“What did I miss?” asked Alfie as he hopped down from the glovebox lid onto the seat between Bali and Ha’i.

Bali answered, “Look out back.”

Alfie scrambled up and peered over the seatback to see Floyd singing Row-Row-Row Your Boat in rounds with the seven blondes.

“….merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”
“….merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”
“….merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”
And then everyone clapped and laughed.

Alfie looked down at Bali from the top of the seatback. “Where are we headed?”

“The lake,” answered Bali.

“Why?” asked Alfie.

“It’s where the girls were headed when they lost their ride.”

Alfie slid down the seat back to his spot between Bali and Ha’i. “What are we going to do when we get there?”

Bali just shrugged her shoulders. “It’s Saturday.”

“Turn here,” said Aloha from her navigator’s perch on top of the dash. The Hudson began to bump and bounce as I turned onto a gravel road. “This is the way to Hippie Hollow,” she said.

Just then, the Hudson shot forward and Aloha tumbled onto the floorboard.

“What was that?” squealed Bali and Ha’i in unison.

Looking into the rear-view mirror, I said, “It’s Spraytan and Boxwine in a police car.”

From the floorboard, Aloha asked, “Why would the police be taking them to Hippie Hollow?”

“There are no police,” I told her. “Spraytan is driving and it looks like he’s going to ram us again.”

BUMP! I was right.

Alfie scrambled across the front seat, gripped the outside mirror with his left hand and swung into a seated position in the driver’s window. He whispered into my ear. I nodded, then Alfie scampered out the window and onto Floyd’s shoulder where he whispered into his ear, as well.

Floyd told the blondes, “Grab something, ladies, because Indy’s gonna shut us down.” 

I steered the Hudson onto the grassy shoulder and quickly came to a stop. Spraytan did the same.

As Alfie-the-elf disappeared into the grass, he whispered loudly, “Remember, Floyd, just keep them talking!”

Floyd hopped down out of the truck. Everyone else stayed inside.

Spraytan and Boxwine stepped out of the police car and then sat on it like a low-budget imitation of Starsky & Hutch.

Spraytan said, “Puppet Boy, me and Boxwine are about to open up a jumbo-size can of Whoop Ass on you and your little cartoon friends.”

Floyd said, “Well the jumbo-size is a better value, but did you get the Extra Strength Whoop Ass, the Heavy Duty Whoop Ass, the New and Improved Whoop Ass, the Roadrunner & Coyote Special Edition Whoop Ass, or the MC Hammer Whoop Ass with Extra Hammer – which, if you did get, be careful not to touch it, because it says right there on the can, ‘Can’t Touch This.'” Then Floyd spread his arms out wide, palms up, and asked, “So which one did you bring?”

Spraytan and Boxwine exchanged an uncomfortable glance, then Boxwine shouted, “I don’t need no can of Whoop-Ass to stomp a mudhole in you! You hear me puppet boy? And then I’m gonna stomp it dry! What song do you plan to sing when I’m done doin’ THAT?”

“Five different songs spring to mind,” said Floyd, “and seeing as how you’ve decided not to open your can of Whoop-Ass today, I think it’s only right to let you choose the song. Number One!” shouted Floyd as he strummed his guitar and sang,

“Bad, bad Leroy Brown,
The baddest man in the whole damn town,
Badder than old King Kong,
And meaner than a junkyard dog…”

Spraytan shouted, “That’s the one you want, Boxwine! Let him sing that one!”

“It’s my song, dammit!” said Boxwine. “And I want to hear the other four.”

“Number Two!” shouted Floyd with a flourish,
“Now Amos Moses was a Cajun,
He lived by himself in the swamp,
He hunted alligator for a living,
He’d just knock them in the head with a stump…”

“That’s a good one, too!” shouted Spraytan.

“Number Three!” shouted Floyd. Then he turned toward the girls in the truck and started a slow, rhythmic clap. As the girls slowly clapped out the time signature, Floyd sang,
“On the day I was born
The nurses all gathered ’round
And they gazed in wide wonder
At the joy they had found.
The head nurse spoke up
And she said, ‘Leave this one alone.’
She could tell right away
That I was bad to the bone.“

A green-clad elf wearing a black scarf shot out from under the patrol car shouting “Drive! Drive! Drive!” as he rocketed toward the Hudson pickup.

Floyd turned his back on Boxwine and Spraytan and shouted “Number Four!” as he tossed his guitar into the bed of the truck, leaned forward, dropped his pants and crab-walked a little to the left and a little to the right as he sang, “You can’t touch this! You can’t touch this!”

The gravel is probably still flying where the Hudson took off, but seeing Floyd struggling to catch up with his pants at his knees, I stopped and let him pile into the back of the truck where the girls were laughing hysterically.

The rear-view mirror assured me that Boxwine and Spraytan were quickly fastening their seatbelts in the patrol car, so I resumed our leisurely drive to Hippie Hollow.

Perched on the dash again, Aloha was looking quizzically at Bali and Ha’i as they examined the tubular scarf with the flared ends that Alfie had draped around his neck.

“It’s called a coil wire,” he smiled as he tapped his temple with his forefinger, “and a car can’t run without it.”