PROFITING FROM NUKULAR FALLOUT – As we were typing our latest report on the nefarious deeds of the Three Municipal Stooges, we were interrupted by a bellowing such as an enraged bull calf might make. Assuming it to be the greentinged Chief Nylon, we never looked up from our typewriter, merely suggesting that he take a seat. When the bellowing continued, we realized that the noise had a more nasal quality, something perhaps derived from the need of generations of desert ancestors to summon their camels preparatory to a raid on a neighboring tribe. Whatever the origin of the sound, we looked up to discover Prominent Northfield Entrepreneur Nawabi darkening our doorstep. As was customary, he came with a new and exciting money-making scheme in hand – and as was also customary with him, he began his sales pitch in the middle.

“But it’s closed, see? It’s closed, dead, defunct, gonzo! If it’s closed, it’s gotta be replaced, right? So what we gotta have, see, is something to replace it with, right? And what I got for an idea is all these surplus gummint gas masks left from Dubya Dubya One, see? The gummint’s practically givin’ ‘em away, so I’m gonna buy ‘em all up and use ‘em on the cows! Brilliant, huh?”

This “particularly rapid unintelligible patter” gave us QUITE a headache, which, when coupled with motion sickness brought on by the flailing of Nawabi’s arms (which resembled a Dutch windmill in a hurricane), threatened to induce a violent nausea. Fortunately, we were save from tossing our cookies onto the back steps of the Mayonnaise Building by the timely appearance of Coach Naugahyde and his football players, who were jogging toward the River Dog for their monthly bath. (Well, the PLAYERS were jogging; Coach Naugahyde was carried on their shoulders in his custom-made palanquin.)

Hearing our weak cry for assistance, the Coach sent six of his players to muckle onto Nawabi’s arms. That number proving insufficient, he sent six more – and then another six – and then the entire team. No sooner had the exertions of 28 strong young men brought the arms to a stop than Nawabi fell silent, for, as we soon learnt, without use of his arms, he was unable to communicate, especially when excited. Under Coach Naugahyde’s skillful direction, the players gradually loosened their grip on the entrepreneur, and when equilibrium was reached and Nawabi was once again able to speak, the players jogged off again – but NOT toward the Dog, as Your Miss Lobotomy had cautioned them about the leak of televactive terribilium from the Vermont Cranky Ante-Nukular plant. Instead, they made for the municipal swimming pool, which, though frozen over, would provide a space large enough for the entire team to bathe.

With their departure, YML turned her attention to Nawabi and his scheme. The team having firmly tied Nawabi’s left arm behind his back and strapped his right arm from shoulder to elbow to that side, the excitable entrepreneur’s speech was slowed and our nausea ceased. Nawabi now sounded like a 78 rpm record played at 16 rpm and it took him 30 minutes to explain his idea, which turned out to be a plan to replace the electrical power lost to the municipality by the clo- sure of the nukular plant. The gist was this: There are thousands of cows in Northfield. Each cow produces abundant methane gas (some from each end, he patiently explained). Methane gas can be used to produce electrical power. Harness the bovine methane and, voila! The town has a reliable source of power!