Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

PART 3: BIGFOOTS IN TROUBLE

The Savage Jungle Inn, picturesque Half Life, Nevada.
Sam and Max got out of the DeSoto. Around them were the heavily-watered lawns and sculptured gardens of the Inn. All around, the land was desert-brown, but the Savage Tiki Inn was an oasis of vegetation. A tiny artificial watercourse ran through the undulating greenery, under the hanging boughs of the palm trees, and past a fake volcano, complete with rivulets of red lava. On the sign above, decorated with a two-dimensional alligator, was written SAVAGE JUNGLE INN in large, red-and-yellow colourful, Jurassic-Park style letters. Underneath it, in smaller type, was the subheading Welcomes Podiatrially Gifted.
"This place is Tikirific!" enthused Max.
"'Tikirific?'"
"Yeah. I feel immersed in native culture."
"I just hope this place has those authentic Savage Tiki drinks with that authentic Tiki tang," said Sam. They walked into the air-conditioned lobby.
The jungle motif had been carried further in here. The walls were chipped balsawood, and the front desk was built from polished twigs, reinforcing the trapped-on-a-desert-island-dwelling feeling of the place, an impression carried further by a fake palm tree behind the front desk, reaching up to the ceiling. There was another fake volcano, an island in the middle of a small ground level pool. There to lend authenticity to the jungle motif, it also looked like a rabid gopher mound. Plus, there was an actual toucan, swinging about on a small trapeze.
By the automatic doors was a telephone box, black-shaded privacy. Behind it, standing at the entrance to the Inn conference area, was a large beefy bigfoot, an expression of pain on his face. Occasionally he would scratch at his enormous feet, which were scabbed and covered in bandaids.
But Sam ignored him. His eyes were caught by the woman behind the front desk. She was old, and making the best of it with a black top, ostentatious Edna Everidge sunglasses, and a cigarette held rebelliously close to her mouth. Her hair was pulled back tightly, and worked over in a frizzy, dazzling fashion. Same for the face. The lipstick on her lips was bright red. She was someone whose time was past, but it had been great while it lasted.
Sam scratched his chin. Then her features became clear. "Hey! You're Evelyn Morrison, famed B movie star!" said Sam.
"Yes, I am she," said Evelyn, with a little imperious wave of her carefully manicured hand.
"I've seen all your movies!" said Sam, the Evelyn Morrison aficionado. "My favourite was 'Robot Terror From Beyond The Galaxy.'"
"Is that the one where the alien says 'Klamdo Barrreta Nimno'?" asked Max.
"No, that's 'Vampiress in Prison.'" corrected Sam.
"Oh yeah."
"Would you like Evelyn Morrison's autograph?" asked Evelyn. She had a habit of talking about herself in the third person.
"Actually, we just want to ask a few questions," said Sam.
"Evelyn Morrison is always available for interviews."
"How'd you end up in the hotel business?" Sam asked.
Max grinned. "I bet it was a sordid combination of fast cars and fast living. VROOM! VROOM!"
"It was the stars," Evelyn said enigmatically.
"Bigger movie stars than you?" said Sam. "Pshaw."
"'Pshaw?'" said Max, incredulous.
"No, the stars didn't get bigger," explained Evelyn. "The rubber monsters got smaller." And that was the end of her story.
Max was disappointed. "I still say it was a lurid tale of sin and depravity," he said.
"Nice outfit," complimented Sam.
"Evelyn Morrison thanks you."
"So where'd you get that way-out look?"
"Lot-5 set-36 wardrobe-14 back in '72," said Evelyn. "It really works, don't you think?"
"And it's such a natural look too," commented Max.
"Something about this place makes me want to toss Max into a volcano," mused Sam.
"Say what?" said Max.
Sam ignored him. "I have this sudden craving for an umbrella drink," he said to Evelyn.
"Evelyn Morrison's Jungle Inn has the greatest umbrella drinks in the world," said Evelyn, "with over two hundred and thirty seven kinds of rum."
"All in just one drink?" said Max. "Which way to the bar?"
"Take it easy, Max, you don't even drink."
"Oh yeah," remembered Max. "The toucan must've put words into my mouth."
Sam knew, from the bigfoot at the door, they'd made it to the right place. He guided the conversation onto more pertinent areas. "Have you had any problems with the bigfoots?" he asked her.
"Evelyn Morrison has always worked well with grotesque creatures of the night."
"I'll take that as a no," said Sam. "How many bigfoots are here, anyway?"
"All of them," said Evelyn.
That answered that. Sam tried something else. "You haven't seen a short, self-absorbed, crazy-as-a-bedbug country-western singing star around here, have you?"
Evelyn Morrison sniffed. "If you mean Conroy Bumpus, Evelyn Morrison had him ejected from the premises hours ago."
"Why?"
"He was harassing Evelyn Morrison's guests," she said, her theatric voice laden with dramatic horror.
"About Conroy Bumpus-"
Evelyn Morrison clearly didn't want to talk about him. "Do not speak that name in Evelyn Morrison's presence! He is but a mere candle when compared to her supernovic brilliance."
Sam had to agree there. "I still can't believe that you're Evelyn Morrison!" he said wonderingly.
"Maybe this will make a believer out of you," said Evelyn. She cleared her throat, then suddenly screamed. "IEEEEEEEEE!!! IT'S A GIANT SHREW!!!"
The silence that followed this seemed louder than most silences. "Well?" said Evelyn
"Works for me," said Sam. "Well, I'll get back to you later."
"Evelyn Morrison will be here. In the meantime, why not take some of these brochures?" She reached under the counter and handed Sam some glossy pamphlets. "They have Evelyn Morrison's autograph on them, making them must-have collectibles."
"Thanks," said Sam.
"Evelyn Morrison will always be there for her admirers," said Evelyn.
Sam pocketed the pamphlets, and looked around for Max. He was standing near the toucan, and behind him a large poster hung on the wall. It was a movie poster, featuring an artist's impression of a screaming woman held within the coils of a giant snake. The movie was called THE REPTILE QUEEN.
Sam remembered it well. "I remember seeing this movie in theatres when I was a pup," he said to Max. "During the climactic scene they dropped giant rubber snakes on the audience. Why don't they make movies like that any more?"
"Higher standards?" suggested Max.
"Probably," admitted Sam. "But I hear there's a remake in the works with Julia Roberts and Bruce Willis."
Max lost interest and walked back to the automatic doors. He leaned forward, arms stretched, causing them to open, then leant back, and chuckled. The doors shut, and Max repeated the operation.
Sam walked over to the bigfoot by the conference doorway. He could hear music and laughter coming from beyond, and see the faint reflections of flashing lights. "Whazzup in there?" he asked.
"Big-time bigfoot party," said the bigfoot. Sam guessed he was some kind of bouncer.
"Sounds like some kind of shindig," said Sam.
"It's the event of the century," said the bigfoot bouncer.
"How's the band?"
"Pretty happy as far as I can tell."
Sam took the minimal conversation as a good sign, and stepped forward. The bigfoot, however, had other ideas. "STOP!" he shouted.
Sam stopped. You didn't ignore a shouting bigfoot, and especially not one this size. "What's up?" he asked.
"Only sasquatches and their dates are allowed on the convention floor!" said the bouncer firmly.
"What's bugging you?" said Sam. "We just want to check out the party for a minute to see some friends."
"Aside from my flea and tick problem," said the bouncer (now that's insulting, thought Sam), "my feet hurt. It's not like us Sasquatch can order up some orthopaedic shoes any time we want." And he did look irritable.
"You're not being very cooperative," said Sam
"And you're underdressed. I can't let you in like that."
Sam was not getting anywhere. He looked around for inspiration. Eventually, he walked into the shielded phone booth, and shut the door. A few seconds later, he came out again.
Max looked at him. "I had no one to call," explained Sam.
"Call me, call me!"
"You'd have to get cellular."
Max didn't think so. "I'm Pixular. It's better than cellular!"
Sam shook his head slowly. "That's bad Max... really bad."
"Who cares, I'm cute." Max made a friendly face.
"Jeeeez."
They walked back outside, into the muggy hot air. Sam took out the pamphlets and looked at them. "Hmmmm," he said.
"I hate it when you hum, Sam. It sounds like a high voltage tower."
Said Sam, "These are pamphlets for the Mount Rushmore Dinosaur Tarpit and Bungee Jumping National Park, in North Dakota - and someplace called the 'Celebrity Vegetable Museum', in Goatliver, Texas."
"I think I liked the humming better," said Max.
They got in the car.

The Celebrity Vegetable Museum was a cross between a roadside food stall and a bad theme park. Situated on several acres of prime Texan farmland, visitors were treated to all sorts of vegetable displays on their way to the counter, a giant fibreglass construction of a head-shaped pumpkin.
The first display, at the car park, was pretty familiar. The sun was setting as they arrived, casting the landscape in orange hues, and it rendered the scene even more dramatic. "What detail," commented Sam.
"See the carrot leaning out of the book depository?" said Max.
"Never mind that. What about the string beans behind the fence on the grassy knoll?"
Max pointed. "That avocado is Governor Connelly."
They walked along the rows of string beans, runner beans, butter beans and cornstalks, toward the counter. Behind it was an old lady, to whom the adjective 'little' would be very appropriate, and nearby were numerous displays and remainder bins.
They stopped at another display box. "Which one of these guys is the Walrus?" said Sam.
"The celery stalk."
"I wonder what's holding those mop tops up?"
The next display was even more breathtaking. "I can't believe Harrison actually agreed to this," said Sam.
"It is a stunning likeness, though," said Max.
Sam shook his head. "It's amazing what they can do with mushrooms. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Shrooms."
The remainder bins held just one type of celebrity vegetable, and a very familiar one at that - eggplants shaped like Conroy Bumpus. "'Remainder Conroy Bumpus Eggplants'," read Sam.
"I guess his fifteen minutes of fame are up."
Sam turned away from the heap of eggplants and caught the eye of the little old lady behind the counter. Yes, this was the kind of woman who lived, breathed, and prepared food. On the ground behind her was a sign, saying 'Your likeness from picture'.
"What the Holy Mother of Gourd is this?" Sam asked her, flatly.
The woman smiled cheerily. "Isn't it obvious? I grow vegetables in the shapes of famous celebrities. For a small fee I'll grow a vegetable from a photograph." She had a warm, if creaky, grandmotherly voice.
"Oh, that would have been my second guess," said Sam. "So, how did you get started in this... line of work?"
"I'm a natural," said the woman. "My mother's an artist. My father's a farmer. And my great-grandfather was a village idiot. It's in my blood."
"I see."
"I grow more fascinated by the moment," said Max.
"So," said Sam, "what's the biggest thing in vegetable celebrities right now?"
"I can't believe I lived long enough to hear you say that, Sam," said Max.
"You may not believe this, sonny, but the biggest thing right now is miniaturisation."
"Miniaturisation?"
"Peas," she explained.
"Peas?"
"I know, I know, it seems impossible. All we are saying... ...is give peas a chance."
Silence. "Kill her now, Sam," said Max.
"How late are you open?" asked Sam.
"As late as you want. Gotta grab the sales when you can in this business."
Enough small talk. Sam got down to his two killer questions. "So what do you know about bigfoots?"
The woman thought. "Well, they don't translate well into vegetables. I've been experimenting with the idea for a while... but there's just no such thing as a furry vegetable."
"Check out our fridge," said Max.
"What prompted that batch of Conroy heads over there?" asked Sam.
"Well, I was trying a new growth hormone for some of my more... distinguished personalities, when I realised it was no good. Now it won't stop. They just keep growing like that; big misshapen growths on top. Reminded me of Conroy Bumpus, so I ran a special."
"Know anything else about Conroy?"
"What's there to know? My eggplant is a fine representation of all his charm, wit and personality."
Sam had to admit this. "That'll do it for Conroy, thanks." He turned to Max. "Ok, I think I've had just about all the vegetables I can take for a while. How about you?"
"I feel chock full of vitamins and ready to go," said Max. They started walking toward the car.
"This place is really starting to grow on me," said Max.
"Where to after this?"
"Beets me."
"I think I've had just about all the veggie culture I can take."
"I'm with you," agreed Max. "Lettuce be going and see what else we can turnip."

