Darrel and Bob

(Note: this story is based on real people and real places. Some of them even have their real names. For that, I am truly sorry. However, occurrences are mostly imaginary. This is not to say that they would never happen again some day. No. I didn't say "again"...I said...uh..."ever"...yeah, that's it.) Also, part of the fifth paragraph and all of the sixth paragraph were written by Ewa Manek.

Darrel and Bob were under the bed by themselves. The writer does not wish to elaborate further on this point.

It was 6:10 AM. Mrs. Przybylinski walked into Jim's room to wake him up. He was peacefully asleep, dreaming about really good milkshakes. Some nights, the milkshakes attacked him. But not last night. The milkshakes had been easygoing and cooperative, and they had transported Jim to the Amazing Magical Land of Whatever You Want (Mostly Milkshakes). Jim had a jolly old time swimming in milkshakes and enjoying traditional boyhood pastimes. The writer does not wish to elaborate on this either. This is not to suggest that there was anything suspicious or kinky (oops, did I say kinky? I meant...I meant...I meant...well, perhaps I did mean kinky after all) taking place. It's just that the writer doesn't know of any traditional boyhood pastimes, and therefore, the writer cannot adequately elaborate.

Darrel and Bob--part of a nutritious breakfast

Jim was politely awakened from his Milkshake Dream by his mother. His mother is also known as Mrs. Przybylinski. Mrs. Przybylinski had prepared Jim's breakfast. Jim's breakfast usually consisted of oatmeal. Oatmeal, however, was not what it consisted of today. Today, Jim's breakfast consisted of Darrel and Bob. You weren't expecting that, were you?! You were expecting an umbrella!! An umbrella, of course, is a completely preposterous thing to have for breakfast. However, knowing Jim, the writer is not surprised. Or flabbergasted! The writer is definitely not flabbergasted.

As you see, Jim was very fond of Darrel and Bob. He refused outright to have them for breakfast. The obvious solution was to have Brussels sprouts for breakfast. Jim was disgruntled after this and went out to wait for the tall orange limousine with his brother Sir Thomas the Second. Sir Thomas the Second admired Darrel and Bob. They made Jim seem taller.

Taller was a quality that Jim was constantly striving for. This did not make him special. For instance, other people strive to find prepositions to end a sentence with. Usually, this results in their getting bad grades in English, but the writer digresses. In any case, Jim had tried many things to make himself taller, including therapeutic underwear, spinning around and around and around and around and...you get the point, and--well, no, he hadn't quite gone so far as to see if getting intoxicated would help--acting as a croupier (he still wasn't exactly sure as to how that would help). Now, bear in mind that the writer is making all of this up, and thus, asking him about it would only get you weird looks. (Not anymore. Now it'll get you horrified looks.)

Well, in any case, the tall orange limousine came and...(this is the climactic part--but be careful because it's really small, and you might miss it) Jim and Sir Thomas the Second got on it and went to...that place they went to every day. The writer does not wish to elaborate, not because they went somewhere weird (gasp!), but because the writer does not like to write about that place when she doesn't have to.

Rounding off that paragraph with a preposition (that was really half an infinitive), the writer was on a roll. The writer became further accomplished by quaffing an invisibility potion and following Jim around that place--oh, what the heck--school, in hopes that something remotely interesting would happen. Unfortunately, the writer was in for a long wait. Several terribly interesting things happened to Jim, but only the "remotely interesting" would satisfy the writer. As it happened, Darrel decided halfway through second period that he wished to change his name to Darryl. Bob applauded this decision, causing Jim to trip as he was guarding the main scorer of the opposing team. Jim's team was understandably upset, and he was extremely mortified for the remainder of the period.

That was not the end of the excitement for the day. Near the end of third period, Mrs. Przybylinski materialized inexplicably out of thin air next to Jim's desk. The entire class, including the teacher, turned to look at her in bewilderment. Jim sank lower in his seat, wishing that he hadn't spent quite so much time wearing therapeutic underwear, spinning in circles, and being a croupier.

Jim sank even lower in his seat and muttered, "You couldn't have called for me through the attendance office?"

"This is of the utmost importance!" Mrs. Przybylinski explained. "Darrel and Bob are being held hostage at the shoe store!"

Jim looked exceedingly confused. "Who's Darrel? Do you mean Darryl? He decided to change his name last period."

It was Mrs. Przybylinski's turn to look puzzled. "Er? What's the diff--well, no time for that now! You need to rescue them!"

Jim persisted in his state of perplexion. He could have sworn Darryl and Bob were with him, but the image of his mother continued to stand next to him. To double-check, Jim looked around. His mother seemed to be right. Darryl and Bob were nowhere to be seen.

Feeling as though his day had covertly split off from the spectrum of normalness, Jim stood and headed out the door. Every eye in the classroom followed his movement, but when Mrs. Przybylinski closed the door behind Jim and herself, the entire class ceased to remember what had just passed and carried on with their discussion as before.

Strangely enough, an elevator was awaiting Jim and his mother outside the door. They walked in quickly, and the elevator descended one floor. When the doors dinged to signal their arrival, Jim was shocked to find a shoe store before them. It was quite apparent that Dulles High School housed a shoe store in the middle of C Area that no one knew about.

At this point, Jim knew for sure that his life was not going as it usually did, so just for fun (though one could argue quite convincingly that it was done to reassure Jim), the writer decided to throw in something normal. Depending on your point of view, the bit of normalcy did not work quite as planned. Jim went into shock from having to recite the Pledge of Allegiance at the entrance of the shoe store. It was also mainly a shock because Jim had already recited it that morning in first period. Having to recite the Pledge out of nowhere disrupted Jim's Pledge-reciting schedule and made him feel thirsty.

