N - The Autobiography of Andy Fox:
Insight into the life of a toon who dared to be human

by Andy Fox (landru@minn.net)

This story is available in HTML form at http://www1.minn.net/~landru/book,
complete with better text formatting and images.

This file has been edited from the original on-line version due to some
strong language.

All cartoon characters depicted in this story (except for myself) are
copywrighted by their respective animation companies. As far as the animation
companies go, they are used here without permission. However, the characters
themselves have concented to allow me to make this story availabe. As for
myself, I hereby give permission to myself to use myself in this story. I'm
being silly now, aren't I?

October 10, 2001

A note to members of the Tiny Toon Adventures mailing lists:
------------------------------------------------------------
This is not a Tiny Toon Adventures fan fiction. It is a story about myself
and my experiences, which just happen to include the Tiny Toons. I wrote
this story for a broad audience, so if you wonder why I explain things that
you already know about, like what Acme Looniversity is, now you know: it's
for those who are not TTA fans. Also, this is not a regular story. It
contains a good deal of introspective thought and contemplative monologue
which may not be to everybody's taste.

If you wish to only read the portions of the story which relate specifically
to the Tiny Toons, direct yourself to chapters 14, 16, and to a lesser extent,
18. I hope, though, that reading those chapters will compel you to read more
of the rest of the story.

A note about formatting:
------------------------
This file was converted from Microsoft Word to MS-DOS ASCII text so this story
could be available to the reader who does not have access to the HTML
version posted on the internet. The conversion wasn't perfect: dashes were
concerted into hyphens, triplet dots (...) had to be re-done by hand, paragraph
indenting had to be re-done by hand, and words originally in italics had to
be edited by hand and are here emphasized by "quotes" or *asterisks*. I hope
I caught everything and that anything I missed doesn't detract from your
reading of this work.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------


PROLOGUE
========

    This is a story about a human. Well, no. Rather it is a story about a toon. 
No, that's still not quite right. Actually, it's a story about a being of pure 
energy that became a toon, then became human, was partially turned back 
into a toon, and now lives two lives--a perfectly conceivable situation. It 
could happen to anyone.

    I am not your average, run-of-the-mill human: my best friend is a coyote, 
I've had lunch with a squirrel, and I've been a rabbit's lawyer. I have been 
many things, been many places, and seen a thousand spectacular things many 
here on Earth have only dreamed of, and in this book I will share many of 
these experiences.
    This book is not a methodical telling of the facts of my past. That would 
be too simple. Rather, it is a collection of specific, isolated scenes from my 
life, presented in a more or less chronologically correct fashion, and 
intermingled with insight and musings. I present this book to those who 
would be interested in reading about such things as the history of a nearly 
omnipotent energy being, and how he came to be part of that lovable family 
of cartoon characters known as The Looney Tunes.


PART I - THE TOON YEARS
=======================

"I have seen things you'll never see." - Try Not to Breathe, R.E.M.


