So I called Ken. What else could I do? I had had it up to here with this machinatious blue goat from wherever he was from. And I was pissed at Bob for bringing the whole thing on. I went to the phone booth and put in a dime and dialed the one person who could make this all right. Hello, the tinny voice said. Hello, I said, may I speak with His Highness? Who IS this, the voice said. Bondo....Phfrankie Bondo. From the West Coast. Compound 37D. Is His Highness available? I don't know no Phfrankie Bondo...from WHERE?...wait...His Worshipfulness says he'll take it...hold on...Bondo? a new voice says. 'Sup, Dooder? Sheeeeeeit! Long time, dude....long time! Howzitgoin'? I explained the situation to His Masterfulness and you coulda heard a pin drop I tells ya. Then I hear: Did this goat have a Jimi Hendrix sweatshirt on? Phfrank...did he? No, I said. He had on a Sal Mineo parka. A grey one. Whew! His Worthiness said. For a minute there I thought it might have been...Naaaaango. At that point I dropped the phone and ran from the booth...after checking for dime in the pull-down thingy...and ran for the hills.