He glanced around desperately, searching for the familiar metallic boxes that spurted water when a button was pressed. Just when Jim spotted one, however, Mrs. Przybylinski nudged him into the shoe store. The store manager, a burly burlesque dancer, marched over to them. "I've got a bone to pick with you, young man," he growled menacingly.

"Okay," said Jim in disbelief. He was having trouble accepting the existence of the shoe store. His eyes widened as the store manager and two assistants lugged in a wooden chest full of bones. "Uh...Mom?" he whispered. "What's going on?"

"Shh. Mr. Meerrettich is a bit eccentric," Mrs. Przybylinski informed him. "Just play along." She prodded Jim with a handy bowl of oatmeal.

Jim wondered how his mother had gotten to know Mr. Meerrettich so well. "All right, Meerrettich. What's the deal?" He assumed the relaxed but wary stance of a croupier.

"That's what I like to hear," Mr. Meerrettich grunted, almost amiably. "Now, let's have a look-see at these bones." He seated himself comfortably next to the chest of bones.

Jim grew nervous. "Look. It's, ah, very nice of you to share your bone collection with me, but I should really be getting back to class. We're learning about the difference between metonymy and synecdoche, and I don't want to miss anything." He looked around, making no further pretense of being a croupier. "Speaking of being thirsty, do you have any of those metallic boxes that squirt water when a button is pressed?"

Mr. Meerrettich looked slightly annoyed. "We weren't speaking of being thirsty, junior. Get down here and look at these bones."

Jim knelt down next to the wooden chest and gave the bones a cursory glance. "Are you an archeologist, Meerrettich?" he asked sharply, adopting the attitude of a police interrogator.

"No," replied the store manager. "Are you, by any chance, a croupier or police interrogator?" Jim gave a curt shake of his head. "I didn't think so," Mr. Meerrettich sighed. "Now, boy, you want to rescue your friends Darrel and--"

"Yes, Darrel," the store manager continued, taking no notice of the distinction. "You wish to help Darrel and Bob."

Jim nodded, deciding to overlook Mr. Meerrettich's mistake. He was eager to return to class. "Where are they? Can I see them?" he wanted to know.

"In time, lad. All you have to know right now is that they're safe--that is, unless you pick the wrong bone. If you pick the wrong bone, then all is lost."

Jim considered this new information and decided he'd better ask a question. "Why were you talking like a mobster when I first met you? Now you're talking like a fairy godmother." All of a sudden, he realized that he'd stumbled upon a very bad question. Before Mr. Meerrettich could move, Jim shoved Mrs. Przybylinski out the door. "Run, Mom! The real Mr. Meerrettich has been taken hostage along with Darrel and Bob!"

"You mean Darryl," he heard her call faintly. Jim closed the door of the shoe store and turned to face the impostor. He found that the store assistants, most likely henchmen, had moved protectively around the fake store manager.

"You," said Jim, looking partially exasperated and partially thirsty. "Who are you really?"

The impostor sniggered, abandoning his fairy godmother routine. "You are addressing none other than the legendary Compaq Cutie!" His arm made the motion of flinging back a flapping cape.

Jim yawned. "I've never heard of you," he commented, flooding his voice with nonchalance. He studied his watch in a bored fashion.

"You overdid the nonchalance a bit, I think," came a voice. The Compaq Cutie and his men whirled around to locate the speaker. They seemed to freeze in place. Jim wished desperately for something to drink, but nothing happened. He shrugged resignedly and developed a sudden interest in learning the identity of the mysterious speaker.

Jim recognized the speaker as a girl in his German class. He couldn't quite remember her name, however. "Uh...there's no such thing as too much nonchalance," he asserted, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Okay, whatever," agreed the girl, too tired to argue. She handed him a plastic bag. "Here are Darryl and Bob."

"Oh! Are they okay?!" Jim looked in the bag anxiously. Darryl and Bob seemed fine. A little cold, maybe, but that could soon be remedied. Suddenly, Jim realized something odd about the girl. "Hey! You got Darryl's name right!"

She laughed. "Oh, yes! Where I come from, everyone knows Darryl's name. You see, he's going to become very famous for saving the world twenty years from now."

Jim looked at her, dumbfounded. "What?!" he croaked. "My shoe's going to save the world?!"

Jim lay in turmoil. His thoughts were muddled and kept contradicting each other. It was no wonder, since he had just lived the strangest day of his life. Several of his firm beliefs had been challenged during the course of the day, and he now had to accept that the world was not as he had believed it was.

The first thing he had to accept was that Darryl, his right shoe, was someday going to save the world. At this point, the reader may be mistakenly thinking that Jim couldn't believe a shoe could save the world. However, this was not the case. Jim had utter confidence in his shoes. He just couldn't believe that Darryl would still be around in twenty years.

This brought up another interesting point. Apparently, the mysterious girl in Jim's German class (he still wasn't entirely sure what her name was) was from the future. She apparently knew Darryl from his time of fame and fortune. Jim wasn't really sure what to make of this situation. He was a big science-fiction fan, but it had all been fantasy before today. He had never personally known a time traveler. Jim began feeling unreal and wondered if he was dreaming. Maybe someone was pulling an elaborate hoax. Maybe someone was concealed in his closet, awaiting the perfect time to leap out and yell "Gotcha!" But Jim didn't think so. It was all too complicated.

