December 16, 2009

The renegade helicopter was on a mission, San Juan Bautista, to be specific. A sea of local authorities and law enforcement officials from as far away as France and as nearby as Hong Kong surrounded the site. Police officers took turns eating donuts and attempting to talk the helicopter into releasing the hostages. The hostages took turns braying and working on the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle. The helicopter snarled defiance.

“I defy you, coppers!” snarled the helicopter.

“Hey, helicopter, there’s someone here who wants to talk to you,” purred the SWAT guy from Modesto.

“Honey, it’s me. It’s Rhonda. Please let the camels go and give yourself up. Won’t you do it for me? For me and little Klaus?” tearfully pleaded the attractive, albeit matronly, snowplow.

“All right, Rhonda. I’ll do it for you and to end this ludicrous narrative. Meet me in Saskatoon,” said the helicopter, lifting into the sky and heading north.

Everyone wept in relief because the camels were safe. It was a major hassle to get them off the roof of the mission, I can tell you. Hernias galore.


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