Mount Rushmore Dinosaur Tarpit and Bungee Jumping National Park, North Dakota. A place that often had trouble fitting onto the tourist schedules.
You take one Mount Rushmore, add a few fibreglass and metal dinosaurs, crudely animated using animatronics, put in a finely engineered tar pit, tar pit slide, and connect bungee equipment to the noses of the four presidents, so people can leap from their sinuses. Voila: one Mount Rushmore Dinosaur Tarpit and Bungee Jumping National Park.
They got out of the car. "At least the DeSoto's stopped making that funny noise," said Sam.
"I told you not to run over that biker gang."
"When this is all over we really should get this car looked at by a qualified mechanic."
Concrete steps led down from the carpark area to the dinosaurs. Faint, but likely to get a lot stronger, was the pungent smell of tar. "Hmmm," said Sam, looking at the first two dinosaurs - a stiff-necked diplodocus, and a trilobyte that looked like it'd been scraped off an Interstate.
"What kind of dinosaurs are those, Sam?" asked Max.
"From the size of their granfibular extensions, I'd say they were a couple of Brichabrachiasaurs.
"Are they dangerous?"
"They're only robots, Max. Dinosaurs have been extinct for millions of years."
"No one tells me anything," said Max.
They walked along the pavement to the next pair of dinosaurs. Here was a giant metal Tyrannosaurus Rex, stained slightly with rust. There was something strange about it.
Sam had it. "Look! A 70-million-year-old statue with no graffiti!"
"I thought it was missing something," said Max. "Where's the crayons?"
"No way."
"Why not?"
"You're artistically inept," said Sam.
A pause. "Can I just paint his toenails red?"
"Maybe later," said Sam.
On an upraised panel in front of the T-Rex was a red button, large enough for even the dumbest child to notice. 'Push Button to hear Rex Speak!', the tots were exhorted.
Sam pushed the button. The lower jaw of the T-Rex started wavering up and down, creaking, completely out of step with the tinny, uninspiring words coming from his mouth. They'd hired someone to be scary and dangerous, but ended up with a voice actor who sounded like Barney. "Hi, my name is Rex, the Thunder Lizard," he said. "During the late Jurassic Period, I was King of the Dinosaurs. As you can see, my tiny forearms are quite useless, but I more than make up for it with my powerful tail, my muscular legs, and my savage, razor sharp teeth. ROAAAAAAAAR!"
A cat could have managed a better roar.
"Some people make fun of me because I've got a brain the size of a walnut... But they usually stop making fun of me after I eat them! ROAAAAAAAAR!"
The T-Rex fell mercifully silent. Sam walked away and to the next pathetic exhibit. It was a Wooly Mammoth - not a dinosaur at all. But more effort seemed to have been put into this one, as it was covered in thick, chocolaty brown hair, or some kind of hair substitute. "I've seen hair like this somewhere before," said Sam.
"Your butt?"
"No, this hair has the same coarseness as Sasquatch hair."
Max shuddered. "You don't suppose they skinned sasquatches to make this cheesy roadside attraction?"
"Who knows? More importantly, who cares?" In front of the mammoth, another panel held another large red button. This time, you could 'Push Button to hear Wally Speak'.
Sam pushed the button. "Hi, I'm Wally the Wooly Mammoth," said Wally. He certainly sounded like one. "I may be extinct now, but during the Ice Age I was King of the Mammals!" Having uttered this, Wally shut up.
Sam looked at the mammoth a moment longer. Then he walked back along the path, heading towards the tar pit.

The smell got stronger as you got nearer. So too did the sense of surreal dislocation.
This was no natural tar pit. A huge metal dish, about fifty feet in diameter, was propped up six feet above the ground. The dish was full, nearly to the brim, with tar, and animals trapped in the tar - a sabre-toothed tiger, the snout of a mammoth. It was over this that the bungee jumpers leapt - some touched the surface, some didn't.
That wasn't the only attraction of the tar pit, however. Some enterprising soul had strapped a metal slide onto the side of the tar pit. As Sam and Max approached, they saw a long line of tots in bathing suits queuing up to have a go. They also saw three or four tots actually on the slide, stuck there in the tar. They were waving their tiny arms about, and seemed to be having a lot of fun.
"This place evokes a sense of wonder," said Sam.
"You have to wonder," agreed Max.
"I can't remember the last time I saw so much tar."
"Me neither, but my long-term memory is virtually non-existent."
Sam saw the trapped creatures. "Aw, it's a natural woodland creature enjoying the advancements of humankind," he said.
"And his friend with the snout seems to be submerged in the fun as well," said Max.
With the lack of motion, both on the slide and in the kid line, it was like looking at a still life. They looked it a while, Sam especially. Not just because it was so darned odd, but because that idea he'd had, looking at the mammoth, had resurfaced.
It suddenly seemed very important to get a sample of tar.
Sam looked around on the ground, finally locating a jumbo Snuckey's all-you-can-drink cup. He picked it up. First, he tried reaching over the top of the pool to scoop up some tar. He couldn't. Next, he tried attaching the cup to the golf ball retriever. It could reach up above the pool rim, but couldn't bend over enough to get some tar, either. He could always chuck Max in and reel him out, but that would ruin the tar.
He looked at the line of children. It hadn't moved. "This line's not moving very quickly," he said.
"The same thing could be said about the plot," said Max.
"That's not funny, Max."
Sam got the attention of the last kid in the line. A finger in his nose, the kid looked up belligerently at Sam. He looked about four years old. "What's going on here, you cute little ragamuffin?" said Sam sardonically.
"What does it look like, barf face?" said the kid, his voice cracked and streetwise before its time.
"You should show more respect towards your elders," said Sam.
The kid flipped him the bird. "Respect this, bowser breath."
Max sucked in air. "Oooh, can I pummel him now, Sam?"
"No, Max," said Sam. "Puberty will be punishment enough for this one."
"True," admitted Max.
Sam looked back at the kid. "Can we cut in line?"
"Not on your life, Fido," said the kid.
"I bet this is an 'E' ticket ride," said Sam.
"What the heck are you talking about, Methuselah?"
"We wanna ride the tar slide!"
"Line forms in the back, Shep," said the kid flatly.
Sam gave up. "So long, squirt," he said. Sam and Max walked around the base of the tar pool, to an elevator set into the rock face. Looking up, it seemed this elevator would take them up to Washington's nose.
They climbed in, shut the cage, and headed for the bungee platform.