Jim's thoughts drifted to the shoe store in C area of Dulles High School. He seemed to be having an especially difficult time grasping the idea of a shoe store in school. He couldn't believe that he'd walked past the store for the last two years in high school, but he had never noticed its existence. Jim resolved to begin buying his shoes there, especially since the Compaq Cutie and his henchmen were no longer using it as a hideout.

It turned out that Mr. Meerrettich, the Compaq Cutie, and the henchmen were all in cahoots. Even more surprising than that was the fact that they were all hallucinated by Jim. It seems that Jim's shock at having to recite the Pledge at a completely random time caused his brain to overload and create hallucinations. One might wonder how Mrs. Przybylinski had seemed to know what was taking place at the shoe store. That is no big mystery; Mrs. Przybylinski had lived with Jim for years and had gotten quite good at playing along with his delusions.

However, none of these occurrences could top the final things Jim had learned that day. Someone had explained to Jim that the tall orange limousine he rode to school was called a "school bus." Jim hadn't believed it at first, but he was forced to accept it after he consulted a reliable dictionary. The most implausible thing, though, was the "water fountain." Jim was astounded. Those metallic boxes that gave water when someone pushed the button--water fountains?? He refused to believe it. Why would anyone name the contraptions "water fountains?" It was preposterous!

At any rate, Jim had reached a very difficult point in his life. He wondered if he might be having some form of mid-life crisis. He thought about it and decided that he wasn't old enough to be middle-aged. Unless...unless...unless he wasn't the age he thought he was... Jim shook his head. The idea that he might actually be another age was inconceivable. Then again, there were those "water fountains." It was bizarre beyond belief.

Jim wondered briefly if he could go to sleep and wake up to find everything back to normal. He decided against it, however. Look at what had happened the last time he dared to sleep and dream. No, Jim had to stay awake and make sure nothing else changed. He placed Darryl and Bob under his bed and chose a long book to read.

Hours passed. Jim was still awake, even though it was 3 in the morning. He rubbed his eyes wearily and glanced at his watch. The seconds ticked by slowly, and Jim wondered how much longer he could stay awake. Two seconds later, however, it was no longer a relevant question. Jim heard rustling in his closet and was immediately wide awake. He strained his ears to hear. Silence. Jim got up and stood hesitantly next to the door of the closet, wondering what was going on. He watched the doorknob turn very, very slowly.

It seemed to Jim that whoever or whatever was inside his closet was going to great lengths to heighten the suspense. He decided to act surprised.

"So, anyway, Jim, your doorknob's got some weird catch on it. It's hard to turn from the inside here," said the mysterious closet invader, stepping out into the light.

"Gasp! It's you!" said Jim. "Wait, I probably shouldn't have said the 'gasp' part, huh?" He found himself looking at the girl from his German class, and he wondered what her name could possibly be. She was wearing some sort of khaki one-piece uniform.

The girl ignored him and looked around. She began picking up things and setting them down again. Jim wondered if she was actually searching for something or if she was merely pretending. He also wondered why he was doing so much wondering.

While Jim waited for the girl to tell him what she was doing, he decided to name her German until he could think of her name again. It would be very embarrassing for him to ask her what her name was, since she apparently knew his. Finally, German turned to face Jim. "I was in your closet," she said. It was meant to be an introduction.

"Um...yes, I kind of noticed," Jim answered. He tried to decide whether his croupier attitude or his police interrogator attitude was better suited to this situation. He finally settled on a combination of the two. "Okay, so you want to tell me how you got into my closet and why you're here?"

"Ah. I see." German fumbled for the small device that was dangling from a chain around her neck. "Subject is unstable," she said into it.

"Look," began Jim in a reasonable tone of voice. "I am not unstable. I would simply like to know what you are doing here. I would like to know how you got here. It is very late, you know. And I haven't had any sleep." He paused for a moment. "NO! SLEEP! NONE! WHATSOEVER! UNDERSTAND??!!" he roared.

"Really? That's good. We'll be going somewhere soon, so you'll want to sleep on the way. Now, to answer your questions. Your closet is a time portal. That is, it has the capacity to become a time portal, if the right steps are followed. Other times, your closet exists in the same space as the laundry room of my house. That means I'll be doing the laundry some afternoons, and all of a sudden, I'll hear you laughing to yourself. I was pretty freaked out the first time it happened. Hey, are you okay?" German stopped and looked at Jim. He was leaping into his closet and leaping back out.

"Mmm...nope," the girl said. "Well, I'm sure you've realized that I'm from the future. I'm here on assignment. I'm supposed to observe you and preserve Darryl and Bob."

"That is also classified information," she answered. "Now, put this uniform on." She handed Jim a uniform that was similar to hers. Then, she hefted a sturdy-looking case onto his bed and looked around. "Where are Darryl and Bob?"

"Under the bed," came Jim's muffled voice. He was trying to fasten the large number of straps and buckles on his suit.

"Okay, got them," German said. She removed a light pair of hiking boots from the case and replaced them with Jim's shoes. German gave Jim further instructions on things he had to take along, and when he'd put on the boots and gathered everything, she glanced around to see if anything had been forgotten.

"Where or when are we going?" Jim asked, not really caring whether he got an answer or not. He was still having trouble digesting all the information about his closet.

"Right now, we're just going to place Darryl and Bob in a safety vault," German told him. "Otherwise, they won't survive twenty years."

"Oh, I wondered about that," said Jim. He tapped a foot impatiently. "Do I get to time travel?"

