"This is bad."

"What?"

"The Moon requires a parcel."

"The Moon does?"

"You don't come back from that."

"Moon's Spawn?"

"Anomander Rake."

Ano "mother****ing" Mander Rake. I mean come on, this is the Summer's Eve of deliveries, and no one wants to go there. Some things just can't be washed away, like memories for instance, or image burned retinas. Though I digress, the Rake is bad mojo. We are all going to die, Mac, Chewie, and I. No one comes back from a delivery to the Moon. One time this guy named Jumbo Steve, the very same Jumbo Steve that owned and operated Jumbo Steve's Delivery, he got that yellow sticky to the sky in an attempted Moon delivery. Rumor has it he didn't even make it to the doorbell. Well, RPS Enterprises wasn't going down like that, oh no, not only were we going to deliver that parcel, we were going to live. After that we were going to capitalize on it.

I am getting ahead of myself however, let's go back in time you and me, to the RPS War Room where history was made and legends were born.

The transcript reads: Sometime around midnight in the RPS War Room, it's smoky and ten- sions are high along with everyone else in the room' Mac: We could try the Puma Two-Step. It is said that it works nineteen percent of the time all the time. Chris: Oh that's brilliant, Mac. Just out of curiosity, can you actually play a bagpipe with your" Mac: Alright! Alright"I was just throwing something out there to see if it stuck. Chewie: Nous pourrions toujours essayer la confiture acoustique" Chris: Chewie, ya are a genius! Mac: What did he say'

We setup at the edge of the bottom step of the Moon, The RPS Trio at home now crowded into the empty space that spanned Grandma's Persian rug. Chewie was percussion and drove the machine; Mac was on the lefty bass, which left me with the guitar and vocals on this particular trip. We stood huddled as if there was a biting wind, the parcel sat quietly upon the top stair with a pen and clipboard beside it. Socks had already jumped up and pawed the doorbell; he tried to get away real fast but the porch was painted wood and he couldn't get a grip and had wolf-slip-a-phobia. It was hilarious. He got away before the door opened. If nothing else, at least we got as far as ringing the doorbell before we were too stupid to run away. Socks, is, was, and always will be the brains behind the operation.

Then he appeared, Anomander Rake, the guy is like seven feet tall with a sword six and half feet long that when you look at it, you see the darkness of your future. He is badass. Also has a habit of spreading his arms out to the side as he speaks. "Look at me, look at me, driving and I won't stop. Damn! It feels good to be alive and on top." This was about the time his eyes flashed some ominous hue that spoke of famine and worlds-end, later Chewie would admit to pissing himself upon seeing it. "My reach is global, my tower secure. My cause is noble, my power is pure!" Now he was holding up a fist, looking evil, like he was about to drop the hammer. "I can?"

So we cut him off and began to play.

"The thing that I tell ya now" "It may not go over well "And it may not be photo-op" "In the way I spell it out.... "But you won't hear from the messenger "Don't wanna know 'bout something that you don't understand, "Ya got no fear of the underdog" "That's why ya will not survive...

Acoustic Jam. Confiture Acoustique. Dead Air.

Many years have passed and no one has seen them since?

The RPS Trio shuffled into the Lotus, all dead men walking, and made their way to a back corner booth where they could take in the room without worry of having to watch their backs. They were clearly in a state and it showed. Haggard, downcast, and cold, they slipped into the booth, quickly flagging down a server and ordering a round. Warm spiced wine was on the menu as well as some bud, which was sparked up and passed around. One by one the three crawled from the fields that ran along the thousand yard stares as each buzz was lit and the weight on their shoulders was lifted long enough to realize they weren't dead. Their deaths would not be long for the moon most likely and that still weighed a little heavy so they stayed in the cups and smoked in silence.

Two hours ago they were banished from a moon, dropped off on some mountain in a snow storm and informed to follow the path up where eventually they would find a village. Within the village they found the tea house; now warmed up, well into the cups, and high as kites, one of them finally said something. It was Mac.

"We are so screwed!"

There were no arguments from the other two, Chris or Chewie, they were screwed and they all knew it. Even if they accomplish what they are supposed to do, things were still not going to swing in their favor. They were dead, the lot of them, either way. That is what happens when the wrong parcel is brought for delivery and the recipient for said delivery is Anomander Rake. Once Mr. Rake found out he was rather upset about it. The guy is Soletaken, which is the wrong type of individual to piss off in the first place. For those that may not know, a Soletaken is a shape-shifter and this particular one takes the form of a black dragon. Also his home and preferred mode of travel is a moon. A moon!