There no lines up here, and no tar (though the smell of it was thick in the air). Just a fit, muscular woman, sitting on a chair minding the apparatus. There was a touch of the Scandinavian about her, especially her long blonde hair. She was dressed in white singlet, blue shorts and runners, and looked like she should be on the sprinting track.
She must be the instructor on duty, thought Sam. They got out the elevator and walked over.
To their right the sky was open. The view here from Washington's nose was impressive. Wooden planks on the floor extended outward over the gap, and hanging above them from the rock ceiling were the fluoro green bungee cords.
Sam walked onto the wooden platform and looked down. That tar pit was a long way down. He could make out everything from up here - all the kids, all the trapped creatures.
He turned around and looked at the instructor. She was looking at him - looking at him in an especially interesting way. Sam couldn't wrench his eyes away.
Max came to the rescue. "Sam, someone tracked tar around and it's matting the fur between my toes," he complained.
The instructor spoke up. "Yeah, that happened to this other jumper we had." Her voice had that general Scandinavian lilt. "Big huge hairy guy. Told me peanut butter gets that out."
Sam was alert for the clues. "What hairy guy? How big? Where did he go?"
"Came around a few times then mentioned a big party and I haven't seen him since," said the instructor. "That's all I know."
Sam thought. "Was that crunchy or smooth?"
"Smooth."
The ice had been broken. Sam asked, "Are you in charge here?"
The instructor nodded. "Yes. I'm an Olympic bungee jumper and I know everything there is to know about bungee jumping."
"Olympic bungee jumping?" said Sam dubiously.
"Well, she sounds sure," said Max.
"So how come I never heard about Olympic Bungee Jumping?" asked Sam.
"It's kind of new," said the instructor. "But there's more to the Olympics than the same old Track and Gymnastics. They showed my segment at 2:15 am right after the Speed Knitting Competition."
"I stand corrected."
"It's amazing you stand at all," commented Max snidely.
"I expected more crowds up here in line," said Sam.
"Not so much in here," said the instructor. "Abe's got the best nose"
"How can you take the smell?"
"After a while your nose will go numb and you won't care. Trust me."
Conversation was coming very easily to Sam. "So, what kind of background do you need to let people bungee jump over tar?" he asked.
"This tar pit is my idea," said the instructor, and jumped eagerly into the story. "Actually it's the result of my graduate work in the area of Social and Toxic Waste Management. We simply dumped the tar into this carefully engineered pit, and people pay to jump over it! The idea was to find a way of making toxic waste an enjoyable experience. It should keep me comfortable when I'm too old to bungee jump."
"Gee Sam, sounds kinda like those Tire Gardens we passed through in Oklahoma."
Sam looked around, and walked back to the platform. He was nervous, because with a certain kind of dramatic inevitability he'd had a new idea for getting tar. And it wasn't going to be safe.
Looking down, everything was frozen as before. "Hey, that furry pig thing is still down there!" he said.
"That's the beauty of this tar," said the instructor. "It's always at the right consistency and temperature. It could be days before you sink too low for us to find you."
"I'm convinced!" said Max. " Let's go, fly-boy."
Sam stayed there a moment, then stepped back. There was no alternative - he was going to do it. He turned to the instructor, who looked pleased with the attention. "We're in law enforcement. How much would you charge us to use the bungees?"
"Enthusiastic law enforcement," added Max.
"I'd let you go anytime," said the instructor. "I'm partial to dog and bunny teams."
"That's weird," said Sam slowly.
"Works for me," said Max.
"What do I do?" Sam asked the instructor.
"The principles are important to master," she said, with just a slight hint of impudent sarcasm. "Get a safety harness from behind that little screen over there. Once that's on, it's important that you jump from the board toward the pit of tar below. But I'm sure a great big hunk of fur like yourself would have no problem." She winked at him.
"...yeah, sounds easy," muttered Sam. He walked over to the dressing screen, which was short enough for him to peek over while he pulled the harness on. He could see the instructor making romantic faces at him. "Quit that!" said Sam.
He came out from behind the screen, wearing the harness and a pair of safety goggles. "So what do you think?" he asked.
"You look great," the instructor assured him, meaning it sincerely.
"No, is it on right?"
"Let's see," she said, "your limbs are between the straps... Yep, it looks right."
Sam turned to Max. "Is she being sarcastic?"
"It's hard to tell," said Max.
"Just hook it up and jump," said the instructor. Seeing the concern on Sam's face, she added. "Look, it fits you just fine." Then she leaned forward, made kissy motions with her lips, and waggled an eyebrow conspiratorially.
"Oooh, stand back, she may pounce," said Max.
"It's a danger I face every day," said Sam wearily. He turned to Max again. "So, Max, what do you think?"
"A regular 007," assured Max.
"Are you sure?"
"Clint baby would be nervous. But get moving; I'm beginning to think you're stalling..."
Sam stayed where he was. "Clint..." reminded Max.
"Baby..." added the instructor.
"Who's stalling?" said Sam confidently. "I'm just waiting for my buddy to come here and check out this spectacular view." Sam walked over to the bungee cord and hooked it up. Max joined him, and Sam picked him up by the ankles. The wind blew at them.
"My nose is running," said Sam.
"Whose isn't?"
Max in hand, Sam leapt off the platform.

Falling, the air brushing past their faces, was a bit like being weightless. Then the tar pit got very big and the bungee cord began to pull painfully on Sam's ankles. They came to a halt only a foot above the tar pit, then accelerated upward. Now, with the bungee cord slack around his ankles, this really was like weightlessness.
Sam held Max in one hand. With the other, he rummaged around in his box for the golf ball retriever. They went down twice again, each time coming within a foot of the tar pit, while he struggled to get it out. Eventually he had it in his hand. Sam gave the retriever to Max, then held him tightly around the ankles.
They fell down for a fourth time. As the bungee cord started to pull, Max used his psychotic strength and extended the retriever. As they came to a temporary halt above the tar pit, the jumbo cup plunged into the gummy surface. It came out with a full cup of tar.
They shot back into the sky, and landed on the bungee platform. Sam put the retriever and the cup of tar away in his box, then walked behind the screen and took off the harness.
"So long, cutie," said the instructor, as he and Max descended on the elevator.
They walked back past the tar pit, Sam leading Max over to the Wooly Mammoth. "Hey, Max." he said.
"Hey what?"
"I've got a job for those mighty incisors of yours."
"What?"
Sam pointed. "See that wooly mammoth?"
Max looked at it. "What about it?"
"Stop playing dumb and get chomping." Max leapt up, grabbing the hind leg of the mammoth, and bit into the faux mammoth hair. Sam looked away, taking in the park surrounds. When he looked back, he was astonished at the change. There was a big pile of faux wooly mammoth hair on the ground, and the entire rear end of the mammoth was naked metal.
"Fine work, Max!" he congratulated. "Now we've got more faux wooly mammoth hair than we'll ever need, and we've learned an important lesson."
"Yeah, the wooly mammoths died of embarrassment."
Sam gathered up all the hair, and put it in his box. Time to return to the Savage Jungle Inn.

In the desert heat, Max peered up at the sign: the wrong way. "It says: egavas elgnuj nni," he read.
"Close enough for jazz," said Sam. "Let's go."
Inside the Inn, Sam immediately crossed over to the bigfoot bouncer. "Ahh, so what else is new?" he asked
"Same old, same old. My feet still hurt, and you two keep asking stupid questions."
"You're not being very cooperative," said Sam.
"And you're underdressed. I can't let you in like that."
Sam opened the phone booth door, and Max followed him in. The door swung shut, and they were shielded from the outside world. Sam pulled out their makeshift bigfoot disguise. He'd taken the stiltwalker's costume from Trixie's trailer, smeared it in tar, then stuck the faux wooly mammoth hair on it. Even with the costume he was too short for a bigfoot, so he got Max to sit on his head, then struggled into the costume.
They pushed open the door. The bouncer, from his position at the doorway, could see them before they could even step out. "Har har har," he laughed. "That's what I call one pitiful attempt at subterfuge! You're really close guys, you just need something to cover that bunny's face."
It hadn't worked. Sam pulled the costume off, and Max jumped down from his head. They walked out of the booth, and left the Inn.
The costume would need some readjustment...

They returned, of all places, to Bumpusville. Sam could have gone without returning, but he had a hunch Conroy had something he needed.
Inside the mansion, Sam and Max immediately went into Conroy's bedroom. Sam tried the bed first. Up there, the pillow was as stained with Miracle Growth Tonic as ever, but there was nothing else.
Sam climbed down, and then he saw it. In a tiny backlit alcove, on a pedestal, mounted on a polystyrene head, was one of Conroy's toupees. Sam reached down and picked it up.
Flashing lights. Blaring alarms. In the doorway appeared Lee-Harvey. "You two!" he said.

They were tossed out into the front yard. Sam got up and dusted himself down. "I don't think that was the best way to get the toupee, Sam," said Max.
Sam walked toward the mansion. Time to try again.

A short while later. "I think we have to avoid tripping the alarms, Sam," said Max as a slightly more bruised Sam picked himself up and dusted himself down.
With this in mind, Sam walked toward the mansion.

"That weight-sensitive alarm sure is giving you problems, Sam," said Max, looking down kindly on the recumbent form of Sam. Shortly, Sam got up and dusted himself down.
He wasn't done yet. Sam walked toward the mansion.

"I think we have to replace the toupee holder with something approximately the same size as Conroy's head, Sam," hinted Max. Sam, bruised and limping, took in the advice and walked toward the mansion.

"Two words, Sam," said Max, the latest toupee-liberation attempt having failed. "Indiana Jones."
This time Sam didn't start walking toward the mansion. He thought. And got a pretty good idea.

The next day.
Sam and Max were back at Bumpusville, after a taut return journey to Texas, and the Celebrity Vegetable Museum. In his hand, Sam held a Conroy Bumpus eggplant. Holding it firmly, he walked toward the mansion.
Inside, in Conroy's bedroom, Sam knelt down in front of the toupee pedestal and studied the problem. Max watched on, by his side. Sam held the eggplant lightly in his right paw, and reached for the polystyrene head with his left. He paused there, sizing up the situation, then in one smooth motion knocked the head from the pedestal into his left hand, replacing it with the eggplant.
The eggplant stayed there. No alarms went off. Sam put away the head and started to smile... just as the eggplant slowly sank into the pedestal. Two suction arrows struck him in the eyes, and one jammed itself in his mouth.
Lights flashing, alarms blaring. "What the-?" said Lee-Harvey, appearing at the door. He picked up Sam and Max, gave them both a good thrash, and tossed them out the door.
Outside, Sam and Max picked themselves up and dusted themselves up. Despite his bruises, Sam was smiling. He still had the toupee on him.
They got in the DeSoto.

Back at the Savage Jungle Inn, the bigfoot party was well into its second week, and going as strong as ever.
Immediately, they entered the phone booth. Putting on their augmented costume proved to be fiddly. Five minutes later, and Max was just getting around to putting the toupee on his white head.
He finished. "Hey Sam, move us out of here," he said. "I'm getting hot and itchy in here."
Sam sighed. "Sharing this experience with you, little buddy, makes me realise just how much I need a vacation."
They opened the phone booth door. The bouncer was impressed. "Hey, that's a downright nice sasquatch costume. If I was in any way inclined to be nice to you fellers, I'd reward your ingenuity by letting you in."
Annoyed, Sam pulled the costume off. He came forward. "Bigfoot, bigfoot, let me in."
The bigfoot shook his head. "Not by the numerous hairs of my chinny-chin-chin." He rubbed at his feet, grimacing. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll just stay out here and file my corns."
Sam had a sudden fit of altruism. He reached into his box and took out the rasp, that industrial-strength bar of chunky metal they'd swiped from the local Snuckey's. "Here," he offered.
The bigfoot saw the rasp, and gasped. He grabbed it. Tears of gratitude ran down his face. Using it like industrial-grade sandpaper, the bigfoot rubbed the rasp against his leathery soles. He moaned sighs of pure pleasure. "Ooo... Aaah... This is great, really great. I owe you guys."
"Now," said Sam reasonably, "Why don't you let us in after all we've done for you?"
The bigfoot was still smiling. "Hey, I'd like to, but you guys don't even look like bigfoots. They could take away my union card."
Sam got the message. He looked at Max, who had just struggled free of the costume. "Time to get back in disguise, little buddy," he said.
"Aaarrrgghhh!"
Five minutes later, a weird hybrid bigfoot came out of the telephone booth. It had light brown hair, a blonde Beatle haircut, white paw hands, a face like a psychotic rabbit, and brown doggy legs. It was pretty good, except for one detail - Sam's canine snout poked out of the middle of the stiltwalker's costume, like a mutant bellybutton.
"Hmmm," said the bouncer. "Hey, that's a downright nice sasquatch costume. I'll let you guys in with that one." He stood by.
A little unsteadily, Sam and Max walked past.