CHAPTER 1
FINDING SOMETHING TO DO IN THE COSMOS
-------------------------------------

    My very first memories are of finding myself alone and apparently in the 
middle of nowhere in particular. I looked about. I saw millions of colored 
points of light dotting a curtain of blackness extending in all directions 
around me. "Define," I thought to myself. A bit to my surprise, myself 
momentarily returned with an answer, consisting of a small torrent of 
mathematical equations and paragraphs of explanations. This blackness was 
called "space", and the colored points of light, "stars."
    A few particles of dust drifted lazily by. "I wonder where they are going," 
I thought. "Do they care?" I dilated my vision and re-focused to the world of 
the very small, down to the molecular level and beyond. I could see protons 
and neutrons huddled together while electrons flew about crazily, colliding 
with positron and other anti-particles. Curiously, this all seemed acceptable 
to me--all as it should be.
    Coming to the conclusion that just hanging about was becoming 
extremely dull, I began to explore this place I was in. I drifted about, not 
really knowing what I was looking for. I was a being of pure energy with no 
physical form. Not being limited to simple three-dimensional movement 
within a universe, I began to traverse other planes of reality and other 
universes as well. I shortly came upon and explored this universe, and 
eventually came upon a planet, which its inhabitance referred to as Earth. It 
was a curious planet to be sure. Something told me this place was familiar--
that it was important in a way--but I did not know how or why. After 
pausing to witness many forms of Terran life I returned to the openness of 
the cosmos and continued exploring.
    As I wandered between star cluster and stellar phenomena, passing 
between dimensions and planes of reality, I became aware that someplace, 
something seemed to be calling to me--not Earth, but some existence 
elsewhere. I had a feeling that I should go somewhere else. The encounter 
with Earth had somehow strengthened this pull to an alternate plane of 
existence. I followed the call as I slipped out of this universe and reality. I 
passed through several dimensional barriers and strange energy envelopes 
before arriving at my destination.
    At first my destination seemed to look exactly like the universe I had just 
come from. Shortly, though, I discovered some very unusual things were 
going on in this new place. For starters, the physical make-up and properties 
here were completely unique to anything I had seen thus far. Also, for some 
reason this place felt very natural to me. I looked about and noticed I was 
near a planet that bore somewhat of a resemblance to that Earth planet I had 
found before. I descended to the planet's surface and found on it beings very 
similar to me: not visually, of course, but fundamentally. The physical forces 
that bound their corporeal forms together and the energy patterns that formed 
the fibers of their being were much more like my own energy patterns than 
those of the beings I had seen on Earth. And, to my surprise, some of these 
life forms bore a striking resemblance to some of the life forms I had seen on 
Earth. But these life forms looked much simpler, and displayed such physical 
flexibility and alteration abilities that any Earth creature trying to duplicate 
them would end up spending their remaining days in a body cast. I had found 
a universe comprised of cartoons characters, a *Tooniverse* if you will, and 
the life forms there referred to themselves as *Toon*s. Of course, at the time 
I had no idea what a cartoon was.

    Something told me that I should stay in this place. Something gave me the 
definite impression of "home." The toons I met were quick to welcome me 
and show me around. With their lack of any apprehension and skepticism 
towards me you'd think they had strange alien visitors come by daily.  Being 
as my visible appearance (a rather unexciting glowing near-white point of 
light) was not the most comfortable for the toons to interact with, I took to 
studying the toons and their make-up. After pondering the situation for a bit I 
finally chose to manifest myself as a human toon, as humans seemed to be 
the more sensible fellows about. Granted they didn't seem to be having as 
much fun as the animal toons, but I figured I'd better learn to walk before I 
started wielding mallets and custard pies.
    I was informed that it was the year 1936. When I asked what this meant I 
was further informed that it meant that their planet had revolved around its 
star over nineteen hundred times since, according to a slightly confusing and 
not completely understood story, some humans on Earth had done away with 
some other human. This having been explained to me I promptly shrugged 
and set out to find the nearest malt shop.