German glanced at her complicated watch. "That's good. Well, I'm ready to go. Are you fully hydrated? I noticed that you had a problem with that earlier."

"Hmm...no, I'm thirsty. I'll drink something." Jim bent over at the water fountain in the corner of his room and gulped water quickly. "Okay, ready."

They stepped into the closet. German twirled a dial on the device hanging around her neck. "This thing is called an EAT," German explained. "I'm telling you this only because any writer documenting our conversation would grow tired of typing 'device hanging around her neck' at some point."

Jim nodded. "I know what you mean. I, too, sympathize with the plight of writers, so I am temporarily calling you German until I remember your name." He winced when he recalled that he didn't want to give away his ignorance.

"Really? That's very funny. My name really is German," said the-girl-from-Jim's-German-class-to-whom-he-decided-to-refer-as-German-until-he-figured-out-her-name-only-her-name-actually-turned-out-to-be-German.

"EAT is the acronym for Everything Anything Thing." German noticed Jim's confused look. "The inventors didn't hire very creative promotions executives, you see. Anyway, other than being extremely boring, the name is also rather deceptive. You can't do everything or anything you want with it."

"No, definitely not. We should be focusing on Darryl and Bob right now, since they are the title characters."

Jim was disappointed. He decided that he'd have to sneak the EAT away from German when she wasn't paying attention. "Hmm hmm hmm," he hummed softly.

"Don't even think about it," German said flatly. "Don't even think about it." Jim noticed that they were no longer in his closet.

"What?" German set the shoe case down on the linoleum floor. They seemed to be in a laundry room.

"Well...once we put Darryl and Bob away in the safety vault, then they're out of the way, right? How can they be the title characters after that?" Jim smiled triumphantly.

German looked alarmed. "Hey! Stop giving away future plot lines!" Jim didn't seem to be listening.

"Rats," he said, looking disgruntled. German didn't know that he'd just been having a conversation with a higher authority--namely, the writer of this story. "I wanted to change my name, but I was just told that only one name change is allowed per story. I'd been hoping that I could change my name to Darrel."

German looked even more alarmed. "You mean you named me after a language, and now I'm stuck with it?!" She began sobbing as if her heart were breaking.

Jim felt bewildered, and German continued crying. Jim wasn't really sure what to do. "Um, look. It's okay," he began. German showed no signs of stopping. Jim warmed to the subject a little. He liked the way his voice echoed in the laundry room. "It's really not that bad being named after a language. Really! I'd rather have a fake name than my real name. I mean, people come up to me at school and say, 'Hey, you're the guy with the weird shoes, right?' Now, I can relate to why some news stories use fake names to protect identities."

German looked at him tearfully. "Thanks, Jim. Really, I can't believe you gave me such a stupid name. Of all the names to choose--! Well, what's done is done. We need to hurry to the bank before it closes."

Jim cleared his throat. "Um. Reminder? It's about 4 in the morning. I don't think the bank is open yet."

"Oh, it's a 23 hours and 12 minutes bank. They close for 48 minutes per day," German explained.

"That sounds unusual," Jim commented. "But why can't you just use my closet to time travel to a time when it's open?" German looked impatient. "Let's head over to the bank, and I'll tell you along the way." Just then, the telephone rang. German ran to answer it. "Hello? Yes. Just a second," she said. "It's for you, Jim." She handed the receiver to him and looked puzzled.

Jim wondered who would be calling him at this hour, especially at someone else's house. "Hello? No. No, I can't. I'm really busy right now. Yes. Trust me, I won't be free for a long time. I have too much to do. Um-hmm. Okay. Okay. I will. Bye." He hung up the phone. "That didn't seem to go very well, " he muttered. "Oh well, I don't really care."

It was at about this moment that the story began to go terribly wrong. The truth was, the writer was extremely upset from a telephone call that hadn't gone well, resulting in a major craving for school cafeteria lasagna and some property damage that might or might not be totally random.

Jim and German were still on their way to the bank, towing the shoe case with a red wagon. Daylight was on its way; but the streets remained lifeless. A lonely street lamp on the corner cast a cold beacon of light.

German shook her head. "Think about it, Jim. I was born in 2010. How's that going to look on a birth certificate?"

"Ooh. Right." Jim ate a spoonful of oatmeal from a passing bowl. "So, what year are you from?"

"2027. Darryl saved the world when I was 10 years old, in 2020. It's a funny little anecdote; you'll have to hear it sometime." German smiled fondly at the memory.

"Well, you have to hear it from a professional Anecdote Teller. Once everyone's accounts of an incident have been recorded, we're not allowed to tell them to others. It would put the Anecdote Tellers out of a job." German smiled as it occurred to her, not for the first time, that Teller was the German word for "plate."

Jim was growing increasingly interested in the events of the future. "So what am I doing in the year 2027?"

German looked at him sternly. "Jim, you know I can't divulge that sort of information."

Jim sighed. "Oh, fine. Well, can you tell me about technology? What have they done with computers?"

"Well, humans are sort of computers now. At birth, we're given information implants. These implants don't have everything, of course--just things like mathematical formulas and dictionaries. For instance, I have a German dictionary."

"So we still need to go through the education system," German continued. "We just all start out with certain basics and supplement it according to our career plans."

"Bo-ring," complained Jim. "Come on, there must be a lot of cool stuff in your time! Stop wasting my time with this education thing."

"Seriously, Jim, not that much has changed. Not a whole lot of time has passed." She gestured up ahead. "Look, there's the bank."

