The Cowcrab saga continues. If you don't have a clue as to what in tarnation the a Cowcrab is, or what the Cowcrab Compendium is all about, you'd better hitch a rideback to the last issue for a look-see. If you've read the last issue and you still don't have the least flyin' fingleberry of an idea what a Cowcrab is or what the Cowcrab Compendium is all about, then I know I'm on the right track...he he.
Floyd looked at the ever-radiant Earletta, then gazed out into the quiet Arizona night. Swirling lights flashed before his eyes...
"So this is love," he thought dreamily. He began to hear Yanni music in his head, which was a bit off-putting, to say the least.
Then he noticed that the swirling lights were of the familiar red and blue variety usually only encountered in his rear-view mirror.
"...It's the police! Finally!" cried Earletta. A state trooper had parked his squad car on the road and was making his way towards the smoking remains of the Dodge.
Floyd flinched -- He'd been on the wrong side of the law too many times to summon her naive enthusiasm at the sight of a 5-0.
" Are you two alright?" the officer barked, turning the beam of a large flashlight on them.
"We're fine, Officer," said Earletta, perkily.
" My name's Ponch," said the officer, stepping cautiously around the wrecked car. "You two are very lucky, that's for sure. I'm gonna have to take a report, and then we should probably get you two to the County Hospital just fer a look-see." Ponch began to make notes on his little clipboard.
"Something funny about a car wreck, mister?" Ponch glowered.
"Your name isn't really Ponch, is it?" giggled Floyd.
"Something funny about my name, mister?" The glow from the flashlight held under his chin gave Ponch the frightening cast of one of those ghostly disembodied heads in the Haunted Mansion at DisneyWorld. "What's your name, sir?"
"Floyd Roscoe "Yuba City" Nelson," responded Floyd proudly.
"Now that's a funny name," the officer commented, smiling as he wrote it down.
Floyd was really starting to get hot under the collar now. And it wasn't just because he was wearing a polyester shirt...
"You been drinking tonight?" Ponch asked.
"Not even a Yoo-Hoo," snarled Floyd, kicking restlessly at the sand beneath his boots. There was a Cow Crab out there somewhere just waiting for him. He had done seen it, and it was real -- not just a mythical abstract concoction like Ted Danson's hair. He knew he had to find the Cow Crab again...
"No, Officer Ponch," Earletta chimed in. She was turning on the charm, and it was working. I bet she's talked her way out of every speeding ticket, moving violation, and armed robbery in her life, Floyd thought. Women.
' "Uh-huh," said Ponch, nodding in that "Go tell it to the marines, there's a jelly donut in the squad car getting stale" manner that stereotypical police officers do.
Boy, if there was anything Floyd hated -- besides when some joker beeps the horn as you're under the hood changing the oil filter, Neil Diamond, and those little white floaty bits of pulp in his orange juice (ugh) -- it was that "uh-huh".
Moments later, Floyd found his fist making contact with the side of Officer Ponch's head. The last thing he remembered was watching the officer's brown felt Smokey-the-Bear-type hat go flying out across the sand and thinking, what are those Smokey-the-Bear-type hats actually called, besides what he had always called them, "Smokey-the-Bear-type"?
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