    Not knowing exactly what I should do in this new place now that I had 
found it, I began taking odd jobs around town, which I learned was a place 
called Los Angeles. I bused tables, cleaned windows, worked as a courier, 
learning everything I could and listening to anyone who had anything useful 
to say about this land I was in. Eventually I ended up gravitating to the 
Burbank area of town and found myself in the world of animation studios 
and cartoon actors.
    I began to feel very at home as my first year in Toonity passed. I got 
along well with everyone and everything, as if I had been living there all my 
life, and it sometimes became easy to forget that I wasn't a real toon and was 
an outsider to this place. However, I did get the impression that I was not 
intruding and that the fact that I was an outsider seemed to matter little. To 
toons, what you do and how you act are more important than where you 
came from.
    As the time passed I became aware of the fact that the toons did not 
appear to possess many of the abilities that came natural to me. I had an 
inherent ability to control and manipulate the toon world far more 
extensively and with much more complexity than other toons. Because of 
this I found I was able to do almost limitless feats: anything from producing 
energy bolts from my fingertips or eyes (or any other part of myself), to 
levitation to matter re-transfiguration. I could literally "see" the physics of 
the world around me, and understand how to change them to my liking. All I 
had to do was think about doing something and it would happen, the physics 
and logic of the action instantaneously calculated in my mind. Techniques 
that took toons weeks or months of practice, like dropping an anvil on an 
adversary on cue or changing their shape were second nature to me. I could 
change my shape, or cause another toon to change shape, whenever I felt like 
it and without moving a muscle. And I could do a thousand other things, 
bending the toon universe to suit my needs. You name it, chances are 95.2% 
that I can do it. To perform all of these feats I draw upon the energy of the 
toon world around me. Very little of my own energy is normally required.
    Then there were my mental abilities; actions I could carry out in my mind 
with no aid of the physical world: primary of which was my inherent, vast 
knowledge of mathematics, and science. I would read papers on toon 
calculus and physical mechanics like comic strips. And anything I didn't 
know I could learn almost instantly simply by practical experience. I learned 
how to fly a prop plane with the skill and precision of a fully licensed pilot in 
about twenty minutes. It took me only five minutes to learn about a dozen 
toon animal languages and dialects. Then there was my power of foresight. I 
could literally "see" and explore alternate timelines and dimensions. Entire 
scenes from alternate realities and possible futures would play themselves 
out in my mind.
    Lastly were my telepathic abilities. These did not surface initially, but as 
time passed and I spent more and more time around toons these abilities 
began to surface. I became able to sense the emotions and thoughts of toons, 
and with a bit of learning and some more time I was able to telepathically 
communicate with toons. This last accomplishment I use sparingly even to 
this day, and practice mainly with close friends as I consider it a bit of an 
intrusion to go right into some toon's mind and begin bothering them. I dare 
say I could go as far as controlling another toon's mind with mine, in effect 
hypnotizing the toon to perform any action I might want, but this to me is 
considered a somewhat vulgar action and something to only be attempted 
with friends in situations where the result would be sufficiently comedic.
    These inherent abilities seemed to exist no matter what dimension or 
universe I happened to be in, and I had taken all of these abilities for granted 
until I came to the world of toons and realized none other had these abilities. 
Take the game of golf, for example. I can look at a golf ball I am about to hit 
and visualize every point of contact on the ball and consequently envision 
every spot where the ball would land based on where I hit it, including 
ricochets off of trees, ground, and other players. Additionally I can chose any 
spot on the course and reverse-compute the whole process and identify any 
number of points and techniques for hitting the ball so that it will land at the 
chosen spot. Because of this, my powers are monitored and hence restricted 
should I choose to participate in a regulated sporting event. Of course, there 
are the free-for-all baseball tournaments and other games where participants 
are encouraged to use any and all toon abilities to achieve their goals. These 
games are indeed a joy to partake in.

    Despite my uniqueness, I was welcomed and accepted as a fellow 
member of society. I worked odd jobs on the movie studio scene for several 
more years: set clean-up, stagehand, food caterer, soundboard, and even 
cameraman. As I worked I began to notice an underlying injustice being 
done to toons by the animation studios that they were created by and 
contracted to. Back then, toons were treated like property by the animation 
companies whose staffs had created them. They told the toons what to do, 
how to act, and where to go. Toons had no real negotiation power in the way 
of their contracts; it was either "Do it our way, or you're out."  "Out" meant 
out of contract, out on the street, with little usable skills to rely on. I'd see 
this happen, and it would bother me. Here toons were as real as anything 
else, but the human counterparts that existed here treated them as property.
    I began to poke around. I looked at some of those toon contracts. Were 
they iron clad? Not really. To the well-skilled eye there were holes. But how 
do you expect a wacky toon with toon logic and rules to be a sleuth at 
detecting human contractual loopholes? The answer was, you didn't--until I 
started making some noise.
    "Fight for toons against the animation companies?" people asked, 
"You're crazy!" Yeah, maybe I was. But I had an edge, I was someone with 
the smarts to fight back, and a willingness to do so. I began to create a refuge 
where toon actors could come and seek advice and assistance on their behalf. 
Such a place did not exist, and quickly became a welcome concept to toons 
who were treated unfairly and unjustly by their animation companies. I 
listened to their problems. I learned the legal system of Hollywood and 
cartoons contracts. I wanted to put things right for those toons. And, with my 
ability to quickly assimilate the knowledge needed to win their pleas, I was 
often successful. Shortly, I acquired the assistance of other toons who also 
felt as I did and wanted to help those toons who have been wronged. With 
me as the backbone, they now had the gumption to do what they could as 
well, knowing I was there to fall back on. During the day I would run 
cameras and perform other sound stage duties. In the after-hours I would be 
meeting with toons and discussing their contractual options. That-is, until 
Warner Brothers, for whom I had been working at the time, asked me to 
either stop screwing with their cartoon actors, or find somewhere else to 
work. I promptly resigned.
    Over the next year the other toons and I became a beacon of hope to the 
toons of Hollywood, and a growing concern to the cartoon animation 
companies who now saw that there was a growing menace to their way 
treating their toon actors. We had made it clear that toons deserved fair 
treatment. This beacon, this menace, was called Tetra Dimensional.


