Well, Target number 1 has gone deep underground, after firing off a sad attempt at a distraction. Sorry, but anger will not cloud my karma, grasshopper. As for target number 2, she is also a no-show. I hit the places she normally works, but no luck. All I got was a bad cold from hanging out on all those inner city street-corners. I see now why cool whip and maribou had such appeal. Cushy.
Nobody has any idea where either of them are hiding out.
That's ok...I'll wait.
In the mean time, I decided to re-open my office...Dr. B. Pilgrim: Hallucinations for Hire.
No sooner did I have my shingle hung up, next to the two skeletons dangling from the 7th floor balcony (Choiropractory clinic up there. Best not to ask questions) when I had my first client.
I heard a scratching at the dorr, and opened it careful to see a pile of brownish fur laying on my welcome mat....it was Dale. No sign of Chip. That troubled me. They had been together constantly since they first hooked up in that Frisco bathhouse in 74, at the height of the Glam Days, before Disney re-made their image. Good thing for them no one had ever outted them. I guess all rodents look alike.
I kicked him into the office.
He was acting really squirelly.
His fur was missing in patches. It was clear that he had been worked over by a professional. He was chain smoking, lighting a fresh one from the butt. I could tell by his pink little eyes that he was hitting the sauce again.
I pulled a jar of Hoi Sin out of my desk drawer and poured him a finger bowl full. He licked it down and looked at me.
"Pilgrim....Chip is.......dead.....Goofy has gone over the edge, completely bazongah, capice?!...He says that if he can't have Raine, he'll make the world pay. He caught Dale, and he had that damned golf club and then he...oh god......"
I hate watching a chipmunk cry. It really chokes me up. So I shot him in the side of the head. Always hated the little flunkie, anyway. Him and Chip making their little notes, selling everybody's secrets and helping Goofy continue his reign of terror.
Plus, I could never forgive the little wretch for what he had done to Tinkerbell once "The Big Dawg" was done with her. She is still down on the bowery, one-winged, doing more fairy dust every day to help her wish upon a star. Pitiful.
But this was bad news. If Goofy has gone off, who can stop him? Mickey was useless, locked up at the Betty Ford, and Donald wasn't the same since that stroke in 87.
Frohike help me, it's up to me.
Wish me luck, I'm goin' dawg huntin'......I gotta stop him before he finds Raine....and if he does get there first she'll sell us all out to the Disney machine. I have no intention living out my days in Goof Troop, thankyouverymuch.
Gonna need a big leash. Size Does Matter.