunboar screamed past Fort George heading upriver looking very much like a Democratic party propaganda machine.

The golfers in the Farkin barn didn't hear the hum of the Coast Guard gunboat until it was opposite them in mid river, following the invisible international boundary. On his follow-through, Bill noticed the gunboat as it swung around and cut wildly on its edge turning toward them. Meesh saw it too and took his eye off the golf ball flying toward mid-river. They both sighted the ball again as it doynged the kevlar helmet of Commander Buck Coffin.

"God that must smart at that distance" Meesh chuckled.

The Commander's view shifted immediately to thousands of stars dancing on the water and he screamed something unintelligable in his native Cheroke. The boys on the boat heard the golf ball doyng, had no idea what it was, but interpreted the scream to be one of Commander Buck's rarely understandable orders. Billy Bob Nelson seized the chance to impress his commanding officer and unleashed the bow machine gun on the Farkin barn. The heavy 50 calibre bullets passed right through the barn. Meesh did his instinctive pratt fall and Bill stood speechless as two dormers over their heads exploded in splinters. Neither was hurt but the dust was choking. Union Jack appeared at the stairs and began to bark incessantly from the dormer window at the far end of the barn.

"Cease faaar. Cease faaar." Yelled Commander Buck as he raised a red and white bull horn to his mouth. "You up there, come out with your hands up. You are in violation of United States air space." By this time the gunboat had stopped but was holding position in the current. The river bank directly in front of the Farkin barn was steep, about forty feet in height, causing the Americans to look up to see the barn. "In violation of US air space?" Bill asked, looking at Meesh who simply shrugged.

Thing and Union Jack had been playing toss the rudabagha behind the barn. Targetting the eye hole in an old millstone leaning against the wall. Thing rarely missed and Union Jack loved to retrieve a bouncing rudabagha. Three years in a row Thing had been chosen all-star pitcher in the Anishnaabe New Credit baseball league. And for the past two seasons he was first string quarterback for the Ohsweken Warriors football team in the Caledonia Kill'em Conference. Thing had one hell of a throwing arm, for a monkey, and he knew it.

At the sound of the bullhorn, Thing knew Meesh was in trouble. He reached into the deltasaddle toolbox behind the pickup cab and took out two live grenades. He stole them some weeks earlier in the Red Barn Antiques on Bottom Line when the owner was occupied with Meesh's ammunition order. Thing raced up the stairs at the opposite end of the barn from where Union Jack was attracting the Americans' attention with frantic barking. He pulled the pin on one of the grenades, took aim and threw it towards the gunboat as hard as he could.

Pvt. Billy Bob Nelson spied the grenade as it sailed from the barn window and he knew, all too well, the meaning of its trailing puff of smoke. Speechless, he followed the trajectory and noted the grenade's perfect spiral as it just missed his outstretched hands and dunked straight into the air intake breather of the gunboat's engine. For a fleeting moment he thought to himself "man that was a beautiful throw." The grenade rattled down to the engine compartment as Billy Bob screamed "fire in the hole" and leaped into the river.

The explosion blew the transom completely off the gunboat. It took on water immediately and the weight of the machine guns caused the top heavy craft to turn over and sink in a matter of minutes. Commander Buck and his four crew were unhurt, bobbing in the water like corks.

"No need to throw the change up, Thing" said Meech. "That was a perfect strike. Amazing how that body armour floats. The current here is about eleven knots - them boys should be back home in less than an hour."

"Did you see the underside of that boat?" asked Bill. "It had no prop or rudder. It was a jet boat." Bill stared at Meesh with a look that told Meesh they were in business again. The first thing Bill did was contact cousin Relic, the beachcomber out west.

The call to Rellick at Molly's Reach didn't go through but it didn't matter - something big was up. Ladanian Hill and Blueberry screamed into the paved yard behind the Farkin Barn skidding the John Deere Golf/Turf buggy to a dusty halt. "They must be back together" thought Bill as Blueberry started to wail in a way that made Union Jack howl in harmony from somewhere deep in the old barn. "The yankees are caught in the big eddy" she wailed. "Holy crap" said Meesh, "if we don't get to em they'll get sucked down like floaters in the new shitter at the coffee shop." Meesh was a tad crude at times but at that point everybody in the group painted the same mental picture.

