Dere Fritoad,
...The golden brightness of late morning as already warming the grass when Frito finally awoke, his head sore afflicted, and his mouth tasting like the bottom of a birdcage. Looking about, every joint aching, he saw that he and his three still-slumbering companions were at the very edge of the Wood, and before them was the four-lang wagon rut that would lead them directly to Whee! There was no sign of Tim Benzedrine. Frito mused that the events of the previous night might have been the idle dream of a boggie whose tummy writhed full of spoiled potato salad. Then his bloodshot eyes saw the small paper bag resting next to his knapsack with a scrawled note attached. Curiously, Frito read:
Two badd yoo copped outt sso sooon lazt nighgt.
Missed somm grooovy ttrps. Hoap the rring thinng
wurcs out awrighgth
Peece,
Timm
P.S. Hear ar som outt of sighgt stash which I am laying onn yoo guyys. Must sine off as rush iss comcomcoming ohgodohgodohgodohgod$5#%*@+=!...
...The village of Whee had some six dozen small houses, most of them built of wax paper and discarded corks. they were arranged in a sort of circle inside the protecting moat, whose stench alone could drop a dragon at a hundred paces.
Pinching their nostrils, the company crossed the creaky drawbridge and read the sign at the gate:
WELCOME TO QUAINT, HISTORICAL WHEE
POPULATION 1004 828 96 AND STILL GROWING
Two sleepy-eyed guards bestirred themselves just long enough to relieve the protesting Spam of his remaining tablespoons. Frito surrendered half of his magic beans, which the guards munched with speculation.
The boggies beat it before they took effect and, per Goodgulf's instructions, headed for the orange-and-green flashing sign at the center of town. There they found a gaudy plexiglas and chrome inn, whose blinking sign portrayed a boar, rampant, devoured by a mouth, drooling. Beneath it was the name of the inn, the Goode Eats & Lodging. Passing through the revolving door, the party signaled the bell clerk, whose nametag read Hi! I'm Hojo Hominigritts!. Like the rest of the staff, he was costumed as a suckling pig with false sow's ears, tail, and papier-mache' snout.
"Howdy!" drawled the fat boggie. "Ya'll want a room?"
"Yes," said Frito, stealing a glance at his companions. "We're just in town for a little vacation, aren't we, boys?"
"Vacation," said Moxie, winking at Frito broadly.
"Just a little vacation," added Pepsi, nodding his head like an idiot.
"Ya'll sign here please?" said the clerk through his fake snout. Frito took the quill chained to the desk and wrote the names ALIAS UNDERCOVER, IVAN GOTTASECRET, JOHN DOE-SMITH, AND IMA PSEUDONYM.
"Any bags, Mr., uh, Undercover?"
"Only under my eyes," mumbled Frito, turning toward the dining room.
"Wal," chuckled the clerk, "just leave these here sacks an' I'll ring a bell hop.
"Fine," said Frito, hurrying away.
"Now y'all have a good time now," the clerk called after them, "an' if y'all want anything, just ring!"
Out of earshot, Frito turned worriedly to Spam.
"You don't think he knows anything," he whispered, "do you?"
"Naw, Master Frito," said Spam, massaging his stomach. "Let's grab some grub!"...
...Suddenly, Frito's grinders jammed against a small hard object in the burger. Cursing under his breath, Frito reached into his throbbing mouth and extracted a tiny metal cylinder. Unscrewing the top, he removed a tinier strip of microvellum, on which he made out the words: Beware! You are in great danger. You are embarked on a long journey. You will soon meet a tall, dark Ranger. You weigh exactly fifty-nine pounds.
Frito drew in his breath with fright and his eyes sought the sender of this message. At last they came to rest on a tall, dark Ranger seated at the counter, a double root beer untouched before him. The lean figure was dressed entirely in gray, and his eyes were hidden by a black mask. Across his chest were crossed bandoleers of silver bullets, and a pearl-handled broadsword dangled ominously from one lean hip. As if feeling Frito's eyes upon him, he turned slowly on his stool and met them, putting a gloved finger to his lips for secrecy. He then pointed toward the door of the men's room and held out five fingers. FIVE MINUTES. He pointed toward Frito and then to himself. By this time, half the patrons had turned to watch, and thinking it was a game of charades, were encouraging him with shouts of "Famous saying?" and "Sounds like!"...
..."I have a message for you, Mr. Bugger," said the stranger.
Frito's burger rose at the sound of his true name.
"But--but I theenk you are meestaken, senor," began Frito lamely, "I velly solly but my honorable name not--"
"This message is from Goodgulf the Wizard," said the stranger, "if the name by which thee calls thyself answers to the title of Frito Bugger!"
"I are," said Frito, confused and frightened.
"And thee hast the Ring?"
"Maybe I do, and maybe I don't," countered Frito, stalling for time. The stranger lifted Frito by his narrow lapels.
"And thee hast the Ring?"
"Yes already," squealed Frito. "So I've got it! So sue me!"
"Be not afraid, allay thy fears, quail not, and hold thy horses," laughed the man. "I am a friend of thine."
"And you have a message for me from Goodgulf?" gulped Frito, feeling his burger settling a bit.