They came to a wide conference hall, where one half of the room held tables laden with food, and the other half was under a rotating mirrorball, where bigfoots could dance and hold insignificant conversations. At the front of the hall was the stage, containing the bigfoot band and a lectern for keynote speakers.
There were bigfoots everywhere, most of them crowded on the dance floor. But before Sam and Max could walk into the hall, the band suddenly fell quiet. A short, wizened bigfoot had approached the lectern. His short, mouldy headdress, and the gold chain around his neck, seemed to denote some sort of authority - maybe this was the head bigfoot.
"Looks like something important's happening," said Sam. He listened. So did the rest of the bigfoots - the background hum of conversation faltered.
"Hundreds of years ago," began the speaker, "it was becoming apparent that our time was running out. Yet, we were slow to heed the warnings of impending doom. The seemingly slow encroachment of mankind, and all that his many living-styles entail, seemed like a vague and distant problem. A problem for future generations of Yeti to solve. Blithely we sat back ignoring our own inner call for action. Tradition and the status quo were our excuses for complacency.
"The certainty of not just losing our way of life but possibly our very lives, and the demise of our entire race is now becoming a reality! A reality we can no longer choose to ignore.
"As it turns out, the humans and their technology are moving faster than we are. Much faster than we had anticipated.
"And so, we now face the final crisis. Unless we pull together, not just acknowledging the need for change, but embracing change not just with our hearts and our minds, but with our actions, we will fall behind, moving backward into extinction!
Well, back to the music."
The speaker retreated from the lectern. The band started once more to play. The bigfoots looked at each other, and got on with their partying.
Sam and Max remained at the door, scanning the crowd. They couldn't see Bruno, who might have been expected to blend in, and they couldn't see Trixie either, who would surely have stood out a little more.
They walked into the room, but stayed away from the dance floor crowd. Getting in a conversation with more than one bigfoot at a time would definitely be a mistake. Instead, they gravitated to the buffet. At one end of the table, a young, tanned bigfoot was on a chair, scarfing down a chicken. He looked like he should be out somewhere surfing.
Max caught his eye. "Hey, hungry boy!" he said. (Sam, from his position at the bellybutton of the bigfoot costume, was naturally in no position to initate conversation)
The bigfoot looked up from his food. "Huh?"
"Your appetite's bigger than mine!" said Max wonderingly.
"Hey, man," said the bigfoot, "if you'd spent the past eight years on a bread and water diet, you'd be scarfing down everything in sight too, dude."
"We kind of had you bigfoots pegged as plant-eaters."
"No way, dude," said the bigfoot emphatically. "When a bigfoot gets hungry he'll eat anything. Even rabbits," he added ominously.
"I'd be worried if I wasn't churning with foul and incurable diseases," said Max. "So, fellow smelly woodland creature... where have you been hiding for the past few years?"
"Hiding? Dude, I've spent the last eight years manacled to a dunking booth. If Bruno and his girlfriend hadn't rescued me, I'd still be there." Sam guessed this was the bigfoot from the Alligator Golf driving range.
"What was it like in the dunk booth?" asked Max.
"Gnarly, dude. No waves."
"So," said Max, "where are all the bodacious bigfoot babes?"
"Take it easy, Max," said Sam. "You don't even like girls."
"I don't?"
The bigfoot looked at him strangely. "Dude, are you, like, having an argument with your belly button?"
"Uh..."
"No," said Sam.
Max started on the more important questions. "Have you seen Conroy Bumpus around here?"
"Is he the guy that coined the phrase 'Hang Ten'?" asked the bigfoot.
"No, he's a country-western star gone berserk."
"Eew, heinous," said the bigfoot. He took another huge bite of chicken.
"Have you seen Bruno around?" asked Max.
The bigfoot looked a little disappointed. "I haven't seen the dude since he rescued me. I hear he's hiding out from a crazy bear and bunny who want to drag him off to an evil carnival."
"Bear?!" blurted Sam.
"What was that?"
"So no sign of Bruno?" asked Max.
"No, and I'm bummed. He was gonna teach me some new surfing moves."
"Have you heard from Trixie?"
"I guess she's hiding out with Bruno," said the bigfoot.
"What do you think of Trixie's singing?" asked Max.
"It's the ginchiest."
Max was getting tugging signals from Sam. "Well, gotta go," he said. "I'll let you get back to your food."
"Mahalo, dude," said the bigfoot.
Sam walked them away. The buffet was almost deserted, but a single bigfoot stood at the far end, looking around serenely. Now Sam didn't know what the difference between a bigfoot and a yeti was, or even if there was a difference, but this looked like the latter. He was light grey, extremely tall, and extremely thin, with a long, peaceful face, possessed of an Eastern spiritual serenity. This wasn't a woodland creature - this was a mountain creature.
They approached him. "Hey, Slats!" greeted Max.
The yeti looked at him. "What is it, grasshopper?" he said in his soft voice.
"Didn't we meet last summer in Cancun?" asked Max.
"I don't think so - I was hanging upside-down in a block of ice last summer," said the yeti.
"How'd that happen?"
"Oh, the usual. I was strolling in the Andes, minding my own business, when some idiot mountain climber comes along and yells, 'HEY, IT'S THE ABOMINABLE SNOWMAN!' Next thing I know, there's an avalanche, and I'm covered in twenty feet of snow. When I wake up, I'm hanging upside-down in an ice block in someplace called the Mystery Vortex."
"Sorry I asked," said Max. "So, did you have any mystic visions while you were hanging upside for all those years?"
The yeti thought. "Well, I did see a mole guy in a purple jogging suit once..."
"What's it like, hanging upside-down for years on end?"
"Curiously refreshing, once your limbs begin to atrophy." The yeti made it sound like a meditational exercise.
"You're the skinniest bigfoot I've ever seen!" said Max.
"I've been fasting in preparation for the day when the aliens come to rescue us," said the yeti. He nodded conpiratorially at Max.
"Uh... yes," said Max. "Has Bruno shown up yet?"
The yeti looked around warily. "Keep your voice down!" he whispered. "Bruno's involved in a top-secret reconnaissance mission to the aliens' home planet!" He nodded at Max.
"Of course, how silly of me to forget," said Max. "Has there been any word from Bruno?"
"No, but he should be beaming in any minute," said the yeti.
"Have you seen Bruno's girlfriend anywhere?" asked Max.
"Shhhh! She's helping Bruno contact the aliens! She should be beaming in with Bruno any minute." More conspiratorial nodding.
"Oh... yeah," said Max. He was losing confidence in this yeti's mental stability. "You haven't run into Conroy Bumpus, have you?" he asked.
"No, but I know how to deal with him," said the yeti confidently. "He has a near-fatal vulnerability to ice, like all beings from the evil planet Snargton!" The yeti nodded.
"We'll keep that in mind," said Max.
"I don't think he'll be stupid enough to crash this party," added the yeti. "We're all armed with ice cube trays."
"We'll catch you later," said Max. They moved prudently away. Sam still couldn't see Bruno or Trixie, and Max was having equally bad luck. And from those two, it seemed they might be somewhere else.
There were two exits from the convention hall area, on either side of the stage. To the left, a passage built of wooden sticks led to the outdoor area, where guests could sit back in the sauna or go for a swim in the pool. The right hand door led to, as far as Sam and Max could tell, a grubby kitchen area. Naturally, they went right.
Unfortunately, there was a bigfoot standing by this exit. A female bigfoot, moreover - the first they'd seen. She was short, like the bigfoot chief, and had a body like a sack of potatoes. Her outer garment certainly looked like one. She had a cocktail glass in one hand and seemed to be enjoying the party.
"Stop!" she said firmly, as they tried to walk past. "Sorry, hon, only yeti elders are allowed in the pool area," she said apologetically. Her sing-song voice was loud and piercing.
"Hubba hubba hubba!" said Max. "Whose little bigfoot are you?"
"Vanuatoo's," said the bigfoot woman, smiling.
"Vanuawho?" said Max.
"Vanuatoo," said the bigfoot woman. Max looked blank. "The bigfoot chief." Enlightenment did not dawn on Max's face. "The guy who just gave that speech. My husband."
"Gleep!" said Max. He'd probably committed a heinous bigfoot faux pas.
"Don't sweat it, junior," said the bigfoot. "If I had a tree for every time a teenage bigfoot's made a drunken pass at me, we wouldn't be in the mess we're in today, y'know?"
"Not really," said Max. He searched around for conversation. "I can only imagine how exciting it must be to be married to the king of the bigfoots."
"Oh, it's not that great. Sure, you get to travel, but sometimes you get so lonely. Why, just yesterday I was telling my therapist, Nancy, 'Nancy, sometimes it's so lonely at the top'-"
The bigfoot woman showed no signs of slowing down in her speech. Max interrupted. "What do you think about the pressing bigfoot issues of the day?" he asked.
"God, I can't believe I lived long enough to hear you say that," said Sam bitterly. "The answers were all there in my husband's speech: Pull together." She added, "And if that doesn't work, we'll eat all the humans."
"Have you seen Bruno?" Max asked.
"Bruno?" Her voice was that of an aunt asked about her favourite nephew. "Why, me and Mr. V have known little Bruno since he was knee-high to a pig! Salt of the earth, Bruno is. Nicest, most generous bigfoot you'll ever meet. Dumb as a post, of course, but generous. Why, just the other day I was talking to my manicurist, Kimmy, and I said, 'Kimmy, that Bruno has got to be the dumbest creature to ever walk the surface of the planet-'"
"Have you seen Trixie around here?" said Max. This bigfoot woman did have a tendency to rattle on.
"Trixie?" she asked. "Nice girl. Wonderful human being. Complete fashion victim, of course, but so pleasant. Just last week I was talking to Katie, my colour consultant, and I said, 'Katie, that Trixie girl wouldn't know a burnoose from a sarong if her life depended on it!' And she said-"
Max cut her off. "You haven't seen Conroy Bumpus sneaking around, have you?"
"Internationally renowned country-western superstar Conroy Bumpus?" The bigfoot woman waxed positively lyrical. "I've got all his albums! He's the greatest thing since sliced bread! I'd say he's the most gifted entertainer of the 20th century. He's an immoral cretin, of course, but boy, can he sing. I was talking to my chiropractor, Karen, just last month, and I said, 'Karen, that despicable Conroy Bumpus sure has got a pretty voice.' And I said-"
"Adieu," said Max quickly.
"Don't be a stranger!" said the bigfoot woman.
It looked like the kitchen, or nothing. They walked along the front of the stage, not stopping to engage the band in conversation (Sam had learned the hard way never to interrupt a band while they're jamming), and entered the kitchen.
Prolonged days of partying had taken their toll. The kitchen stoves were grimy and stained. Dirty dishes were piled up to overflowing in the sinks. Most of the food was gone. Only the meatlocker looked relatively pristine, and even it was turned off.
Nobody was in the kitchen. Sam and Max, still in their costume, walked along the kitchen, toward a door on the far side. They didn't know it, but it led to the employee carpark.
Just as they reached it, however, the door was suddenly assaulted by a barrage of blows from the other side. Sam and Max backed away, but not fast enough, for now the door burst open, revealing Conroy Bumpus, toupee and all, and his henchman, Lee-Harvey.
They followed Sam and Max into the kitchen. "Don't make a move, yeti boy!" growled Lee-Harvey. This, and the painful-looking cattle prod in Conroy's hand caused Sam to stop at the conference doorway.
"Well, well, well, a bigfoot," said Conroy.
Lee-Harvey glared at them. "It sure is a scrawny feller."
"A bigfoot in the hand is worth two in the bush, Lee-Harvey"
"Sorry, boss," said Lee-Harvey.
"Think nothing of it, old chap. Now, be a good lad, and pop off to the bus and get the net."
Lee-Harvey nodded. "Yessir, Mr. Bumpus." He ran from the kitchen and slammed the door shut.
Sam shifted his feet. Quickly, Conroy leant forward, and sparks jumped on the cattle prod. "Don't make a move!" suggested Conroy in a low, menacing voice. Sam stood still. "That's better."
"What do you think you're doing?" said Sam.
Conroy did not look at all off-put by the fact that this bigfoot seemed to talk through its bellybutton. (Truth be told, it actually suited his tastes somewhat). "I'm gonna put you in my menagerie, you mangy bigfoot you," he said.
"I'd probably feel more threatened if I wasn't so hungry," said Sam.
"You'll be well fed in my menagerie."
"I can't be in your menagerie," said Sam. "I don't know how to play an instrument."
Conroy grinned evilly. "You'll be amazed how a few hundred volts speeds up the learning process."
"You'll never get away with this."
"Ooh. I'm so scared."
Sam had a couple of questions for Conroy, now that they seemed to have a conversation going. Sure, he wasn't in quite the power position he'd hoped, but beggars can't be choosers. "Where'd you get the extra toupee?" he asked.
Conroy clicked his tongue. "I'm only going to say this once, so listen closely...
I DON'T WEAR A TOUPEE!" Electric sparks jumped on the prongs of the cattle prod as he spoke this.
"No, really," persisted Sam. "Where'd you get the new toupee?"
Conroy flicked on the prod. "Any other questions?"
Sam took the hint. "Where'd you get that British accent, anyway?" he asked.
"I'm originally from Liverpool, twit," said Conroy, his voice dripping with Britspeak.
"Ewwww," said Sam. "Just so you know, I hate country music."
"Who doesn't? But it pays the bills."
"Why do you persecute harmless bigfoots?" asked Sam.
"Harmless?" yelled Conroy. "Harmless? I'll have you know my parents were killed by a rabid bigfoot!"
"Really," said Sam.
"Well... no," admitted Conroy. "Actually, I'm just a warped evil person who gets his jollies torturing cute woodland creatures." He chuckled.
"Well, that's a valid motivation, too," said Sam. "I bet deep down you really love bigfoots, though."
"I do, especially with faber beans and a nice chianti."
Lee-Harvey still hadn't returned from the bus. Sam finally had an idea for getting out of this mess. "I'm not really a bigfoot, you know," he said to Conroy.
"Pull the other one."
"Really, I'm not a bigfoot," Sam insisted.
"Prove it."
"Maybe this'll convince you that I'm not a bigfoot," said Sam. He reached up with his hands and pulled the costume up over his head. He tossed it at Conroy's feet. Conroy watched Sam like a hawk, and thus didn't see Max wriggle out of the costume by his feet, ending up behind him at the meatlocker, and open the door.
The backlot door opened, and in came an apologetic Lee-Harvey.
"You again?" said Conroy.
"I left the net back in Bumpusville-"
"Forget the net!" Conroy had a gleeful expression on his face. "We're gonna disguise ourselves as a bigfoot!"
"Why?" said Lee-Harvey.
"So we can infiltrate their ranks, learn their ways, and pick them off at our leisure!"
"Oh."
Conroy lifted the cattle prod. "And no funny stuff, dogboy."
"Yeah," agreed Lee-Harvey. He picked up the costume, and followed Conroy into the open meatlocker. Max, standing behind the open door, was hidden from their view.
They started to struggle into the costume. Sam took a step forward. Conroy immediately came to the door of the meatlocker. "I wouldn't move if I were you," he said, gesturing with the cattle prod.
"Yeah."
Sam stayed where he was. Satisfied, Conroy and Lee-Harvey went back to the costume. From the sounds, it wasn't going on easily. "... point your toe, twit!... ... I think you've got that on backwards, boss... ... stop squirming, you oaf!"
"Hey, Max," said Sam, staying where he was, "why don't you make yourself useful?"
Max slammed the door shut, locked the handle, and turned the temperature control down to minimum. Very quickly, the viewing window set into one side of the meatlocker fogged up.
"That was fun," said Sam.
"Now future generations will be able to enjoy his atonal warblings."
A bigfoot appeared in the doorway. Short, wrinkly and sack-shaped, it could only be the bigfoot chief. "Are there anymore shrimp balls back here?" he said. Then he caught sight of the two, and stopped. "Who are you?" he asked.
"We're the Freelance Police," said Sam.
"We just saved your collective hash."
"Really?" said the bigfoot chief in his earnest, mellow voice. He looked at the meatlocker window, where through the fog he could see the frozen figures of Conroy Bumpus and Lee-Harvey. "Then I guess it would be okay to make you honorary yeti chiefs," he said. "Walk this way."
Sam and Max were led back into the conference hall, and up on to the stage. The bigfoot chief got the band to stop playing, then turned to the audience. "Can I have your attention, please?" he called out.
Slowly, the bigfoots grew quiet. "Although it's our tradition to allow only bigfoots (and their dates) to these gatherings," said the bigfoot chief, "these two have shown themselves worthy of our gratitude and our trust."
"These are a naive people," said Max.
"And so I am granting them the title of Honorary Bigfoot Chief. So, don't mess with them."
Max was disgusted. "That's it? Honorary Bigfoot Chief!? Where's the cash?"
"We don't want bigfoot money, Max," said Sam. "It's probably made of tree bark or something."
"I know, but it's the principle of the thing."
The bigfoot chief turned to them. "You may now wander freely about the convention floor without concern for your health."
"Gee. Thanks," said Sam.
"Think nothing of it. Follow me."
The bigfoot chief walked off the stage, and went along the passage to the pool area. Sam and Max followed him.
On such a hot day as today, the pool area was the place to be. But the area Sam and Max found themselves entering was devoid of bigfoots. The pool itself, a scalloped kidney shape, looked pretty inviting. The blue tiles of the pool floor could be clearly seen through the clear water.
Not that Sam and Max were looking that way. They gazed at four huge wooden totem poles, mounted on the grass in front of the pool. They were twelve feet tall if they were an inch, and the bigfoot chief was leading them that way.
The totem poles were smooth, and round, and each was decorated with woodcut carvings. Sam looked at each in turn.
The leftmost totem pole was gouged with a swirling, hyperkinetic pattern, like being in the heart of a tornado. Whirling lines emanated from an object on the middle of the pole. It looked like a globe, or a heart.
The next totem pole had a fossil engraved on it. Some kind of lizard, with a huge head, its jaws gaping open. Its teeth were especially large and prominent. Above the lizard, angled down toward the teeth, were a pair of steel clamps. They were aimed directly at the largest tooth.
The third totem pole illustrated a man, standing in front of a campfire, roasting a marshmallow. Around him were all sorts of woodland creatures. The man, and the animals around him, both seemed to be in comfortable company.
The last totem pole had two heads, one at the top of the pole, the other at the bottom. The head at the bottom had blank eyes, a long tubular nose, no mouth, and enormous hair streaming up from its scalp in long, spaghetti strands. The head at the top was exactly the same in all regards, except that it was completely bald. It looked like a before and after shot.
The bigfoot chief stopped in front of the totem poles and turned to address them. "Since you have proven yourselves to be friends of the Yeti, I have brought you here to share in our biggest secret. These Great Totem Poles have been gathered from across the world, and passed down from generation."
"Like fruitcake," said Max.
"We believe they hold the answer to our ultimate salvation, but the secret of their purpose is a riddle we've been unable to fathom."
"Sounds heavy," said Sam.
"Like fruitcake!"
Another bigfoot suddenly appeared behind the bigfoot chief, coming around the corner of the toilet block. "It's real heavy," said Bruno.
"Bruno!"
"Like fruitcake!!!" said Max happily.
"Why aren't you at the party?" asked Sam.
"Who can party while their world comes to an end?
"Most of your mange-ridden brethren, apparently."
The bigfoot chief shook his head sadly. "I told you it was a bad idea to spike the punch."
"I thought it would loosen up everyone's imagination," said Bruno.
"No wonder we're facing extinction. Okay guys, here's the situation. The bigfoot way of life is rapidly going down the tubes. These totem poles might be able to save us, but: a) We don't know what they mean, b) Most of us have been partying too much to figure out what they mean, and c) We bigfoots have a hard time operating in public, if you know what I mean. We wouldn't normally be asking for help, but we're desperate."
Sam shrugged. "Well, that's how we get most of our gigs, so why not?"
"Great!" said the chief. "Why don't you three get cracking on the totem poles... I'm going to the hot tub." The chief walked away, skirting the edge of the pool, toward the low, open bark hut in the distance, where the hot tub was kept.
Sam, Max and Bruno looked at each other.
Max broke the silence. "Ok Sam, he's here. We're here. Let's go."
"Wait, go where?" said Bruno.
"Back to the carnival so we can get paid, ya big lummox."
Bruno didn't move. "I may be slow but I'm not stupid. I'm staying right here."
Sam turned to Max. "Psst, Max."
"What?"
"Maybe we should wait a while before returning Bruno to his well-meaning, yet horribly twisted owners," suggested Sam.
"Why?"
"Because I have a sick, gnarled premonition that something important's going to happen to the bigfoots, and it would be nice if Bruno was around to see it."
"You're getting soft, Sam," said Max critically.
Sam turned back to Bruno. "We've decided to let you roam free until the end of the convention," he said.
"Gee, thanks," said Bruno. "Is there anything I can do for you in return?"
"What's caused this big crisis you and the chief keep rattling on about?" asked Sam.
"Trees," said Bruno.
"What's wrong with the trees?"
"Are they succumbing to outdated Marxist dogma?" asked Max.
"No. There aren't enough of them. Bigfoots need trees to hide behind. Without trees, we're easily hunted, captured, and put on display by thoughtless humans."
Max spoke up, slowly. "Sam, I think I'm feeling my very first pang of guilt, and-" His face suddenly cleared. "Nope, it's gone. False alarm."
"How many trees do you bigfoots need to thrive?" asked Sam.
"More than you can imagine."
"More than five?" asked Max.
Bruno nodded. There was a brief silence. Bruno stood there patiently.
"So Bruno, are you just going to stand here all day?" asked Sam.
"I've been out of circulation for so long I'm happy just to be standing," said Bruno contentedly. "So I guess you're going to stand here asking me questions all day."
"Possibly," conceded Sam.
"We like to keep our social agenda open," agreed Max.
"So, what do you think about all this?" asked Sam.
"I'm just happy to be here, Sam," said Bruno. "Happy to be at room temperature, and happy to be free at last!"
"BORN FREE!" sang Max lustily. "As free as the wind blows-"
"Max!"
"What?!" said Max innocently.
"What were you saying Bruno?" asked Sam.
"Um... I lost my thought."
"Darn. How'd you and Trixie meet, anyway?"
"We didn't really meet until she thawed me out," said Bruno. "But I've loved her since that first night she snuck into the freak show, and sang me to sleep with a Scrantonese lullaby." He sobbed softly.
Sam turned to Max. "And you want to put him back in a block of ice."
"Yeah, so?"
"I give up." He turned back to Bruno. "I still can't figure out how a witty, urbane bigfoot like yourself fell into the clutches of the Kushmans!"
"It's a familiar story," said Bruno. "Bigfoot meets fish. Bigfoot tries to catch fish. Bigfoot falls into arctic ice floe."
"That's a classic, all right," said Sam. "So, why aren't you dancing with the other bigfoots!?"
"My legs are still a little stiff from all that time in the ice block," said Bruno.
Max spoke up. "Didn't I hear something about a hot tub around here?"
"Later, little buddy, right now we've got things to figure out."
Max persisted. "But that hot tub really sounds like the place to be."
"Later." Sam turned once more to Bruno. "Conroy's on ice," he said.
"Good."
"Well," continued Sam, "now that Conroy's out of your hair, what are you going to do?"
"Try brushing it maybe?" said Max.
"Well, I've still got the Kushmans to worry about, so I guess I'm still a little tense," said Bruno.
The conversation had gotten to that stage. Either it was going to end, or progress onto something of more importance. Sam could have cut it all off there, looked very hard at all the totem poles, thought a lot, and traipsed all over America in search of the answer to their baffling mystery. But that wasn't how Sam and Max worked. As always, their first rule of detectoring was: get everyone else to do the deduction.
So Sam quizzed Bruno about the totem poles. "What do you make of that totem pole on the far left?" he asked.
"Let me take a look." Bruno wandered over. "Hmmm," he said, a sound like an elephant going to sleep.
"Well?" asked Sam.
"It's a totem pole," said Bruno slowly.
"And?"
"It's made of wood..."
"It's not too late to take him back to the carnival, you know," said Max.
"Any keen bigfoot insights about the totem pole with the tooth on it?" asked Sam.
"I've been staring at that one for hours, and-"
"Yes?"
"I think it has something to do with teeth," finished Bruno.
"I'm not holding my breath," said Sam wearily, "but do you have any clue who the guy in the third totem pole is?"
"Nope," admitted Bruno freely. "He sure seems to get along with vegetables, though."
"Sam, the guy on that pole's got a marshmallow," said Max.
"So?"
"I want a marshmallow."
"Max, you are a marshmallow," said Sam. "See that totem pole?" he said to Bruno, pointing at the one on the far right.
"What about it?" asked Bruno
"What do you think it means?"
"Hmmm..." Bruno stared at a while, then inspiration dawned. "I've got it!" He wandered off. There was the distant sound of cheering from a bigfoot crowd. Bruno returned.
"What did you tell them?" asked Sam.
"I told them to start looking for bald guys with spaghetti on their heads," said Bruno.
Sam didn't quite credit what he heard. "You're not really going to guillotine hapless pasta-heads, are you?"
"Heavens no," said Bruno. "That'd be barbaric. We're using machetes."
Sam was not at all put out by Bruno's poor answers. They had a lot more bigfoots to ask yet...