German shook her head. "Actually, we don't. Time travel is invented in 2062 and improved in 2055." She thought for a moment. "No, that can't be right. Uh...well, okay, I've forgotten when exactly all that happens. The thing is, my superiors went back in time, and there are a few of them stationed at points that are five years apart. They recruit students like me to help them keep everything unchanged. After all, there are those who want to use time travel for their personal gain." German grinned. "We're top secret. It's all very hush-hush. They watch us while we're children to see if we'll be good candidates. If they like us, we get trained and assigned. Of course, they don't ever choose too many people from one area. Everyone would get suspicious."

Jim thought of something. "Now that you've told me this, haven't you changed my future? Or...ohhhhh, I see. I'm being recruited, aren't I?" German nodded. "Huh. I guess that explains why we're dressed like weirdos."

German laughed. "Well, no, we might be heading over to a big fashion show in Milan after this, so I wanted to make sure we'd fit right in."

"I see," said Jim, unsure as to whether or not he should laugh. "Ha ha hee hoo ha?" he managed.

"Oh, rats, the bank just closed!" German noticed. "Now we'll have to wait for two whole minutes!" She sat down grouchily and spoke into the EAT. "We're experiencing a slight delay. Yes, we'll see you in about half an hour."

"Do I get an EAT?" Jim asked thirstily. He was feeling thirsty again, and with every word uttered, he grew thirstier. He decided to shut up and let German talk.

"I get a monologue? Cool," commented German. She purposely did not answer his question because she was practicing being evil.

A man in a suit came out of the bank. "We're open again, folks." He went back inside.

Jim and German dragged the wagon inside. They were instantly relieved of the problem of trying to make a deposit without identification by someone who snatched up the shoe case and got away with it. Jim was not very surprised, but German, however, gaped in shock as the thief continued getting away. No one else seemed to have noticed.

"Arrrgh!" growled German in frustration. Things did not seem to be going her way. Jim nodded his agreement. "We'll never catch the thief!" German wailed. "That...that..." Words failed her.

Jim broke his silence because he was tired of hearing German talk. "From the future?" he wanted to know.

"Yes! We can't give chase because time travel is very expensive! Oh, what am I going to do?!" she lamented.

"Hell-oooo!" A charming elderly woman appeared in front of Jim and German. "I am Jim's fairy godmother, and I sense that he is in need!" She gave a dazzling smile. "Now, what'll it be?" she asked, peeking into a tiny satchel she was carrying. Five million moths flew out in a whirl and were promptly sucked into an air duct. "My, it's been a while!" hooted the ancient lady.

"Ooh! Ooh! A strawberry milkshake, please," Jim said eagerly. He was sure he was going to die from thirst. She handed him a frothy pink shake in a tall, frosty glass. Jim got busy drinking it.

The woman smiled benignly at his attempts to pour the entire shake into his mouth. "What a darling lad!" she whispered to German. German looked at her in disbelief.

"Jim!" German yelled. "We have a situation here! Darryl and Bob have been stolen! This is no time to be drinking milkshakes!"

Jim began singing along, and they did an impromptu tap dance on a nearby counter. The bank manager did not seem ruffled by this because she was accustomed to lunatics, and out of the goodness of her heart, she often offered chicken noodle soup to the friendly ones.

"Guys! Guys! Hello! Would you please stop?!" German waved her arms about frantically, though it didn't seem to do much good.

"Okay, German, we'll stop, but not because you're making those useless motions with your arms!" called the winsome old woman. "I'm merely helping out the writer, who couldn't write verse if anyone's life depended on it!"

"That song didn't even rhyme," grouched German, who only wanted to get her job done so she could make it back to school in time for German class.

The aged godmother shrugged. "Eh, you work with what you're given." She nudged Jim and winked at him conspiratorially. German ignored this and consoled herself with the fact that the word "Bank" meant two different things in German.

"Man, I could use some cheese!" exclaimed Jim hungrily. His godmother produced a wedge of sharp cheddar from her satchel. "Mmm. Cheese," murmured Jim, almost drooling.

German shook her head in exasperation. "Boy, we are not going to get anywhere! Ma'am, do you think you could help us get Darryl and Bob back?"

"Oh dear," the woman choked through her laughter. "Oh dear! You've got it all wrong! I'm a dairy godmother, not a fairy godmother!" Her mouth continued its reign of mirth.

"Wha?!" German thought for a moment. "Well, wasn't it convenient for this story that the first things Jim asks for happen to be dairy products?!" She began pacing around in a huff.

The dairy godmother looked apologetic. "I'm terribly sorry, German. It must have been a slip of my tongue! I was sure I said dairy, not fairy."

The enchanting lady tried to cheer her up. "Well, now, if it makes you feel any better, I'm your fairy godmother." She gave a placating smile.

"Ooo...more and more convenient, I see," spoke German warily. She quickly borrowed Jim's croupier attitude. "Do you really believe this means anything to me?"

Jim looked up from his block of cheddar. "Hey! That's my croupier attitude you're using! Give it back!"

"Oh please, Jim, you're not using it right now!" German begged. "I'll give it back after this. Why don't you use your police interrogator attitude for the time of being?" she suggested.

"Well, okay," Jim relented. "But I'm warning you! I'm going to do my Yoda impression every time you annoy me from now on!"

"Ack, no!" German cried. "Here, take your croupier attitude! Who needs it?" She turned back to the dairy godmother, but the ancient maid was no longer in sight.