The tall one unzipped a secret compartment in a saddlebag on his shoulder and handed Frito a slip which read:
"Three shorts, four pairs socks, two shirts, chain mail, heavy starch?"
Impatiently, the stranger snatched the ancient gag from the boggie's paw and replaced it with a folded parchment. Frito's glance at the Michaelmas Seals and Goodgulf's X-rune imprinted in hardened bubble gum verified the sender.
Hurriedly he tore it open, saving the gum for Spam. For later. With difficulty he deciphered the familiar Palmer Method characters. They read:
Frito-lad,
The halberd has fallen! The fewmets have hit the windmill!
Sorhed's Nozdrul have gotten wind of our
little dodge and are beating the bush for "four boggies,
one with a pink tail." Doesn't take any abacus to figure out
somebody's spilled the gruel. Get out of wherever
you are fast, and don't lose the you-know-what.
I'll try to meet you at Wingtip, if not, look me up in
Riv'n'dell. in any case, don't take any oaken
thrupences. And don't mind Stomper, he's a good egg,
ut-bay ot-nay oo-tay ight-bray, if you know what I mean.
Must close, left something on the Bunsen,
Goodgulf
P.S. How do you like the new stationery? Picked it up for a plainchant at Hambone's Dept.!
Once again, Frito's Oink-Oink burger rose to the occasion. Fighting down it's untimely reappearance, Frito gasped, "Then we are not safe here."
"Have no fear, lowly boggie," said Stomper, "for I, Arrowroot of Arrowshirt, am with thee. Goodgulf must have spoken of me in the letter. I have many names--"
"I'm sure you do, mr. Arrowshirt," Frito broke in, panicking. "But it's mud and then some if we don't get out of here. I think somebody in this cheap joint wants my scalp, and not for a lanolin massage either!"..."
...As the sun's rim broke on the far horizon it's first tentative rays illuminated Wingtip. After an hour of strenuous climbing they reached the top and rested gratefully on the flat granite apex, while Stomper scrounged around for some sign of Goodgulf. Nosing about a large gray rock, Stomper stopped and called to Frito. Frito looked at the stone and discerned the crude skull-and-bones etched into its surface, and with it the X-rune of the old Wizard.
"Goodgulf has passed this way recently," said Stomper, "and unless I read these runes awrong, he means this place as a secure camp for us."
Nevertheless Frito bedded down with nagging misgivings. But, he reminded himself, he is a king, and all. The bridge across the Gallowine and the way to Riv'n'dell were only a short distance; there they would be safe from the marauding Swine Riders. Sleep was now long overdue, and he sighed with pleasure as he curled up under a low shelf of stone. Soon he was falling fast asleep, lulled by the soft snuffling noises and the clinking of armor below.
"Awake! Awake! Fiends! Foes! Flee!" someone was whispering, waking Frito from his dreams. Stomper's hand jostled him roughly. Obeying him, Frito peered down the slope and made out nine black forms inching stealthily up the mountain toward their hiding place.
"It seemeth I read the signs awrong," muttered the perplexed guide. "Soon they will be upon us unless we divert their wrath."
"How?" asked Pepsi.
"Yes, how?" joined in Guess Who.
Stomper looked at the boggies. "One of the party must stay behind to delay them while we dash for the bridge."
"But who--?"
"Never fear," said Stomper quickly. "I have here in my gauntlet four lots, three long and a short for him we throw to the--er--for he who will have his name emblazoned in the pantheon of heroes."
"Four?" said Spam. "What about you?"
The Ranger straightened with great dignity. "Surely," he said," you would not wish me an unfair advantage, seeing that it was I who made up the lots?"
Mollified, the boggies drew the pipe cleaners. Spam drew the short.
"Two out of three?" he whined. But his fellows had already disappeared over the lip of the peak and were racing down as fast as they could...
...Stomper and the other boggies ran to Frito, extending their congratulations on his escape. They then drew close to the mysterious figure, who approached and, espying Stomper among them, raised his hands in greeting and sang:
"O NASA O UCLA! O Etaion Shrdlu!
O Escrow Beryllium! Pandit J. Nehru!"
Stomper raised his hands and answered, ""Shantih Billerica!" They met and embraced, exchanging words of friendship and giving the secret handshake.
The boggies studied the stranger with interest. He introduced himself as Garfinkel of the elves. When he had shed himself of his robes, the boggies regarded with curiousity his ring-encrusted hands, his open-collared Ban-Lon tunic, and his silver beach clogs.
"Thought you would have been here days ago," said the balding elf. "Any trouble along the way?"
"I could write a book," said Frito prophetically.
"Well," said Garfinkel, "we'd better make tracks before those B-movie heavies return. They may be stupid, but they sure can be persistent."
"So new?" muttered Frito, who found himself muttering more and more lately.
The elf looked doubtfully at the boggies. "You guys know how to ride?" Without waiting for an answer he whistled loudly through his gold teeth. A clump of high sedge rustled and several overweight merino sheep bounded into view, bleating irritably.
"Mount up," said Garfinkel.
Frito, more or less athwart an unpromising ungulant, rode last in the procession away from the Gallowine toward Riv'n'dell. He slipped his hand into his pocket, found the Ring, and took it out in the fading light. Already it was beginning to work it's slow change upon him, the transformation of which Dildo had warned. He was constipated...