The old Fargo and the John Deere Golf/Turf buggy sifted off down the shore road in a cloud of dust on a mission of mercy. Thing was already in the box as Union Jack chased from somewhere and lept aboard, dragging the Ping Beryillium 9-iron with him. Thing was not at all sure what the commotion was about so he loaded the over and under Wingmaster. Thing was exceptionally bright, for a monkey, and he knew it.

As they rounded the bend at Fodgey Farr's they were approached by Lil in her Avanti racing towards them from the north. Her real estate broker, Revin O'Donnel was in the car with her and Bill immediately thought that was odd, remembering the whoopin' she'd put on him in the roundabout. Lil had heard about the floaters in the big eddy and wanted to help - she snapped the Avanti into a handbrake 180 turn peeling in behind the Meesh and Ladanian vehicles yelling "By gawd we got us a convoy." To which Revin yelled in reply "aliewso, aliewso" - Lil never knew what the hell he was trying to say.

As they hit the intersection with Bottom Line the yankee floaters came into view and sure enough they were caught in the big eddy. Going round and round with masses of brown foamy flotsum and pieces of lumber and old furniture and things that looked like beach balls and all caught in a something looking like a big syphon. Then they noticed a familiar orange tractor dart across the road pulling the most peculiar thing any of them had ever seen. A cannon mounted on a scooter.It was Mother Teresa with Jaak Menon standing on the tractor tongue with a firm grip on the muzzle of the cannon. "They're here to finish 'em off" yelled Meesh. "This can't be happening" Bill thought. And then, from behind, seemingly out of nowhere a deafening roar heralded the arrival of Jake Menon with a contingent of the Canadian Chapter of Hell's Angels. They didn't stop but dissapeared over the bank in a cloud of dust roaring down the mud trail that ended at a wooden dock where people often dumped garbage in the river.

Meesh yelled at Teresa "what in tarnation is that thing behind your tractor?" Jaak Menon tried to talk but whenever he got nervous or excited all he could say were sounds that appeared to be in morse code. Before she could answer, Jaak yelled "dit dit dit dah dit dit" and again "dit dit dit day dit dit". "He's trying to tell you its a #$% Mobile Ordnance Cannon Rescue Artillery Piece" replied Teresa, coughing with all the dust. "It fires a #$% rescue rope and was supposed to go to South Africa in the #$% Boer War with the #$% Canadian Expeditionary Force but it got left behind on the #$% dock." "They call it the #$% M.O.C.R.A.P." "I do not believe this" thought Bill. "dit dit dit" yelled Jaak. For years people had actually thought Jaak was speaking in morse code until Penelope Whyte Badger did a scientific analysis of his utterances only to find they were in fact complete jibberish. Looking around to check for listeners, Teresa said "Jaak stole the #$% thing at the Fort open house last year".

As the Menon bikers roared down to the river the US sailors started yelling and waving their arms as they bobbed around in the foamy swirl of garbage. Help was finally at hand. Their lives would not end in the big eddy after all. But they dropped their arms in disbelief as the Fargo bumped down the hill. Thing was standing on the cab roof twirling the Wingmaster around like he'd seen the Rifleman do on TV. Thing had made a big impression on the sailors earlier that day and they all recognized the big monkey immediately, especially now that he had slipped into his battle fatigues. Union Jack leaped out of the truck and commenced a barking barrage which made matters worse. Ladanian and Blueberry arrived in the John Deere followed by Lil and Revin in the Avanti. Despite the commotion, Lil immediately sized up a marketting op and pulled a stack of pamplets from her gris-gris bag. A candidating group for her Three Chakra Tune-up she was promoting as a special saturday deal called "Lil's Spa Day of the Soul". Jaak Menon was first to sign up with a toothless grin and "give me the beat girl and free my soul dit dit dit." A stranger stopped his convertible at the top of the bank to see what the comotion was all about.

"Roll that MOCRAP over here" yelled Ladanian Hill. He well knew how it worked as it was from a collection of armaments in the abandonned mess hall at the fort. He considered them all his play toys. MOCRAP was pre-loaded with a coiled length of heavy rope. It was the damndest looking contraption anyone on the river bank that day had ever seen in their lives. A cannon mounted on a scooter in army green paint. As they rolled MOCRAP up to the water's edge the US sailors started to scream and yell and swim frantically in the swirling mess. "Look at that" laughed Meesh "we're scaring the bujesus out of them boys." Ladanian stuffed a short length of cordite fuse into MOCRAP's touch hole. With a wide grin Big Jake Menon walked over to MOCRAP, flipped open his Zippo, and lit the fuse.