This handy disappearance made the writer's work easier, since the writer had been fruitlessly searching for a decent way to dispose of the character.

Trying to think of new ways to refer to the mysterious crone had been exhausting, and though the writer had not located any school cafeteria lasagna (yet), the prospect of having a good weekend made the situation happier.

No one knew this, but Sir Thomas the Second was a villain. Oh, he wasn't the type of villain who stole tourist attractions and inventions or the type who wanted to make coats out of puppies. He had never tried stealing the voices of young mermaids, nor had he ever tried stealing Christmas. No, Sir Thomas the Second never stole anything at all (which made him that much harder to capture). Nevertheless, Sir Thomas the Second was most definitely a villain.

He wasn't born a villain. He was born as a nice boy, raised by an All-American suburban family. Not one family member was a villain.

It was years and years of practicing the piano that had warped Sir Thomas' brain and transformed him into a creature so depraved that his depravities had depravities, which in turn had insanities that had insanities. It did not go any further than that, so for several years, Sir Thomas was a typical teenage boy. That was until the last straw.

Surprisingly, the last straw was not anything actually involving a straw. The straw that broke the camel's back (in this case, the straw was still not a straw, but the camel was Sir Thomas) was Sir Thomas' glasses. More specifically, it was the daily task of cleaning fingerprint smudges from his glasses. This insignificant chore was what finally drove Sir Thomas the Second from the nice, safe confines of sanity into the unpredictable and incredibly entertaining throes of insanity. I mean villainy.

"These pitiful glasses!" Sir Thomas raged. "It's never enough! They won't stay clean! Day in and day out, I slave over the lenses, making them sparkle their brightest. Do they stay that way?! NO! Argh, the futility of trying to keep glasses clean!"

"It's much like keeping dishes and clothing clean," Mrs. Przybylinski pointed out mildly.

"I don't have to wear either of those," Sir Thomas snapped and slammed the front door as he left the house.

Mrs. Przybylinski was not especially worried. Sir Thomas opened the front door a crack to finish his retort. "From this day forth, I shall wear sealskin and nothing else!" There was an air of finality that spread through the house and made the windows shiver.

German and Jim were still pondering the next course of action to take, and Jim was concerned that his disappearance from home was bound to cause trouble.

"You've exited the timeline," German explained. "Until we return you, your present identity does not exist. Your family will not wonder about your absence because they will not sense an absence. Your friends will forget you for now. Please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times." German and Jim had acquired a go-cart and were slowly driving to the library to meet their supervisor.

"Look," said Jim, "I found a Swatch Watch in one of my pockets. It comes with seven different colored rings so that I may alter its appearance and complement my khaki suit."

"That's not a Swatch Watch," German said, slowly making a right turn. She did not seem very talented at handling the go-cart.

"It's not?" Jim was surprised, and he inspected the object more carefully. On closer inspection, the instrument appeared to be a Swatch Watch even more than it had previously.

"No," answered German. "That's a money bracelet. The colored rings are different forms of payment." She looked over to point out the display. "This display tells you how much money you have remaining, and...no, I'm sorry, that is a Swatch Watch."

The go-cart drove around a dog and turned another corner. Jim rooted through more of his pockets until he found the money bracelet.

"I never read manuals," Jim replied, "so I kind of tossed it on the road two minutes ago."

German stopped the go-cart. "More delays," she grumbled. "You need the manual. Every person's money bracelet is unique." She looked back at the road they had just traveled. "It's not even one yard away. You'd better get it."

"Isn't it a lot of trouble to produce unique money bracelets and unique manuals to accompany each one?" Jim asked, scooping up the manual and flipping through it.

German nodded. "But there have been too many cases of fraud. So it was inevitable." She began driving again.

"Have you ever met my brother?" Jim asked. "It was inevitable that he become a villain to thwart our mission of preserving Darryl and Bob."

"Really?" I thought he was supposed to add to the plot of this epic tale." German replied, confused, and they both checked the memo the writer had sent 10 minutes ago. There didn't seem to be any satisfactory answer.

"Oh, well, there he is now." Jim pointed ahead in a bored fashion. "All decked out in sealskin and not wearing his glasses. You know the story."

"Hey, Sir Thomas, move to the side!" German yelled. The go-cart inched closer and closer to the villain. Literally. "I can't control this thing!"

"Ahwooda!" squeaked Sir Thomas, as he finally turned around and noticed the approaching snail. Or go-cart.

However, he refused to budge from his spot, and his eyes bored defiantly into German's. It was hate at first sight.

Well, it might have been mere dislike at first sight. Or maybe it was just something that hadn't settled well at breakfast. Okay, fine, his eyes bored defiantly into German's, and that was pretty much all that was going on.

German made a courageous attempt to stop the go-cart, but three minutes later, the go-cart reached the spot where Sir Thomas was standing and gave him a nasty tap on the leg. Sir Thomas did not particularly feel like falling over, but he complied reluctantly. He struck a pose of defeat and declared, "Ah, you have vanquished me! Never has my flesh been torn asunder so!'

"Maybe you should go find Darryl and Bob first," suggested Sir Thomas, still pretending to be mortally wounded.

"Oh, so that's your plan," sneered German. "We can see right through it! Why chase the thief when we have a time machine at our disposal? No, Sir, we must properly duel at once!"

"Oh!" German exclaimed. "Right. Um. Okay, wait. We do have to finish this correctly." She turned to Sir Thomas, who had allowed his eyes to roll back in his head and was letting his mouth hang open just the right amount. "Hm, let's see...uh...yes, we have shown the tremendous strength and daring of those fighting for the forces of good. 'Twas a mighty struggle you put up, and now you have learned that good shall always triumph." She paused, thinking. "And...hasta la vista, baby!"