They joined the bigfoot chief, who was pacing the concrete by the hot tub.
The tub itself was set in the ground, ringed by polished stone, and full to the brim with warm green water. Sam stared downward. "The pool of decadence."
"Bring me as many naked women as my poor eyes can stand!" demanded Max.
"Jesus, Max, you don't even like girls."
"Oh yeah, I forgot," said Max.
"Maybe after this case is over," said Sam. He turned to the bigfoot chief. "Hey, chief!"
The chief stopped pacing around. "Don't call me chief!"
"Could you spare a second?" asked Sam.
"Not really... but since you're saving my species from extinction, what the heck."
"What can you tell us about Bruno?" asked Sam.
"Is it me, or does it feel as if we've asked just about everybody in the country about Bruno?" said Max.
The bigfoot chief looked wistful. "Ah! Bruno! Full of vim and vigour, ready to take on the world... He reminds me of when I was his age."
"What do you think about Trixie?"
"She's such a sweet girl. And very representative of the open-mindedness of our yeti leadership. We're very proud of that."
"What's your official stance on Conroy Bumpus?"
"Conroy Bumpus is a threat to the American way of life," said the bigfoot chief flatly. "It has been, and continues to be, of highest importance that we rid ourselves of this most negative influence on the young people of our brave new world. The Mrs. and I sure like his music, though," he admitted.
"What happens when we've satisfied the requirements laid forth by the totem poles?" asked Sam. He wanted to be clear on this - he didn't want to be the dog responsible for bringing back to life a ghastly historical figure, such as Christopher Columbus.
"Strict requirements," added Max.
"The ingredients go in this pool," said the bigfoot chief, "I cast a spell, and the world will be harmonious again."
"Overly strict requirements," said Max.
"What do you make of the first totem pole?" asked Sam.
The bigfoot chief turned, and looked at the totem pole for inspiration. Finally he said, "As you know, this is a problem that I've been working on for many years. Research strongly suggests this totem pole to be representative of the whirlwind nature of us bigfoots. Wild and always moving."
"Really," said Max.
"Yes. I believe it to be indicative of the wild and moving side of the bigfoot psyche. Like a whirlpool, if you will."
"No I won't!" said Max.
Sam got on with the questions. "What's your take on the second totem pole?"
"I'm glad you asked," said the bigfoot chief. "You see, I believe that it represents the sharp edge of ancient history. The fantastic staying power of the yeti people over the millennia."
Sam looked puzzled. "I didn't fully understand that bit about the second pole," he said.
"My position on this is unwavering. It represents age."
"Maybe we should just drop him in there, then," Max suggested to Sam.
"No," said the chief. "It represents real age... And real size, too."
"How does the third pole figure into the scheme of things?" Sam asked.
"Let me be very clear," said the bigfoot chief. "That pole constitutes the harmony from the coexistence of two similar beings. A harmony that springs from mutual respect and understanding."
Sam and Max conferred. "We're still fuzzy on the third pole," said Sam.
"I'm fuzzier than he is," said Max. "Cuter, too."
"That pole constitutes the harmony from the coexistence of two similar beings. A harmony that springs from mutual respect and understanding."
"What does the fourth totem pole represent?"
"I'm asked that very question all the time," said the chief. "My answer: rapid growth."
"Rapid growth?"
"Rapid growth."
Sam backed away. "We'll be back."
"I'll be here," said the chief. He resumed his worried pacing.