CHAPTER 2
INDUCTION, ONE OF THE FAMILY
----------------------------

    Around 1942 I began to realize how much I fit in with the Warner 
Brothers clan of toons. We had similar traits and ideas, and similar actions, 
and I felt more comfortable around them than toons from other animation 
companies, like Disney for example. I noticed I began to spend more and 
more time with Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, and the rest of the emerging 
Warner Brothers toons. And I began to dwell upon the fact that my toon 
appearance was merely a facade. If I did not concentrate on maintaining the 
human toon form I would abruptly revert back to my true form resembling 
nothing more than a near-white point of light. As my 6th anniversary of 
discovering Toonity approached I began to feel a loss, an emptiness inside, 
something separating me from my now good friends.

    Wishing upon a star has always been a quaint toon custom that I had 
observed and picked up on. It is an action that, in the toon universe, equates 
somewhat to a prayer on Earth, and is held in similar respect. The act of a 
toon wishing for something was often inserted into cartoon short plots so as 
to precipitate some comedic result, but a true toon wish is something much 
more serious. It is a solemn, deeply felt request, a plea, to that great 
unknown. "What the hey," I thought. "Can't hurt." So on the eve of my 6th 
anniversary, I made a wish with all of my heart and essence to that unknown 
force which created me that I might be one with my friends--to be part of 
their wonderful world. I slept restlessly that night. My mind was flooded 
with a jumble of dreams, thoughts, and strange visions. I seem to remember 
something about an oath, and possibly a wood staff, but that is all.

    The next day I awoke with a very odd sensation, as if all of my senses had 
been enhanced a hundred-fold. Every fiber of my being was buzzing with 
energy. Sounds I never heard before were bombarding my ears. Strange 
smells I had never noticed before permeated my nostrils. I seemed to be 
bristling with sensations. I opened my eyes and promptly fell off my bed 
with shock and surprise at seeing myself. "My God," I thought, "it *wasn't* 
a dream!?" I picked myself up and crept over to a full-length mirror hanging 
on a wall next to the bedroom door. In the mirror stood a rather handsome 
and strangely appealing cartoon fox. Slowly my mouth opened and its 
corners lifted into a toothy smile. I began to giggle softly with uncontrolled 
joy as I looked myself over.
    I had bushy rust-red fur covering my body. From my elbows to my hands 
and my knees to my feet a shorter, deep dark brown fur covered me. My 
chest and belly were white. The white continued up my neck to my cheeks 
and underside of my snout. My eye pupils were green. My eyelids and the 
rest of my head were the same rust-red as my body. Two pointy red ears with 
pink insides adorned the top of my head. I lifted what had been my right 
hand and saw a brown paw with four slender fingers waving at me. I 
examined them more closely to see four small but quite sharp claws. I ran 
one of the fingers along the top of my snout, feeling the stiff bone support 
underneath. I tapped on it. "Guess it's real," I muttered and looked 
quizzically at the small black nose which terminated it. Then my eyes caught 
sight of two glistening white triangles protruding out from underneath my 
snout--fangs. I opened my mouth wide and looked closer into the mirror to 
see a full set of carnivorous teeth. "Yeow," I thought, contemplating the 
unlucky fate of any foodstuff unfortunate enough to find itself amongst them. 
I closed my mouth and pondered: "Shouldn't have any trouble with that 
tough, crusty bread at Benny's Bakery anymore."
    I noticed something very peculiar going on with the lower part of my 
back. Something was causing my balance to shift around. I reached back 
with a paw and grasped onto what revealed itself to be a gorgeous, full, furry 
red tail with a white tip. I looked down at my big flat, three-toed feet. I 
picked one up to examine it, noticing more small claws, one on each toe. I 
also noticed that during this action I hadn't for a second lost my balance in 
the slightest. I looked behind me to see that my tail had formed a third "leg" 
to balance on. "Did I do that, or did it do that by itself?" I put my foot back 
on the floor. "It's perfect. It's all perfect," I thought silently, elated with 
happiness. I took one final look, and dashed out into the world with renewed 
excitement.
    I bounded over to the Warner Brothers filming lot, knocking over several 
security guards in my wake. I entered the cartoon soundstage and saw Bugs 
Bunny, Daffy Duck, Elmer Fudd, Porky Pig, and several other toons standing 
around chatting and waiting for the day's filming to commence.
    "BugsBugsBugs!! LookieLookieLookie!!" I exclaimed to bugs as I 
grabbed him around the waist and lifted him several inches into the air with 
unbridled exuberance. "It's happened! It's really happened!" I continued.
    Bugs' face had turned into an odd grimace from shock and of being half-
crushed from my embrace. "Nice to see you too, Doc," he croaked. The commotion
had attracted the attention of the other toons, who were now standing around
us wide-eyed. I set Bugs back down and released him. I noticed that his head
only came up to my nose.
    Bugs brushed himself down and quickly recomposed himself. "Thanks, Andy.
So you like it then?"
    "Aw, Bugs, it's the greatest! It's... hey, how'd you know who I am?"
    Bugs scowled a bit and knocked on my head with his fist: "`Cause I was 
there, remember?"
    "So it *was* real," I thought silently.
    "Looks like he turned out okay, hey Bugs?" Daffy said as the group of 
toons around us came closer and began talking excitedly, poking at me, 
feeling my fur, and wrapping themselves up in my tail.
    "G-g-g-gosh, Andy, you sure look sw-sw-sw... you look like a million 
bucks!" offered Porky.
    "Yeah, you weawy are famiwy now," Elmer re-assured.
    "Yup, uh huh, uh huh. You're a real toon now, sure are, uh huh," Sniffles 
piped up.
    Family? Toon? I looked back to Bugs, not really sure I believed this. 
Bugs pressed his left index finger into my white chest.
    "We don't do this for just anyone, Doc," Bugs said quietly. "Come to 
think of it, we've never done this for anyone," he pondered distractedly, 
taking his finger and scratching his chin with it for a second before burying it 
back in my chest. "Listen Doc," he continued, his words carrying so much 
weight that I dared not listen, "it takes something special to be a true toon. 
And this wouldn't have worked at all if there wasn't a bit of somethin' in ya 
to begin with." I looked around at the rest of the toons, many of which were 
smiling knowingly at me.
    "You were all there, weren't you?" I asked, looking about. "You did this? 
You guys did this all for me?"
    Bugs shook his head: "Nope. We just helped you out."
    "I... I... uh... wow. Thanks, guys."
    "Tw-tw-'tweren't nothin'!" replied Porky and giggled.
    The group resumed its chattering. After a few minutes the cartoon filming 
crew began to set up and the crowd dispersed.