In the midst of the Keystone Cops routine being played out along the bank of the river Bill and Lil came face to face.

Hi, said Bill.
Hi, said Lil. How’ve you bin?
B. OK. And you.
L. OK.
B. It’s been a while.
L. Ya. Where’ve you bin?
B. Here and there. You.
L. I live here now.
B. I know.
L. I run a b&b. And a retreat.

B. I know.
L. What are you doin’?
B. Waiting for some rutabagas to ripen. (Chuckles) It’s a living.
L. Ya, I know what you mean. (Pause) You’re lookin’ good.
B. So are you.
L. Thank you. I feel good. I’m eating better. And I exercise.
B. It shows.
(Pause)
L. You look more clear. Your eyes are brighter.
B. (Chuckles) I’ve been doing some work on my head.
L. I’d like to hear about that some time.
B. I’ll tell you some time. It’s been interesting.
L. I bet.
B. (Chuckles) Right now I’m trying to track down an answer.
L. To what? (Pause) Tell me.
(Pause)
B. How to reconcile magic with reality. Bring them together. I can’t seem to get them both in the same place at the same time.
L. I don’t know the answer to that. (Pause) Maybe we could go look for it…

[Miller]
Hutch was right!! We simply *must* give podcasting a whirl with the blog. Keep the website with the fun images but send out audio podcasts too. I have a cheap earphone/mic and will start the ball rolling when I get a minute, maybe even tonight. This morning I had a blog epiphany about a community rescue of the US Coast Guard sailors caught in "the big eddy" off Mennon Point. Doomed to be sucked down "like floaters in the new Kohler crapper at the coffee shop". An amazing group of citizens turns out for the rescue. I took notes over breakfast.
******************************************************

[Gummo]
Before Lil could finish her sentence there was a huge explosion. Smoke was rising from one of the cannons on the wall of the fort. Bill and Lil looked up just in time to see Thing flying out over the river toward the shipwrecked sailors. He had a World War 1 aviator’s helmet on his head, an inflatable SpongeBob life ring around his waist, and a bulk pack of miniature Mars bars in his right hand.

“He’s either goin’ to the rescue, or he’s cruisin’, or it’s Hallowe’en and he’s shellin’ out!” laughed Meesh. “What a muchacho!!”

As soon as Thing hit the water he used his powerful arms and the flotation of the life ring to propel him toward the helpless mariners. He went to Billy Bob Nelson first. He fed Billy Bob a Mars bar for energy, and dispensed the contents of a PEZ dispenser directly onto Billy Bob’s outstretched tongue.

“Windowpane!!”, shouted Billy Bob Nelson. “This dude’s got Windowpane!!”

**************************************************
[Miller]
Crazy crazy stuff that *just* has to go on the air. Working on running the scripts thru the validator wizard then I have to finesse everything with daypop syndic8 aggregator utility. Working with teenagers on line is, like, really cuel like awesome. Any of you lurkers out there managed to listen to Shotgun Golf? Find any bugs? In Poland lurking is considered early onset senility.

OK, I downloaded iPodder and installed it and started goofing around with the software. Not exactly intuitive and often counter-intuitive but that just confirms I'm one of the ancients.

Then I did some research on line about how to set up an actual podcast site. It made me quite tired immediately, which means I must be tired because I want to learn. I want to believe. But alas, too old and tired tonight. Good news is it shouldn't cost more than $0 worth of shareware to set up QuesT as a podcast site to which people running iPodder could subscribe. Then there is the matter of sitting with the mic and recording the episodes. That would be the really fun part.

It would be much much easier if we knew somebody who could just instruct us how to set this up. The tiring part is learning by crash and burn. What about Hutch?

**************************************************

[Gummo]
With new-found inspiration the rest of the crew dog-paddled toward the chimp. He seemed to be floating above them on his SpongeBob life ring. His right hand held the PEZ dispenser, and his left hand appeared to be raised heavenward in a blessing. Each sailor accepted a Mars bar, and extended his tongue to receive the beneficence of the PEZ dispenser like a fervent communicant at Easter Mass.