The next place Sam and Max tried was the conference hall. Walking around as dog and rabbit, they got a few stares from the bigfoots, but most of them had taken the chief's warning seriously and treated them with the proper respect.
It was the wife of the bigfoot chief that they asked first. "Mrs Chief?" Sam said to her.
"Yes, hon?"
Sam cast about for a compliment. "I wish my hair was more like yours," he settled on. "I can't do a thing with mine."
"That's why he always wears a hat," said Max.
The chief's wife looked pleased. "You should talk to my hair care specialist, Janet. She does marvellous work. Why, just last autumn, she was soaking my head, and I said, ' Janet, you're just about the best hair care specialist I've ever known!'"
Sam got straight down to the business. "So, what's your take on that tornado totem pole?"
She thought. "Well, my husband thinks its some sort of homage to the wild and wooly nature of us bigfoots. But if you ask me, I remember when we had our niece, Jay, over for dinner, and I said, 'Jay, don't you touch that bread until you wash the ichor off your fur!'"
That was such a glaring non-sequitur Sam didn't know how to proceed. "Er, about that tornado pole-"
"A call to cleanliness, trust me," said the chief's wife.
"Why does that second totem have a big tooth on it?" asked Sam.
"Well, hon, some bigfoots would have you believe that it's a symbol of power or some such, but if you want my opinion-"
"And I can't imagine why we would-" said Max.
"-I think that pole represents the importance of visiting your dentist regularly."
"Life's funny, Sam," said Max. "When I woke up this morning I thought I'd just watch some TV and shoot some criminals. Now a big, stinky forest creature is giving me a lecture on dental hygiene."
"I'm not joking, bunny," said Mrs. V. "Why do you think all those dinosaurs died out, anyway?"
"To impress the babes?" Max hazarded.
"No... it was tooth decay. The totem symbolises the importance of regular dental checkups."
"Who's the guy with the hat on the third totem pole?" asked Sam. Of all the totem poles, this was the one he thought about the most. There was something familiar about that face.
"I thought he was you!" said Mrs. V.
"I don't think so," said Sam.
"Then I'm at a loss," she confessed.
"Have you given any thought to the totem pole with the two heads on it?" asked Sam.
"Well, hon, it's either a visualisation of our Sun God's development and growth, or an ancient advertisement for an herbal mixture for balding bigfoots."
"Bald bigfoots?!" said Sam.
"Eeeeeeeuuuu!" said Max.
That was the totem poles done. "Gotta go," said Sam.
"Don't be a stranger!" she said in farewell.
Sam and Max walked over to the buffet, where the grey yeti still stood, looking around suspiciously. Sam greeted him with a Zen koan. "There is no try. There is only dew. Or donut."
The yeti looked at him. "What are you talking about?"
"I was hoping you'd tell me," said Sam. He started with some news the yeti would no doubt be glad to hear: "We put Conroy Bumpus in the freezer."
The yeti did indeed looked pleased, in his undramatic way. "That's great! The freon should effectively suppress his Evil Snargtonian Death Rays!"
"That's what we thought would happen," said Max.
"Has Trixie brought back any news from the aliens?" asked Sam.
"Not directly... But they've obviously given her some singing lessons!"
"Bruno's out by the pool," said Sam.
"Wonderful! He must have convinced our alien forefathers to rescue us from this doomed planet!"
"Actually, I think he's doing the backstroke," said Max.
Sam wasn't very confident about finding anything out from this crackpot, but a conversation was always easier than real work. "In your delusional opinion, what would you make of the first totem pole?" he asked.
"Well, the great winds depicted represent the chaos caused by the return of our alien brothers," said the yeti.
"Not entirely unlike the gust of wind we're hearing now," said Max.
"Just for fun, what was that about the first totem again?"
"It's the winds from the alien space ship coming to take us away to a better place, where life for all bigfoots will be harmonious and we will all live without-"
"OK, we get it," said Sam. "What about the totem with the tooth on it?"
"Please don't say 'fruitcake.'" pleaded Max.
"Dental records," said the yeti.
"And...?"
"The truth of the tooth escapes me. The aliens have their own reasons." The yeti nodded at them.
"What about the totem pole with the man on it?" asked Sam.
"I think he's a bigfoot/alien hybrid; an 'uberyeti,' perhaps," said the yeti.
"What do you think of the totem with the two faces?"
The yeti seemed to think this was simple. "Obviously our alien ancestors were hairless, and clearly their intention was to evolve into the beings of total hair we are today."
"Hey, I'm evolved and I didn't even know it!" said Max.
"Actually you're just fuzzy," said the yeti.
"I'm devastated."
"So, what was that about the two-headed totem?" Sam asked again.
"Alien evolution."
"Oh, right."
They left the yeti to stew in his own mind juices and walked along the buffet to the surfer dude bigfoot. He was still here, sitting down eating another chicken. "Mr. Omnivore?" asked Sam.
The surfer bigfoot looked up. "Huh?"
"What are you guys gonna do with Conroy and Lee-Harvey?" asked Sam.
"Popsicles, dude," said the bigfoot, with a gleam in his eye. "Major popsicles."
"Bruno's out by the pool."
"Rad! I'll go talk to him... ...after I'm done eating."
"So," Sam said, "what did you think of the first totem pole?"
A look of naked lust crossed the bigfoot's face. "Dude, it's a picture of the ultimate wave machine."
"What was that again about the totem with the tornado on it?"
The surfer bigfoot was getting more excited. "The picture on it is the total wave maker. I'm sure it's about the most awesome waves ever... I can't wait."
"How about the second totem pole?" asked Sam.
The enthusiasm left the surfer bigfoot's face, replaced by a blank look of surprise. "There's more than one?"
"Three more, actually."
"Four all together," added Max helpfully.
"I guess I missed them," said the surfer bigfoot.
"How could you miss them!?" said Sam. "They're right there!"
"Dude, chill. They're just totem poles."
"Um... oh, right, you didn't see the second totem." Sam was having trouble with this conversation. "Do you remember the pole with a man on it?" he asked hopefully.
"You mean the peace and happiness pole?"
"Sam," said Max, "I don't think this guy's got enough wax on his board."
"I'm sure it's a peace and happiness totem," said the surfer bigfoot.
Sam sighed. "I don't suppose you would know about the fourth totem pole?"
The surfer bigfoot, chowing into more food, looked up. "Are you still talking to me?" he said.
"Who's the president of the United States?" quizzed Sam.
"I thought they split up!"
"Ok," announced Sam. "I think we're done here."
"Yeah, and so is he."
Sam started to ask again, anyway. "About that fourth totem pole-"
"Huh?"
Sam gave up. "Forget it." They walked out of the conference hall and headed for the DeSoto - but first Sam took two things: an icepick, from the kitchen, and a bottle of wine from the buffet.
They climbed into the car, and went on a totem pole hunt.