Jim shook his head reproachfully. "No, no, that's not the way to do it at all! You must debase him by stripping his armor, which is a representation of his loss of honor. Then you must add some sort of clever quip, usually involving a bad pun."

"I don't really care for the bits of chicken skin that he's wearing as armor," German informed Jim.

Jim sighed. "Okay, you're incompetent at everything except the German language. Let me handle this." He stared imposingly at the "corpse" of Sir Thomas still sprawled on the road. "We have bested you in battle, oh vile one, and thus, we have earned passage into your lands. Come, German, this chicken of chickens daren't show his head anymore." He gave a toss of his hair (well, he tried, it was too short to have any effect), and he and German set out for the library on foot.

They weren't even two feet away before Sir Thomas got up to avoid being run over for real.

The go-cart had been abandoned because German couldn't seem to drive very well. She didn't know it, but the go-cart had actually been part of a nonfunctional display for a racing show.

German and Jim stepped onto a road that was paved with smoke. They had arrived at the edge of a dark, foreboding forest. It was difficult to see more than 10 feet ahead; the jumble of densely-grown trees and thick foliage obscured what lay before them. The air seemed to grow chilly, and scrawny, somber squirrels plodded their way from tree branch to tree branch. Jim shivered unconsciously. "Where do we go from here?" he asked dazedly. The smoke was doing things to his head.

There was a resounding click, and a tall metal signpost rose from the ground. There were three signs, each pointing in a different direction.

"Library," German said distinctly. Instantly, a new sign appeared, and German started walking in the direction that was indicated. Jim ran to catch up with her.

"What's Masayume?" he wanted to know. "I know I haven't lived here that long, but I've heard of Sugar Land and Saltville."

"Masayume is a place where dreams come true," German explained. "I think it's a Japanese term."

Jim's eyes lit up in comprehension. "Oh, I see! Like my dreams...with the...milkshakes..." he trailed off.

"I don't," said German. "It's probably something unpleasant. There's a strange limbo that real or fictional characters can enter. It's where you go when you've exhausted your purpose for the time of being."

German nodded solemnly. "You can come back from limbo...but sometimes it's better if you don't. My friend Kitty Mosaic (not her real name) has been in and out of it. I can't use her real name because that would bring her into this story."

"Oh." Jim was silent for a moment. "Okay. So. Why is there a library in the middle of the forest?"

German sighed. "Technically, the library is not in the middle of the forest. The forest is wrapped around the library. For protection," she added, to deflect Jim's next question. She looked around uneasily. The sun was rising higher in the sky, casting confusing shadows over the smoky path.

"Sun is warm. Grass is grass," German said in a failed attempt at being profound. "Wind is...windy."

Jim groaned. "I didn't sleep at all last night. You sound like a raving lunatic to me."

"Hey, I didn't sleep last night, either. And how was I supposed to know that walking would be faster than taking a go-cart? We have to get to the library as quickly as possible. I'm just trying to take our minds off of exhaustion."

Jim yawned. "Okay, but if I start saying things that make no sense, I want to take a nap."

The conversation was interrupted when a bright light shimmered ahead and took the forms of two people.

"We can get there ourselves," German said. "No-need-to-trouble-yourselves-I-bid-you-adieu!" She grabbed Jim and ran.

"I am not a rag doll!" Jim was indignant. "You can't just drag me around on a whim!" He stopped running abruptly. "Get out of my life! Leave me alone." He pushed German away and began walking on by himself.

German was furious. "I was only trying to protect him!" she seethed. "He can't go on by himself! He has no idea who Fr�ulein Money is! How will we save Darryl and Bob now?" She was distracted by a toy swinging its way down a ladder. When it fell to the ground, she put it back on the top rung again. It toppled down with quick precision. This cheered up German, and she felt much better. She turned and ran after Jim.

"Go away," he said through clenched teeth. "This Darryl and Bob thing is stupid. I don't want to be a part of it. I want to go back to my normal life, where a tall orange limousine picks me up for school and shoe stores aren't under my English classes."

"No. I don't think it really happens. How can a shoe save the world? It's stupid. Get out of my way, German. Get out of my life. Things were a lot simpler before knew you."

German was crushed, watching crestfallen as Jim continued walking away. "I...I don't know what to do," she said helplessly. "It's real...but now that you know about the future, you can't go back to your old life. It'll never be the same." She kicked a stray acorn.

Jim spun around to face her, gripping his head in frustration. "You didn't even give me a choice. No red pill-blue pill decision like in The Matrix. I was perfectly happy with my life. I had a nice family. Pretty good school. Good friends. There wasn't a thing I needed. But now I have this responsibility to save the world. It's too much. I never asked for it. Why me?"

German looked at him steadily. "Okay. I can see that. But what did you want me to do, ask you to give me your shoes and offer no explanation for it? Huh?"

"YES!" shouted Jim. "I wouldn't care! You could ask me for my underwear, and I wouldn't ask for an explanation."

"Good," said German. "Give me your underwear. Now!" She pulled him behind a convenient shrub.

"Quiet! Anima and Animus have tracked us down. You said you'd do it; no explanations needed! Jim! Just hurry!" German said urgently.