“Holy Christ Jesus!”, shouted Meesh. “Look what he’s doing now!”

Thing had the sailors lined up in the water doing exercise routines like a synchronized swim team. He was handing out swimming goggles and shower caps. When they had the routines down more-or-less pat he had them join hands and do frog kicks in unison. The propulsion of the collective kick was slowly driving them out of the eddy toward shore. Thing was barking out commands like the cox at a high school rowing regatta.

Lil and Bill turned back to face each other.

Lil repeated her last line, completing it this time.

L. Maybe we could look for that place together.

Bill was suddenly on an escalator that was taking off like a rocket to some unknown point in an infinite dreamy universe. Equally suddenly the thought occurred, Did I hear what I think I just heard? In an instant the escalator fell away. Bill was consumed by a vertigo the likes of which he never felt before. He noted total chaos in his gut. But he had the presence of mind to ask the key question.

B. What do you mean?

“C’mon, c’mon!!”, shouted Meesh. “We’ve gotta help those folks! After what that monkey’s given them, they’re not Able Seamen anymore, they’re Disabled Seamen!” He laughed uproariously at his own humour.

Meesh was zipping back and forth along the riverbank in his motorized chair shouting instructions.

Revin sprinted to the Avanti and pulled all the blankets and yoga mats out of the trunk, and ran to the shore. Blueberry followed with a lariat that she’d fashioned from a length of rope she found in the Farkin Barn.

Ladanian and Billy Hillyard Sr. ran to the turf buggy and scooped all the rum and whiskey miniatures out of the panniers. “Not booze, you idiots!”, shouted Meesh.

The Volunteer Fire Department had arrived and were suiting up to have their picture taken for what they understood to be “fire at the Farkin Barn”, unaware that it should have been the DART and Delta Force 4 that were called out. The town’s other emergency response vehicles were in the Mennons’ shop being detailed, and wouldn’t be available for two or three more days. The executive of the Board of Trade had also arrived, to do damage control messaging for what they understood to be a tour boat mishap that could wreak havoc with the upcoming tourist season.

Mother Teresa had not quite forgotten her allegiance to the Stars and Stripes.She shuffled to the carryall on the tractor. She lifted out the same crock-pot with the incubator attached that she’d taken to the Stampede. Only this time it was filled with homemade borscht. She looked directly at Meesh.

“Get some sour cream, you lout! We’re gunna treat these *&#%%* boys right!”

******************************************************************************
[Miller}
There are some horrendous sub-plots that need to be resolved in this episode that Leah has come to call The War of 1812. I left some big issues needing exploring. For example, why is Ladanian driving Billy Hillyard's John Deere? Why is Blueberry no longer with Billy? How do we prevent the US from escalating the shotgun golf incident to a point where a naval frigate comes up the river? Say it isn't so that the Fed has downloaded the fort to VirgilON and Billy and Revin have formed a development company bent upon building a condo tower on the military reserve. So Ladanian is now in charge of the fort and Blueberry is so confused she just follows the John Deere to whatever man she finds at the wheel. This is just almost beyond my abilities to comprehend, let alone develop the story lines. I know, I think we need to develop a strategy and a mission statement. Ah now I feel so much better :<))) But wait, what about Rellick and the west coast connection with the jet boat business. Man we are never going to get out of this thing.

[Gummo]
We’ve come full circle. A mindful narrator should realize the story started with Mother Teresa coming to the rescue with some hot food, and using the word “lout” to boss someone around. A careful reader will note that Meesh has not said, “You’re not the bossa me”, and that there are many loose threads left in the story. Far too many to list here.

If we’ve come full circle, this story’s like a wheel!

And if the story has come full circle with loose ends, when will the loose ends be tied up? Maybe the threads will be tied up in the next turn of the wheel. Or maybe not. Events in the story have been somewhat unpredictable, as if the story has taken on a life of its own. It’s not certain the story will ever resolve its own issues, or whether clarity will make itself known in the fullness of time.

And if we’ve come full circle, and the story has free will, and we don’t know where it’s going from here, maybe we’re dealing with the Wheel of Life. The Wheel of Life is a concept no narrator should ignore. And if it’s the Wheel of Life, maybe it’s like any other wheel.

