[Wonderful Labs] The Song of the Salty Wonder

[Wonderful Labs]

Dearest Readers,

	You know what's so fantastic about being me?  Neither do I, but it's
too late to stop now.

	If I wasn't me, I'd have to get rid of all my clothes.  One can't wear
some stranger's clothes, for Vishnu's bloody sake.  I'd have to go
naked.  Nakeder.  More often.

	But how did we get here?  Here, to this point, now, so many days since
last Mister Wonderful sent e-massages to your aching brain folds... it
was not merely time that transported us, let me tell you.  Time is on my
side.  On my hip, actually, in this attractive silver pocket watch
emblazoned with the entwined MW lemniscate of Wonderful Laboratories. 
Sweet Wonderful Laboratories, when shall I see thee again?  By the
Waters of the Roger I sat and wept, thinking of my ailing DAGUERROTHRAX
computer and the able-bodied Miss Yakamoto whom I've left behind.

	Could I wear my pocket watch if I was naked?  Not unless Miss Yakamoto
was around, I assure you.

	We were crossing the southern border of Macedonia, finally back on the
road to Damascus (despite Mister Malice peeling back his eyelids and
giggling "Dig me, I'm Bob Hopeless!" every twenty minutes), when Mister
Dark announced that we could not continue on to Greece and Cyprus as planned.

	I announced that someone had better be fucking joking.

	"Our delays are not unknown to me, Wonderbubble," said Mister Dark. 
"We have, however, reason to believe that our hidden artefacts will
remain un-cluster-bombed for a few days yet.  I insist on a detour to
Alaska, where I have to see a man about a, a... duck."

	It is perhaps no surprise that I was struck by the realization that his
last word had not been intended as a noun at the same time as the boomerang.

	It was the monkey who chased away the assassins (with a bazooka!) and
cared for me the next few days, as I sweated restless in hazy
semi-consciousness.  I remember he filled out the uniform nicely.  I
could feel the world rocking beneath the caravan and a dim knowledge
that we were on the sea drifted over my mind's bloodshot eye.

	They tell me there was also a storm.  And a shortage of compass-like
things.  And a bit of unfortunate squid business that resulted in a rudder-ectomy.

	When I finally recovered my wits, we were encamped on the north shore
of the distant island nation of Potrzebie.

	Potrzebie!  Is it not amazing?  Of course, Potrzebie is actually only
the name of the largest island in this chain which extends north from
Argentina, up around Chile and all that, through the Panama Canal, all
along the Gulf of Mexico, across the Atlantic, around the North Pole,
and back, essentially crossing the entire Earth in a tremendous spheroid
figure-8.  Potrzebians are to Atlanteans what the Ancient Greeks are to
a gyro.

	Potrzebie, dammit!  If I cannot be answering the queries you, dearest
readers, have sent, then dispatching postcards of wonder and experience
from this arcane land shall have to be my fulfillment.

yours with an umbrella in my drink and exploration in my pants,

Mister Wonderful


******************
WONDERFUL LABS (where'er she may roam): The Grits Aren't All you Can Kiss
******************

Mister Wonderful Recommends:  Blacker than black.  Oh, they can do it
for physics, but when will they ever build me my Disaster Area stunt ship?

http://www.npl.co.uk/optical_radiation/superblack.html
http://www.floor42.com/jump.cgi?ID=103

-- 
Touch not the Goo Goo Muck.

	"You disappeared rather mysteriously the 
	other night, but I attribute this to your
	life of crime in the movies."

		- Groucho Marx,
		in a letter to Peter Lorre, 
		10/05/1961

A home for your recalcitrant albumen
http://www.wonderfullabs.com/tempe.html
http://www.livejournal.com/~ideaspace
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