    Everything had changed now. I no longer needed to concentrate to hold a 
toon form. A natural toon form had been given to me--grafted on if you 
will--by powers that I do not completely understand, but silently thank to 
this day. My being and appearance had changed forever, and my mind now 
contained all of the knowledge of toon; all the things that every toon knows, 
and all the things every toon fox knows.
    I was now genetically related to the Looney Tunes--I *was* a Looney 
Tune--one of the family, so-to-speak. With the gift of a real toon body I 
could truly small, hear, see, touch, and taste as the toons did; my senses had 
been expanded to their full potential. But my powers were unaffected. It was 
one of the happiest points in my life. I was an outsider no longer. Sometimes 
I wonder though: during that night so many years ago, was I really given a 
new toon form, or was it always inside me, and I simply needed help finding 
it?


CHAPTER 3
THE SAFE HOUSE EXPANDS
----------------------

    And, so it went for many years. I continued to work in the world of 
cartoon production, handling toon contracts and spending time with my new 
family. As time passed, being part of my job, I acquired skills as a legal 
representative. Many times I negotiated contractual rights on a toon's behalf, 
and on occasion performed the roll of defense attorney in toon court. I begun 
to rise in status to something of a figurehead for toon representation, a rather 
ironic outcome I think. My job provided me with a very comfortable living, 
though I did not really take advantage of it. It was enough for me to purchase 
a nice plot of land and have a custom mansion built on it. My primary joy 
came from helping other toons. Of course, a fine Cabernet is appreciated 
also.
    By 1946 Tetra Dimensional had grown to around 10 toons. By then, the 
cartoon animation companies had changed their ways and did not try to get 
away with the mistreatment of toons that they had before gotten away with. 
So, Tetra Dimensional expanded. We began to provide post-career placement 
services and retirement facilitation to toons. And we embarked on the 
development of new toon science and technology to benefit toonkind. We 
would monitor cartoon broadcast transmissions, and even augment them with 
news reports when necessary. We were a company for toons, by toons. Tetra 
Dimensional was the company that could get you out of a legal contract that 
was cryptically illegal. It was the place where you could go and the toons 
there would listen to your problem. It was the place that could get you a 
steady paycheck while you find a new job. And, it was the place that had me, 
that toon with the super powers and knowledge that was on the good guys' 
side, working with top toon scientists to expand the reaches of toon science. 
Toons came to us, and most often we could help them. 
    Meanwhile, as Tetra Dimensional expanded, I began to expand my 
knowledge of toon law, broadening my scope to encompass the entire realm 
of toon civil and criminal law. I cherish these memories. This is what I had 
wanted: to help toons out, and to be liked and trusted by them. I had achieved 
good standing. Happiness had been found.