It measures its rotation in revolutions.
It shines in the sun if it’s chromed.
It comes with whitewalls if you pay extra.
It gets covered in mud.
It figures prominently in a photograph by Stieglitz.
Stray dogs piss on it.
It rolls in a straight line.
It wobbles.
It falls over.
It bounces over the bumpy bits.
It sings if the pavement’s hot.
It rolls uphill, stops, and rolls back.
It gets pumped up.
It leaks.
It blows itself out.
It throws a tread.
It brakes for beer.
It meanders down side roads.
It turns on a dime.
It picks up speed.
It stops.
It becomes a tortured metaphor.
It needs someone to push it down the road from here.

“*%$#*”, said Mother Teresa. “Just get on with it.”

[Miller]
The wheel of life indeed. Lil's cell received a call beaping the refrain of "I've Been Everywhere Man". "Its for you, some guy in a place called Molly's Reach". She had a slightly frightened look that Bill had never seen before. The circle was unbroken after all. He thought to himself, "these bloggers with a set of phones or speakers are in for a real treat with this post."

Sound travels in a strange way on the lower Niagara. It bounces off the high banks, rattles up into the gorge, rolls back down to the lake and sometimes reflects off the escarpment in a way that people living on the river disregard unless they know the true source. Historians have written about Niagara Falls clearly heard from sailing ships inbound from Kingston on Lake Ontario. That strange phenomenon was present as Thing rode the MOCRAP safety rope high over the Big Eddy that day. Bill took the call from Relic, thanked Lil and briefly cast his eyes down river as he tried to comprehend the nature of the call. The puff of smoke above Fort George had grown to a small cloud and Bill concluded that MOCRAP was not totally responsible for the concusive impact felt along the river as MOCRAP was fired.

Billy Hillyard Jr. and the company of summer students had run from the fort upon witnessing the destruction of the US Coast Guard offices. Billy leading the way through the sally gates running as fast as he could in nothing but long johns, carpet slippers and tricorn hat. The students, clad in authentic uniforms of the King's 41st Regiment of Foot with flintlocks and fixed bayonets, charged down the dusty path behind him, disappearing beyond the pallisades of Brock's redout. Right past an Ohio tourist named Bugsy Dekker. Bugsy had parked his Harley outside the fort, then tentatively entered thinking Billy's brigade was part of the daily reinactment show. He took several pictures of the event.

Bugsy was on his first vacation in many years, having just completed his latest parole period. He suddenly found himself alone inside a large walled area, a situation he had been strongly advised to avoid by his prison psychiatrist. Bugsy was a member of the Sandusky Hells Angels and he had serious issues with guns. Unfortunately, the first thing he noticed inside his contained surroundings was a big 24 pound long gun rolled out ready for the grand finale of the Brock 1812 salute. The gun was ram-loaded with a ten pound canvas bag of black powder. Stamped on the barrel of the big cannon was "Grand Maw" which confirmed its provenance from a ship of the line in the 1812 British fleet.

Grand Maw was a "long gun" designed to inflict damage from a long distance by firing an iron shell which looked much like a twelve pin bowling ball. Bugsy noticed a pyramid of these shells piled on display near the big gun. Normally, such piles of cannon balls are welded together to prevent tampering but this had not been considered necessary with Grand Maw's balls owing to their extreme weight. For reasons known only to the great one upstairs, Bugsy decided to see if one of those balls would fit into Grand Maw's muzzle. With a heaving, grunting, swearing, sweating effort Bugsy managed to lift one of the big iron balls chest high. Bugsy's eyes bugged out more than normal and he farted loudly, started to laugh and dropped the ball. At that point he knew he could do it if he didn't laugh so he heaved it up again, turned bright red but succeeded in rolling the huge ball into the mouth of the big cannon. "Holy fuck" he gasped as the ball rolled down the full length of Grand Maw's barrel thumping to a stop on the unseen ram-loaded bag of black powder. The effort had caused him to bite his cigar in half. He spit out the stub and picked up the live end at his feet and puffed it back to life. At that point Bugsy had one of his dangerous "what if" ideas.