Upon learning of the mishap Mr. Rake kindly showed that form to the trio with some theatrics of a scary nature, the demonstration of that anger caused Chewie to piss himself and pass out. Once Chewie woke up Mr. Rake had something else to show them. Draginpur, his sword. First off, Draginpur is a black blade that absorbed all light. Bad news right off the top. What was worse is the sword, Draginpur, is actually a gate to the Realm of Darkness which holds a giant cart that is chased forever by the forces of Chaos. The icing on the cake as it were, was that the cart is pushed by the souls of the people slain by said sword for an eternity. To show someone an eternal hell is an effective demonstration on all accounts.

At this point The RPS Trio had two choices. Either retrieve the correct parcel and bring it back or spend an eternity pushing a freakishly large cart as forgotten souls with Chaos in constant chase. They were drinking like fish and smoking like chimneys at the thought of this, a completely understandable response under the circumstances...get wasted and hope it's not real or just goes away.

Just then Mac set his glass down and looked up, totally gone at this point, a rather glassy idea smiling in his eyes. "I got it! Let's go jump off something very high. That way we don't die by the sword and in turn we don't have to push that hell cart thing forever." He grinned a bit, nodding, happy with himself for coming up with a good plan. It was so matter of fact it sounded logical, and maybe it was.

Chris however didn't even move, he was now slumped back in the booth, looking up at the ceiling, high as a blister in the sun. Chewie on the other hand was staring at his shoes, still pretty embarrassed about the peeing incident and the joint only made him more paranoid about it. Mac's smile faded and he went back into his cups; all three went back to the silent reverie as Blind Faith played in the background on the jukebox.

When the song ended Chris sat up and leaned forward on the table, pouring some more of the spiced wine from the pitcher and drinking it down before refilling the glass. Somewhat optimistic, he spoke up. "Let's go get it. We can go see if it's still there, if so, we bring it back. If not, then we can find something to jump off." Swirling the contents and lifting it for another swig, he paused halfway, "If we can actually find it, maybe we don't have to die. It's a win-win...or lose-lose. Either one. Either way." With that he finished off the glass and slid it back to the table, matching the grin Mac had earlier with his idea.

"Find it"! Who knows how long it's been" Hell! We don't even know where we are!" Mac was pretty animated, pointing around the place as he spoke. He looked at Chewie, who was still in his own little world, before lifting the gaze back to Chris. "How are we supposed to do that exactly?"

"Well..." Chris was sliding from the booth to stand. "We go to the last place we saw it...the Forsaken Blades Clubhouse." Much to high to be making rational decisions he clapped his hands together in what must have been triumph in his own mind. "Road trip!"

Mac responded immediately. "Oh yeah' Road trip" The Edge of Forever is it then, Sagan?" Sarcasm dripping from his questions and burning holes in the floor. "Might I remind you again that not only do we not know where we are, but when we are!"

Chris shrugged. "Let's find out then."

Just about then, Socks, having finished his fun of playing in the snow, made his way inside with a dash at the open door and found the slippery surface. Slipping and sliding on the hard wood floor in attempted turns he eventually plopped down to a belly flop that ended up at the foot of the booth. Upon stopping the beagle looked up at Chris, barked and wagged his tail, clueless as to the trouble they were all in.

.....

They were now out of the cold and into some other strange situation, it was like a Bob Fried Memorial Boogie that had trailers and other visuals that seemed to linger like a lit cherry against the dark. Wigan was off looking to see if there was another way out of the tower while the trio stayed put. They were holed up in some rounded corner, getting high, and playing an epic game of old school Clue; there was a large collection of other games to choose from in this spiral fascination but Clue was the chosen one on the docket.

Chris rolled a FIVE and that got him into the Conservatory where he was going for the win. "Ok. Ok. Check it!" As per the extra rules they just made up, he was also in possession of the joint and hitting on it liberally. It was like the equivalent of the conch shell in Lord of the Flies. "I suggest it is Miss Scarlet-"

"She is hot." Mac interrupted with an inward whistle.

"Super chaud!" Chewie concurred.

Chris could only nod in agreement as he continued. "Miss Scarlet, super hotty, in the Conservatory with the Dreyse M1907."

"Foo d'ye say?" Scottish accent.

"Qu'est-ce?" A French one.

"The Revolver! Miss Scarlet in the Conservatory with the Revolver." Chris then dropped his detective notebook sheet like it was a mic and it was hot. "Bam!"

While making their way down to the cellar and the secret envelope to verify it's contents was when Wigan reappeared and snapped the joint away, kicking at the game board. "Time to go. Remember now ladies, get the parcel or die by the sword where you don't really die. Ya Green?"

No, **** it, they're all dead.

The dog too"

No, not the dog.

Socks lives"

Oh yeah, he lives.

Right on.

Best dog ever, man.

((The real Socks gone six years today...miss ya, dog.))