    I have no memory of toon parents or siblings, only very close friends, 
where, in Toonity, this is similar to family, and the special bonds that form 
between toons are beyond anything I have witnessed on Earth. It may be 
hard to believe but toons can be incredibly passionate without any visible 
hints. Toons who are good friends would do practically anything for each 
other. They care deeply for each other and consider themselves pals to the 
end. Outwardly, though, they may simply give one another a chuck on the 
shoulder or slap each other on the back. Openly express your deep gratitude 
to a toon for something special they just did for you, and they will casually 
brush it off, but in their actions can be found a buried level of kinship and 
warmth, perceptible only by another toon.
    Over the next several years I became close friends with many Warner 
Bros. toons along with toons from other animation companies. Foghorn 
Leghorn was one of those toons. I'm not completely sure how a fox and a 
chicken can become good friends without giving in to predator/prey 
impulses, but then again, toons are only representations of the real thing. 
    "Come on over here you big lunk," I would often say to Foghorn when we 
would get together, and I'd ruffle his feathers with my hand. I've always 
looked at Foghorn as a good friend. We may be natural enemies, but toon 
association goes beyond that. In toon form I don't care for the taste of 
chicken. And on Earth it took quite a while for me to acquire a liking for it. 
So it was not uncommon to see us together. I was always proud to call him a 
friend.


CHAPTER 4
THE TRANSPORT:
A PRACTICLE EXAMPLE OF AN EXERCISE IN DISCOVERING THE POSSIBILITIES OF
ONE'S ENVIRONMENT
----------------------------------------------------------------------

    There will be several instances in this book where I shall make reference 
to it, so I guess I bloody well better spend a bit of time talking about it so you 
know what it is.
    Sometime around 1945 I began work on a side project which I referred to 
simply as *the transport*. I was then, a full-fledged toon, at home in 
Burbank, California, Toonity. When I was not bogged down with toon 
contract problems and other matters, I was studying the physical properties 
of this universe that I called home--how things reacted to each other, how 
things could be manipulated, and so-forth.
    I turned out to have a natural curiosity and aptitude for such things, and 
performed small experiments to explore different physical laws: analysis of 
the anvil as it relates to a toon's head, the forces that hold a toon body 
together or causes it to re-generate itself after it had been blown up, chopped 
up, shot at, or what-have-you. Every toon knew the basic principles of these 
topics; it was necessary for their existence. You have to know *how* and 
*when* to drop the anvil for it to be funny, but my studies went deeper. 
What force allows one toon to easily lift an anvil but also cause the anvil, 
when dropped, to suddenly become heavy enough to flatten another toon into 
a lifeless pancake? My curiosity also extended to the uniqueness of my 
powers in this world. This caused me to contemplate constructing a physical 
machine that could perform similar feats, demonstrating that anything is 
possible, if you only know how. I decided that the thing I would construct 
would be a transportation device whose basis of function and operation 
would be rooted in the physics around me and could be operated completely 
with my mental powers.
    As my motivation grew I began researching materials and concepts. I 
would bury my snout in high-level toon physics books, usually ones only 
understandable by toons with degrees in science and engineering. When I 
wasn't busy with a contract case at Tetra Dimensional I would be busy in my 
office drawing up schematics or digging through Acme catalogs for parts. 
The corners of my office began to fill up with small piles of strange-looking 
items, giving any toon that stopped in a topic of conversation. I found it a 
fascinating project. I was learning a great deal about how things in the toon 
world worked.
    The early stages of my project began to resemble something similar to an 
old classroom desk, the kind with a chair bolted to a tabletop by a tube metal 
frame. On occasion I would perform simple tests: power on, levitate, rotate, 
rise, fall, etc. Simple tests like this could be performed in my office. For tests 
requiring a larger space I could be seen out in the courtyard in front of the 
Tetra Dimensional building. Toons passing by would sometimes be treated to 
a kind of side show of a toon fox falling through the air because the strange-
looking contraption he had been flying a second before had suddenly 
disappeared into thin air under him. Or maybe the machine would 
prematurely accelerate without its inertial dampening field working correctly 
and the fox would find himself flung to the ground.