Their first stop was at the Celebrity Vegetable Museum.
While talking to the clueless bigfoots, Sam had finally placed the face on that third totem pole. It was none other than famed naturalist John Muir. And they, of course, had a picture of John Muir, swiped from Bumpusville. Armed with a clue from Bruno, of all places, they'd driven straight here.
As before, there were no customers around. Sam headed straight for the little old woman behind the counter. He gave her the John Muir portrait. "What do you make of this?" he asked.
She took it and looked at it critically. "Famed naturalist John Muir, huh? This looks like a zucchini squash to me...I can do this, but it'll take a short while."
"I applaud this woman's monomania," said Max.
"It's great what science can do to vegetables," said Sam as they got in the car.
"Personally, I can do without food high in personality," said Max.
Next stop: Mount Rushmore Dinosaur Tarpit and Bungee Jumping National Park, North Dakota.

Sam was approaching this hunt with a certain philosophy - solving the totem pole clues would be tough enough without having to traipse through a whole new set of terrain. So, in their search, Sam and Max were confining themselves strictly to places they had only recently been before.
And of course, only one place had dinosaurs in it.
Sam and Max got out of the car, and walked down the stairs to the T-Rex. Sam looked up at its steel mouth, clamped shut. "Say Aaaahh," he said.
Max pushed the large red button. And just when the mouth had creaked to its fullest opening, he pressed the button. The T-Rex shut up. His mouth, however, remained gaping and open.
"I wonder how he flossed with those itty-bitty hands," said Max.
Sam pulled from his box the ninety-one yards of twine he'd gotten from the Ball of Twine. He lassoed the end, and threw it over the largest T-Rex tooth. He cinched the loop tight with a pull of the twine.
Now came the problem. Sam tried pulling on the twine, but as he'd thought nothing happened. Down here, he didn't have the leverage to pull out a tooth, especially a huge one like that.
Sam looked up to the car park. There was his DeSoto, parked - he estimated - about ninety yards away.
Immediately he had the answer. "Come here, Max," said Sam. He tied the far end of the twine around Max's neck, picked him up, and hurled him toward their car.
Sam joined Max up at the DeSoto. He pulled the car door open, and tied the twine to the handle, so that it was taut the whole way to the tooth. Then, swaying his hips, Sam bumped the car door shut.
The tooth was wrenched free. Tugged fiercely by the twine, it sailed the whole distance through the air, finally caught by Sam's outstretched paw. "We finally got the tooth."
"The whole tooth?"
"Nothing but."
They got in the car. Now, it was time to head back to Bumpusville.

Looking at the totem pole with the two heads and the hair made Sam think of one thing - baldness. Once one of the bigfoots had mentioned 'rapid growth' in connection with that, there could only be one suspect, a certain baldy-in-denial by the name of Conroy Bumpus.
It was nice to be able to walk through Bumpusville without worrying about being disturbed Conroy or Lee-Harvey, or indeed anyone. They headed for Conroy's bedroom. Inside, Sam climbed up on Conroy's bed. Yep, the pillow was still there, with a green circle of Miracle Grow Hair Tonic.
Sam picked up the pillow. That John Muir vegetable should be done by now.

It was. In response to the slightly terse question, "Where's my John Muir vegetable?" the little old woman reached under the counter, and brought out a large purple vegetable that looked just like him.
"Here you go, son," she said, "a zucchini squash that looks just like John Muir."
"Gee, thanks, Ma'am!" said Sam. Three out of four - not bad.
"A well-tended garden of mutant vegetables is like a melody," said Max sagely. They walked back to the car.

Much as Sam detested it, he'd had to do most of the thinking on the last totem pole.
Those swirly patterns reminded him of one thing - the Mystery Vortex. And, once that association had been made, the object in the centre started to look like a sno ball.
But their sno ball didn't have a cork in it. So they weren't headed for the Mystery Vortex just yet - rather they were going back to the Ball of Twine.
Once there, they sought out the psychic Indian repairman. As it turned out, he was still up in the rotating restaurant, having made no progress in the two or so weeks since they'd first met him.
Sam gave him the ice pick. "Could you bend this?" he asked.
"Sure!" The Indian raised his arms, concentrated, and bent it into a corkscrew spiral. "It's all yours."
They had a corkscrew. Sam took out the wine bottle (Chateau Sasquatch '92. A Very Bad Year) and pulled out the cork. "That seems to have gotten the cork off," he said.
"Shall we raise a toast to nuclear disarmament?" said Max.
"With this poison? Don't be silly." Sam tossed away the bottle - it was the cork he wanted. It fitted into the base of the sno globe perfectly.
Now they could head for the Mystery Vortex...

Entering the upside-down room of the Mystery Vortex was as disorienting as ever. There was the Vortex woman, looking like all the blood had gone to her head years ago.
"I could go for some rightside-up cake right now," said Sam.
"It'd just make you downchuck, trust me," said the woman.
"This place seems to have that effect on people," said Max.
"Anything else you can tell us about the sno globes you used to sell?" asked Sam.
"Only that their continued existence threatens my livelihood."
Sam gestured toward the empty glass booth. "Can we try the Vortex?"
"Step right in," she said. They stepped in, and the hatch shut behind them.
Sam waited until the swirling blue tornado hid them from her eyes. Then he pulled out the sno globe. With the cork out, the blue Vortex funnelled into the sno globe, which sucked it out of the air like a super-vacuum. As the last strands of blue disappeared into the sno globe, Sam corked it.
Their ride in the Vortex was a lot shorter this time. The woman looked a little concerned, then forgot about it. She opened the hatch.
Sam and Max walked away. "Wow, the sno globe actually sucked in the pseudo-mystical energies of the Mystery Vortex," said Sam.
"I was hoping something like that would happen," said Max.
They had the solution to the totem poles - it was time to head back to Nevada.

