The Scariens, disappointed with the Moonprance gig, decided that they needed to move on to bigger venues. The cats headed over to the music shop to see Abie Jacobs again.

"Hey, Abie! That Moonprance gig was a real drag, man. It sucked. You've got to book us into some first class joints. No more dives."

"Chuck Wrench said you bombed. I don't have time to fool with you idiots."

Jabbah zapped Abie with his MK-Ultra wheel.

"Hear and obey," he said.

"You heard me, Abie. Get us some first class gigs."

"Ok, ok. I've got a real first class gig. The Young Republicrats are having their annual picnic this weekend. A lot of hot dogs will be there. Jimmy Dean was going to do the show, but I had to fire his ass. Too big for his britches. The gig's at the Ronald Reagan Re-Education Center this Saturday afternoon. Can you guys do it?"

"Sure, man. We'll be there."

The combo showed up at the appointed time at the Center. This was like the artist formerly known as Prince playing a Klu Klux Klan dance. The place crawled with young Republicrat yuppie robots. They marched in lockstep with the evil mutant aliens that controlled them.

Everyone there appeared to be under the wicked spell of the Arien induced stupor. The band did their bit while zombie republicrats sat erect in their cheap folding chairs. Blank stares and open mouths was all the Scariens could get these people to do. The 69th Annual Republicrat Picnic, all present, including the Scariens, were infected with indifference, but the Scariens were chronic.

The cats didn't know whether it was the Scarien melodies or the new MK-Ultra wheels that mezzmerized these Pat Boone clones. These Republicrats had no reaction, good or bad. They just sat there like they were brain dead.

The truck was loaded and the band was splitting within fifteen minutes after the last lick was played. They needed to split the weirdo scene and get back to the reality of their double wide.

"Do you think they got it?"

"Those zombie yups loved it!"

"I don't know, it was hard to tell."

"Those assholes loved it. They thought it was great. Every chick there put the moves on me."

"A regular Chick Magnet."

"It's the damn wheel, man."

"Do you think Billy Graham had one of them wheels?"

"Naw, man. But that David Koresh dude might've had one."

"It says here in the wEakLy wHiRL kNEwZ that Prince Charles and Di had a mutant baby 10 years ago that they call Seal Boy and the damned thing has escaped from Windsor Castle. Its down in South Carolina right now sucking blood from cows."

"Man, I'm starving. I'm gonna call out for some pizza, anybody want some?"

Dusty called out for the pizza and gave explicit directions to the secret location of the double wide. Before you could say mezzmezzro, the pizza man was ringing the doorbell. Huk looked out the door and spotted a car running outside with a cardboard sign taped to the door that said "Pizza Delivery". Suspicious. The pizza man looked vaguely familiar, sort of like Bob Dobalina.

Huk pulled out his MK-Ultra wheel, opened the front door, and zapped Pizza Man. At first, Pizza Man acted like Dracula with a cross thrust in his face. Fear and loathing. Then, his face went blank and his body drooped, limp.

"Have a piece of pizza, Mr. Pizza Man."

"OK," he replied, his voice a monotone.

The Pizza Man opened the first box of pizza. He was in a trance like state. He ate a slice of the double cheese. He ate a slice of anchovy and then a veggie slice. For desert, he had a piece of the triple black olive pie. He showed no ill effects, so everybody dug in. Pizza Man began to get nervous, so Huk handed him a wad of money and showed him to the door.

Pizza Man's car was still running outside. He got in and pulled off with a jerk. Under a street lamp down the street, Huk could see some clown in a suit and tie and the guy looked just like the Pizza Man who had just pulled off.

"Look, its that CIA bozo who messed with us over on Jeff Davis Highway!"

"You're right! That pizza guy was Bob Dobalina!"

"No, that guy. Look down by the street light. They both look like Bob Dobalina."

"Maybe we're just getting paranoid."

"Man, that asshole knows where we are."


"Man, we need someone to handle band security."

"That would be Kareem."

"No, he's too busy playing drums. Security is a full time job."

"Hey, Kareem, don't you know someone who could handle security for us?"

"Not in this part of the world."

"Jabbah, didn't you used to hang with some secret agents?"

"Yeah, I know this cat named J. Edgar Junior. He got kicked out of the CIA and became a private dick."

"Get him."