Jim handed her his underpants without another word. German quickly ignited them with a strange purple flame, and the underpants became a column of ashes which were whisked away by the wind. She did the same to a chunk of her hair and watched as the wind carried it away as well. She slumped in relief. "That'll throw them off-track. Come on, Jim. I apologize for yanking you around. But we really have to get to the library."

Jim looked forlorn. "Did you have to take my underpants?" he asked, embarrassed.

"You need the entire khaki uniform to get into the library," German explained. "And you didn't have any hair to spare." She shrugged.

About two minutes later, German and Jim found themselves walking through the doors of a vine-covered library. Jim looked around in amazement. "Look at all these For Dummies books!" he said in disbelief. "What kind of library is this?!"

"Fr�ulein Money is a fan of this particular series," German informed him. "Check out this one! German for Dummies! It's got my name in the title!"

"Oh, are you two here already? Why, it seems like I just spoke to you a second ago," came a sardonic female voice.

"You must be Fr�ulein Money," Jim said, approaching a severe-looking woman seated at a nearby library table.

"Correction. I am Accomplice-Under-The-Table, Fr�ulein Money's financial consultant. Fr�ulein Money is sunning herself on that window ledge." Jim glanced at the window and did a double take. Accomplice-Under-The-Table pointed a finger at the chairs across the table. "Have a seat, Jim, Book."

Jim's brain was assailed by Accomplice-Under-The-Table's words. "Fr�ulein Money is a turtle?!" he asked. He looked at German in shock. "And your real name is Book?!"

Accomplice-Under-The-Table pursed her lips in consternation. "Well, Jim. I must admit that I call her Book because I have difficulty remembering her true name. Book has never had a problem with it."

"Oh, this is too much," Jim sighed, collapsing on the floor in a deep sleep. He absolutely could not go on without some sleep.

"Ahem." Accomplice-Under-The-Table cleared her throat. Jim did not stir. "Very well. Book, do you also require REM sleep?"

"Permission granted," said Accomplice-Under-The-Table. "I will take Fr�ulein Money for a short walk. Then, we must take care of this serious situation." She clipped a leash on Fr�ulein Money's special collar and ushered her out the sliding glass doors.

It was about 3 A.M. in San Diego, California, where the highly-acclaimed Villainy Preparatory For The Precocious-Minded was located. Villainy Prep, as it was called by the students, was situated beneath El Cuervo's, a small Mexican cafe that served fantastic beef enchiladas. The school housed five branches of study, most of which overlapped quite some bit. However, they had a fine reputation for variety, and it didn't hurt that Long John Silver and Cruella De Vil were former students. Another alumna was Snow White's stepmother, who ironically had no name and was identified by the name of the person she most despised. Villainy Prep also had its share of underground pupils, spanning the spectrum from high school gym teachers to infants who cry during in-flight movies on airplanes to people who delight in telling their life stories to complete strangers. Oh, yes. They were all once students at the esteemed Villainy Prep.

The classes at Villainy Prep were held mostly late at night and early in the morning. Early scientific studies had pinpointed this as the optimal time for humans to access their most disconcerting and devious behaviors. Besides, the classes were not only for humans, and many of the more supernatural students were not particularly fond of daylight. Therefore, night after night, villainous hopefuls and vile creatures flocked to this institution of diabolical learning. Tonight, a new semester was beginning.

"Hello and good morning, students!" boomed the instructor cheerily. "You may call me Canavati. Now I will call roll." Canavati peered at the sheet of paper in his hand. "These appear to be instructions on how to play tennis," he said, bemused. "Hmm. Okay, on second thought, why don't each of you stand up and introduce yourselves?" He looked out at the strange assortment of faces in his classroom. Most of them were bored and sleepy-looking. Canavati searched the room for a volunteer. "Will anyone start us off on our introductions?" His slightly orange eyes settled on a teenage boy in the front row. "Sir? Please begin."

The boy stood up. "Well, as you have already said, my name is Sir. My family calls me Tom, however, and my friends call me Sir Thomas. I'm taking this Intro to Comic Villainy class because it's a prerequisite for the Beginning Droid Creation class, wherein my true interest lies." Sir Thomas sat down again.

The knight sitting in the next seat stood up noisily, his armor clanking and scraping. Sir Thomas was secretly proud of his own sealskin ensemble, which was designed for stealth. It was perfect for infiltrating maximum security prisons and Sanrio stores.

The knight cleared his throat. "I am Sir Cheeks. Since my first name is the same as that of the young man who went before me, you may all call me Cheeks. My lady sent me here to gain a sense of humor." He harrumphed gruffly and clanged back into his seat.

A manatee stood up. "My name is Nonfluffy Cat, and I prefer to be addressed by that entire name. I need snappy comebacks and put-downs for the other manatees because the seals like to make fun of us."

Canavati grinned broadly. This was an unusually excellent class! As the remainder of the students introduced themselves (one of them was a slice of lemon meringue pie), Canavati felt more and more confident that he finally had a promising group of students to show off at the mid-semester talent show. When all the students had been introduced, Canavati gestured to the fishbowl on the corner of his desk. "Everyone, this is Jeremy, the flavor-blasted goldfish. He's our class mascot." Jeremy swam a circle in his bowl and blew a few bubbles at the class. It was his own brand of non-threatening dissent.

More coming up eventually. Sir Thomas makes friends at Villainy Prep, Jim and German eat at Milking the Kangaroo, a dairy buffet restaurant, and a plan is formed for rescuing Darryl and Bob. We may see our other antagonists, Anima and Animus, again, but they may be ditched in favor of someone with a cooler name.

The Unfinished Story of Darrel and Bob