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Andrew John Ignatius Vontz

A. Desperate to transport a top-secret communiqué that could end the war to special operatives lurking far behind enemy lines, a team of military scientists implant a microchip in the brain casing of a blind mouse that also serves as a remote control. Thusly equipped, the mouse negotiates its way across a bomb and land mine-pocked battlefield atop a miniature 6-wheeled ATV designed for just such a special occasion. He reaches the other side successfully, rides unnoticed past his adversaries and makes his way to the special operatives where they hide in the trunk of an oak tree subsisting on a diet of freeze dried grubs. To retrieve the microchip and obtain the information that will lead to total victory, the operatives must slay the mouse, retrieve the microchip and place it in a special device that projects a hologram with said information on the interior wall of the tree trunk. As they watch the video, they pass around the mouse, each taking a bite.

B. Rival salty snack smuggling gangs from Krzykhstan encounter each other for the final showdown in a foam-filled night club in Ibiza. Wielding glass 'yard-of-beer' drinking containers, decapitated cosmo tumblers, beer bongs, and concertino-wire rimmed coasters that they have surreptitiously concealed in crush-proof plastic boxes that have been surgically implanted in the quadriceps of their lowliest foot soldiers, they fight to the death until only one man, Viatcheslav, is left standing. As he surveys the blood and ruin from within a go-go dancing platform/cage, he sniffs the air deeply and vows to dedicate himself fully to his amateur track and field career and give up his life of crime.

C. A drought-stricken caribou herd, having been parched and without water for three odd months and certainly no crops or grass to graze on in their home in northern Canada, barrels towards the United States and its verdant fields. Ultimately, they cross the border but even when satiated they will stop at nothing. As they charge through the streets of Philadelphia, a detachment of the artillery wing of the National Guard blasting at them with mortars and howitzers from the rear, they rampage towards the Liberty Bell. Ironically, just as they reach the bell they encounter a man with a sizable ball-peen hammer raised over his head about to strike the bell. In the pocket of his open trench coat (he is nude otherwise and sports the requisite madman classical composer hair and Kazinsky-esque beard), there is a Hostess Ding Dong snackcake. The caribou halt to eat the Ding Dong and in the process accidentally devour the man whole. Even his beard. The liberty bell is saved, the National Guard retreats, and the caribou, realizing the error of their ways, immediately return to Canada where they find storm clouds gathering on the horizon. In celebration of the return of the herd to its rightful home, all of the citizens of both the United States and Canada take to the streets and nibble on Ding Dongs and dance while fireworks paid for by the Hostess corporation explode in the air.

D. Unable to kill the totalitarian third world dictator through conventional means, the CIA decides that a radically new tack will be required to slay the despot. Once and for all. According to an intelligence operative positioned deep within the despot's inner circle, the despot has a soft spot for liquid aspartame-filled Chewel's chewing gum. Grape flavor. The man finds it to be a smooth, satisfying chew with flavor that lasts all day. He doesn't even mind that bits of the gum frequently become entangled in his long, flowing white beard and that the members of his cabinet tell him that the citizens of his fiefdom have secretly complained for decades that he looks like a fool when he makes his frequent menacing TV appearances clad in his traditional yak fur cap with gum stuck in his beard. In light of these facts, the CIA, always game for the most complicated and convoluted assassination ploys possible, attains a sample of the despot's DNA from a Hallmark greeting card his hands have touched and then engineer a special chewing gum additive that will act as a poison on the despot and the despot's DNA only. Then, through a multi-billion dollar, yet top secret, behind the scenes deal with intelligence operatives who have infiltrated the Chewel's chewing gum executive ranks, the despot-slaying formula is added to all batches of Chewel's in hopes that the despot will chew a piece. Unbeknownst to them, the despot, racked with guilt over his secret gum chewing habit, has seen a hypnotherapist and given up gum chewing completely. Seven years later, however, he has a lapse and while chewing gum inside a kitchen cabinet located beneath the sink in his opulent marble compound high in the hills above the third world country's major city, he dies a swift, and remarkably painless death. It is weeks before the house-keeping staff discovers his corpse.

E. A bank robber 'blimp-naps' the Goodyear blimp from its home launch pad in rural North Carolina. To the great surprise of the stunned local, state, and federal law enforcement officials in hot pursuit of the criminal and presumably attempting to jail the knave, the blimp napper escapes. Later, after many weeks of flight in the blimp he drifts several miles above a field of maize on the fertile highlands of the Patagonian pampas (in Chile). After 400 ab-blistering sit ups, the blimp napper decides that no, he isn't going to return to Kansas and pretend he was the owner of an acupuncture clinic as he had planned. No goddammit. Not this time. Not again. Instead, he will travel the world and collect two of all types of butterflies and thusly engaged would pass the remainder of his days. As he sniffs the air with deep satisfaction after having made this decision, a pterodactyl that he had seen during an earlier dream sequence dives at the blimp and pops it. After the blimp napper and his vehicle crash to the ground and erupt into a ball of flames and he is immolated, the pterodactyl circles back and lands. His head flips open and pistons elevate the upper section of his beak. As things turn out, this pterodactyl is no pterodactyl at all. It is a government plane piloted by none other than agent C.G. Guthrow, and as everyone knows, no bank robber eludes his grasp.

F. The sperm whale breaching defiantly and firing a mighty, indignant blast from its blowhole, Nuuzbee, the leader of the lost tribe of albino pygmies, seizes the opportunity and gently squeezes the trigger on the giant harpoon mounted to the handlebars of his Sea-Doo and strikes a direct hit into the whale's flank. As the other members of the tribe begin their whale slaying ritual by standing on their jet skis, lifting the fronts of their brown suede kilts and twirling their sex stumps in the air, the whale, in one last mighty effort dives hard thus pulling Nuuzbee and his Sea-Doo underwater. This is not something the tribe members had planned on. The whale plunges deeper and deeper, but Nuuzbee won't let go. Finally, at a depth of 270 meters, long after Nuuzbee's ear drums have burst, the pressure of the ocean crushes his lungs and heart. Several minutes later, his kilt floats to the surface and then his body. The other tribe members fire up their jet skis and after performing numerous stylish stunts off of the waves release more than a dozen depth charges. All of the explosives miss, but when the angry whale surfaces, a second team of tribesmen lurking overhead in an Apache attack helicopter let loose a hell fire of rounds from the Vulcan gattling gun mounted beneath the copter's nose. Miraculously, the whale survives the hail of bullets, but as it leaps out of the water and bares its nubby teeth, the pygmies unleash a TOW missile that obliterates the whale blasting it into a fine mist of fatty particles.


Andrew Vontz is a freelance journalist and cultural critic in Los Angeles. His work appears in the Los Angeles Times magazine,,, Big Brother Skateboarding, Velonews, and many other magazines. Currently he is working on a book about electornic music and he has also written a novel, Pet Sounds. If you are an editor, agent, or publisher and would like to read Pet Sounds, please e-mail him.

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