He looked around. The parade ground was still totally deserted and eerily silent. Bugsy had the sensation that the wooden pallisades were closing in. He was sweating and farting uncontrolably. His eyes sort of glazed over as he placed the glowing cigar over the touch hole at the back end of Grand Maw's long barrel. He was reading the curious inscription on the barrel casting "GR 1798" when Grand Maw fired. Bugsy didn't hear a sound but he noticed flames shooting three feet in the air from the touch hole. Bugsy noticed Grand Maw's carriage wheels lift about a foot off the ground as Bugsy became airborne. He couldn't see a thing but white clouds of smoke as he descended from about ten feet to land with a thump beside the cannon. The silence was eery and then the ringing began.

Up river Bill heard the whoosh of Grand Maw's big ball sail overhead and he turned to see it land with a gigantic splash just off the Lewiston coal oil dock on the other side of the river. A big wave rolled over the dock and Bill could see people and cars washed away. Then he noticed his side of the wave coming across the river like a dark wall. Everybody had seen it. The syncronized swimmers became disorganized again. Thing, realizing exactly what was about to occur, said "fuck this" and used his big arms to stroke for shore at olympic speed. "Oh my God its a boy named Suenommie" yelled Meesh. Mobility became job one as every vehicle on the bank that day headed for high ground behind the Canadian Chapter of Hells Angels who somehow knew Bugsy was in the fort and put two and two together.

The great wave washed ashore carrying Commander Buck Coffin, Private Billy Bob Nelson and the rest of the US crew in a churning mess of garbage, foam, Mars bars wrappers, Pez dispensers, things that looked like beach balls, old furniture, lumber and Thing's inflated Sponge Bob Square Pants life ring. "Well sir, we beat the big eddy" screamed Billy Bob Nelson to Commander Buck who was rendered speachless. They were alone on the river bank. The mobile elements of the Canadian contingent had lit out to the south in the direction of the Farkin Barn except for the Avanti which broke formation and was last seen heading west into the setting sun along Bottom Line.

Revin O'Donnell was found several days later wandering in vineyards near the old town. He had become separated from the fire brigade and the Chairman of the Board of Trade who are still among the missing.

[Gummo] ...the blog is sounding more and more like a cross between Lorne Greene and Alan Ryckman...with a Katzenjammer Kids plot line...pure and brilliant mischief....I love the PEZ Girl...a viper for sure...the Canadian Studies and International Development kids in Montreal love the blog...it's up their alley....their apartment is littered with PEZ dispensers of all shapes and descriptions...they have concert posters for The Constantines and The Weakerthans on their walls, and other items posted on doorways...some of them I didn't read in depth...one was a hand-lettered list titled "Fun Vagina Facts"...a father can only stand so much free thought, and then has to back off...on sunday they took the old freak to tam-tams in Jeanne Mance Park....an enormous drum circle grouped under a statue with dancers and circus acts and medieval knights errant and a flea market on the terraces leading up the hill to the The Cross at the top of the mountain and the sweet smell of grass wafting over the assembled multitude....like loaves and fishes you say?...loaves and fishes as they should be, and may have been in the first place.

[Miller] As the dust cleared along the bank top, Pvt. Billy Bob Nelson spied a man standing motionless as if watching to see what they would do next. The fedora and glasses reminded Billy of somebody, but he couldn't make a connection. Standing beside a blue convertible 64 GTO. Billy Bob knew that car - he hoped to someday find one for himself. There it was - chrome bumper poking over the bank as if thumbing its nose. The stranger moved slowly and put something on the ground very carefully. Gracefully almost. To Billy Bob's horror, the stranger lifted a Ping Berylium 9 iron from the back seat of the GTO and took an effortless practise swing, then another. Then followed the lovely ring of a perfectly hit ball and its echo from across the river.

The Chairman of the Board of Trade walked over to the stranger and the two watched the ball sail high into the blue sky. High hair, as the Chairman was often called, stood quietly with the stranger and from the rear they took on the air of Jack Webb and Conway Twitty watching a horse race. Billy Bob, following the arching trajectory, instinctively grabbed a greasy melmac salad bowl and slammed it on his head just as the ball doinged his mellon - cracking the bowl in the process. Billy Bob smiled and dropped like a rock. "That would be an eagle", drawled the stranger. "We could use a man like you in City Hall" replied the Chairman of the Board of Trade.

"The reason most people play golf is to wear clothes they would not be caught dead in otherwise" said the stranger.