The bigfoot party was going on as strong as ever.
Sam and Max found their old pal Bruno outside, by the totem poles. They could see the chief over at the hot tub, still pacing worriedly.
"Bruno!" greeted Sam.
"What?" said Bruno.
"Are you still enjoying yourself?" asked Sam.
"You bet! You're not still gonna take me back to the Kushmans after the convention, are you?"
"That's the plan," said Sam.
"Darn."
Sam had sort of grown to like Bruno, and he decided to fill him in on the totem poles. "Not that this'll mean anything to you," he said "but that totem pole on the left turned out to be symbolic of the Mystery Vortex trapped in a sno globe."
"Well sure, any idiot could have told you that," said Bruno.
"I know you'll be thrilled to hear this: The second totem pole symbolised a dinosaur tooth."
Bruno looked pleased. "I knew it had something to do with teeth."
Sam continued, "The third pole was symbolic of a vegetable shaped like John Muir's head."
"Who's John Muir?" asked Bruno.
"Don't ask," said Max.
"In case you're interested," added Sam, "the fourth totem pole symbolised a batch of Miracle Grow Hair Tonic."
"That's a relief," said Bruno. "We were having a hard time finding anyone with spaghetti on their head."
"Be seeing you," said Sam.
"Not if I see you first."
They walked past Bruno, toward the hot tub. "Knock-knock," said Sam, as they got near.
The bigfoot chief looked up. "Who's there?" he asked.
"Vanuatoo."
"Vanuatoo who?"
"Vanuatoo stop clowning around and help us save the bigfoots?" suggested Max.
"You know," said Sam to Vanuatoo, "I'm really anxious about this whole totem pole thing."
"It'll work," said Vanuatoo. "Trust me."
"I met Anxious once," said Max. "He's the one with the drool in his beard."
"That wasn't Anxious," said Sam. "It was your cotton candy."
"Well, that certainly clears up one mystery," said Max.
"I'm still having nightmares about alligators," said Sam to Vanuatoo.
"I know that everyone involved with this extraordinary quest has had their demons to contend with," said Vanuatoo. "But let me make one thing perfectly clear... It'll be worth it!"
"Ack!" said Max violently. "He said 'quest!' I think my furry little body may break out in a rash of unsightly hives."
Sam decided it was the moment to break the suspense. "Hey, Mr. Chief, we've found something that might tie into your totem poles," he said.
"Yeah? What is it?"
Sam gave him the pillow. Vanuatoo took it, looked at the stain, then sniffed it. He looked satisfied. He held the pillow above the pool, and wrung out every last drop of Miracle Grow Hair Tonic. The green liquid splashed down in a tiny stream, and now the surface of the pool turned green - light green, dark green, all sorts of shades of green. Eventually it calmed down and returned to its normal pale blue.
Vanuatoo turned back to them. "Hair growth, hair tonic... very resourceful."
"We just like stealing pillows," said Max.
"Hey, chiefy-poo, I think I've figured out one of those baffling totem poles!" said Sam. He gave Vanuatoo the dinosaur tooth. Vanuatoo looked at it a while, then put it in his mouth. In there, it looked a lot like a kazoo. Vanuatoo looked up, and spat out the tooth. It sailed in a parabola, splashing into the pool. For a moment the water went grey, then it returned to light blue.
"A genuine dinosaur tooth," said Vanuatoo. "I figured it might be something like that."
"Did he say 'genuine'?" said Max.
"I believe we've deduced the secret of another one of your totem poles," said Sam.
"Hit me." Sam gave him the John Muir vegetable. Vanuatoo took and stared into its face. He suddenly became ecstatic at something. He tossed the zucchini squash into the pool. While the water flashed through all the shades of purple, Vanuatoo danced around, flailing his broomstick arms.
"A combination of man and nature," he said, when everything had calmed down. "Inventive!"
"Is it soup yet?" asked Max.
"I think I've figured out the last totem poles!" said Sam.
"Let me see..." Sam gave him the sno globe. Vanuatoo shook it, and looked on in delight as a tiny blue vortex whirled around inside. Vanuatoo cracked the globe on one knee and spilled the vortex into the pool. While the pool flashed blue beneath him, Vanuatoo bent low, summoning spirits from the earth.
"A hand-held vortex," he finally said. "Good thinking."
"Thinking had nothing to do with it," Max assured him.
They all looked down at the pool, which had gone back to its normal pale blue.
"Well, that should do it, right?" said Sam.
Time passed.
"Nothing's happening, Sam," said Max.
"What's the story, Pops?" asked Sam.
Vanuatoo was uncertain. "I don't know... I'm sure you got the ingredients right, but- Oh, of course! How silly of me!"
"What?"
"In order for the spell to work, we need a living bigfoot sacrifice."
Sam turned to Max. "It'd be a shame to lose one of these furry fellows, don't you think?"
"Wait, I've got an idea," said Max suddenly. "And it doesn't require high explosives! Wait here." He walked off toward the conference hall.
"While he's gone," said Vanuatoo, "I'll go see if any of the bigfoots want to off themselves for the greater good."

Max walked into the kitchen, where he opened the meatlocker. Inside, in a rectangular block of ice, were Conroy and Bumpus. Max pushed them out into the open.
The still-life was not pretty. The bigfoot costume was half on, half off, while Bumpus was sitting on Lee-Harvey and trying to pull his hair out.
Pushing it before him, Max walked back.

Vanuatoo had gathered quite a bigfoot crowd around the pool, but, unfortunately, no willing sacrifice victims. Among them were Trixie and Bruno.
And of course the bigfoot crowd were very appreciative when Max came up and pushed Conroy and Lee-Harvey into the pool. They all applauded politely, as the ice block sank below the surface of the water.
Silence fell. The water in the pool started to rise and fall, rise and fall, in steady circular waves that got larger and larger. Soon they were six feet high, and threatening to splash over the side. The largest wave collapsed and then a spire of water jutted into the air, rotating furiously. It was like a whirlpool in reverse.
The bigfoot crowd watched on in awe, their mouths open.
The spire of water collapsed. A tiny, dark cloud gathered above the pool. In that foot-wide space, rain fell, and lightning struck. Under this assault, the water of the pool once more started to rotate. It gathered itself up, into a smooth hemisphere shape, a world wholly of water.
The water kept that position, like a ball half-submerged, for only a few seconds. Then an enormous spruce suddenly burst from it, rising into the sky. It quickly pierced the roof of the hut, and just kept on growing...

All over the western coast of America, pines and conifers were sprouting up. In San Francisco, forests covered the highways and the exit routes of the Golden Gate Bridge. From Seattle to San Diego, everywhere there was a spot on the ground a deciduous tree was coming up. The forests spread inland, so that the whole Northern Frontier as far as the Great Lakes was now forest. Trees girded the land all around the Largest Ball of Twine in the World. And now the forests were coming up southward, as far as Texas. Eventually, everything west of the Mississippi would be greenery.

A few hours later, Sam, Max, Vanuatoo, Bruno and Trixie gathered out the front of the Savage Jungle Inn. The carefully sculpted gardens now had a few additions, namely a few two-hundred-foot spruces. One jutted out of the Inn itself.
"Well, that was one heck of an impressive display," said Sam to Vanuatoo.
"And actually highly destructive, to boot," added Max happily.
"Goodbye, Sam and Max," said Bruno, the loving Trixie at his side. "I'm not sure how I could ever thank you so... ...uh... I guess I won't."
"Will you and Trixie be heading back into the forest to live an idyllic nature-oriented existence together?" asked Sam.
"Hell no! We're going to Vegas to get hitched. If it hasn't been trashed by all this crazy redwood nonsense."
"We want to be in a place where we can sort of blend in," enthused Trixie. "Live our lives. Maybe even raise a family!"
"Eewwwwwww," said Max.
"Goodbye, everyone!" said Bruno. He and Trixie walked off, linking arms.
"Goodbye, you nutsy primitive man-beast, you!" said Sam affectionately. He was going to miss the dim old codger.
"You boys should be proud of what you've helped us achieve here today," said Vanuatoo.
"You mean the wholesale destruction of the symbols of modern civilisation in the Western United States?" said Sam. "You bet we are."
"Do we win a prize?"
"Well..." Vanuatoo gave in. "Oh, why not. This medallion has been a part of my family for untold generations. Wear it in good health."
He took the medallion off his head. Max stepped forward, and Vanuatoo hung it around his neck. Max stepped back, peeled off the foil and started to munch at the chocolate inside.
"Thanks, chief. Max loves cheap sentiment."
Max gulped it all down. "Mmm-mmm. Foil-covered chocolaty goodness! What's wrong, Sam?" he said, catching Sam's long face.
"I don't think the wizard has anything in that bag for me," said Sam.
Vanuatoo thought. "Well... I could give you my ritual headdress that I bought at Snuckey's last week." He took off the feathery headdress, and instantly a crowd of flies converged on the open, red, suppurating scalp below.
Sam shuddered. "I appreciate the gesture, but I've already got a hat."
"Well, that's fine too," said Vanuatoo. "Farewell, Sam and Max. Remember, 'though the night be dark, the dawn yet shall awaken and annoy you. 'Have a nice day.'"
Vanuatoo walked off. "I'll miss that old rascal," said Sam.
"I'll miss the way he smelt like a bagful of damp hamster shavings... just like grandpa." Max realised something. "Hey, we forgot to get paid!"
"Don't worry, little buddy," said Sam. "I've got it all figured out..."

It was now several weeks since they'd enlisted the help of the Freelance Police, and one-half of the Kushmans was getting pretty bitter about it.
This was Burl, the grizzly-faced Kushman. "I hope you're happy," he said. "With those idiots on the case, we'll probably never see Bruno again."
"Oh, lighten up, Burl," said Shep, the fresh-faced Kushman. He saw motion at the front of the tent. "Hey, they're back!"
"Did you find Bruno?" demanded Burl.
"Of course," said Sam. Behind him came Max, pushing forward the giant ice cube containing the frozen remains of Conroy and Lee-Harvey.
"Bruno!" said the Kushmans in unison, overjoyed.
"How can we ever repay you?" asked Shep.
"The blank looks on your faces are the only reward we need," said Sam.
"That and a big fat check," clarified Max.
"Would you settle for three thousand SkeeeeBall tickets?" asked Burl.
"Close enough." Sam took the bundle of paper from Burl's wizened hand. "Let's go, Max."
They walked out of the tent. "You know, Max... I can't help thinking that we've foolishly tampered with the fragile inner mechanisms of this little spaceship we call Earth."
"Gosh Sam," said Max. "If a few hundred years of civilisation have to be totalled just to ensure that a bunch of smelly quasi-human creatures have a safe haven for their disgusting lifestyles... then so be it!"
"You crack me up, little buddy."
Behind them, Shep sounded confused. "Burl, did Bruno always have four arms?"

THE END