    After several more months of work my transport came to look like and be 
what it is today. Imagine a pedestal about 4 feet high with a flat semi-circle 
surface at the top about 3 feet long. This is the control panel. Further imagine 
a stool for sitting at this pedestal and a bar connecting the two at the bottom. 
This is the normal configuration of my transport. The outer surface is a 
composite toon plastic-metallic alloy (don't try and figure it out, it only 
makes sense in the toon world) with a pleasing silver color. Underneath, the 
make-up is part electrical, part mechanical, and for lack of a better term, part 
toon "magic". The transport responds to thought as well as physical controls, 
and is able to change shape to several different pre-defined configurations, 
some as large as and resembling a single-passenger glider, some 
accommodating several passengers. And, when not in use, the transport can 
be stowed as a 4x4x1/2 inch silver block weighing approximately 200 grams.
    The transport can hover, or travel in any direction, at conventional speeds, 
or at the speed of thought. Obviously from its lack of wings you may have 
gathered that it does not use conventional Earth concepts for aviation. 
Instead, it's ability to fly is based on matter displacement physics and certain 
quirks with the laws of toon gravity which I have taken advantage of. It is 
equipped with sensors, gravity control, and the ability to protect riders from 
wind, temperature, and inertia. It was quite a fun thing to use once 
completed. Permit me to give a tour of the control panel and thus many of 
the transport's features. This is how it might look while flying over a 
particular patch of American southwest desert:


A - Course & Flight Display Window which displays current course, 
correction, altitude and attitude information

B - Field Control switches for activating a force field to keeping 
everything inside the field inside, and all else outside. Also found are 
switches for an inertial dampening field which protects passengers against 
any inertial forces, and a sound dampening field for flying though noisy 
areas.

C - Temperature Controls for activating and adjusting a fixed thermal 
bubble around the transport.

D - Power Levels Indicator which graphically displays the amounts of 
stored energy (SG), energy being generated to replenish supplies (GE), 
energy utilization (UT), and the amount of mental input energy being 
received by the transport for operating it telepathically (MI).                                                                                                   

E - Interactive heads-up / Operations Window. This is the main 
interface with the computer systems of the transport. It is a touch-sensitive 
screen, which during normal cruise mode can display an image of the 
landscape below, radar, mechanical horizon, altimeter graph, current 
position, and external environment readings. The touch-screen is the main 
point of input for all technical configuration and flight modes as well. 
Through it parameters can be tweaked and functionality upgraded or 
changed. Security measures can be invoked, physical configuration can be 
designated, a whole battery of bells and whistles.

F - Display Screen compartment containing a 5-inch color monitor that 
rises up from the control panel when in use and when not in use is concealed 
beneath the control panel.

G - Video Camera compartment containing a color video camera that 
also rises up from the control panel when in use and when not in use is 
concealed beneath the control panel. Together the video camera and display 
screen can be used for two-way video conversations.

H - Flight Direction Controls consisting of a joystick, a small wand 
about 4 inches long used to steer and orient the transport. Next to it is the lag 
adjuster. Its setting determines how rapidly the transport should react to 
movements of the joystick.

I - Flight Locking Controls for fixing the current altitude and/or 
direction, regardless of changes in other flight conditions. Also found here is 
the Auto Guidance enable button for engaging the autopilot for pre-entered 
destination coordinates.

J - Velocity Controls consisting of a current velocity display, course and 
fine velocity adjustment slide-switches, and a velocity locking control, 
perfect for those times when you accidentally bump the controls and 
suddenly find yourself careening through the air at 3000 Mph.

K - Velocity Control Configuration Selectors for selecting units of 
speed and the scale of the sliding controls.

L - Radio Activation Button for activating the on-board 
flight/entertainment radio. When the radio is not in use the radio controls are 
concealed underneath a cover which slides open or closed when this button is 
pressed.

M - Flight Radio Control Sub-Panel with display, channel and 
frequency selectors, band selector, noise-reduction and signal boost toggles, 
gain control, and headset jack.

    Since I ended up doing quite a bit of flying with it, I registered the 
transport as an aircraft with the Toon Airlines Association and installed radar 
and a transponder for ATC tracking. As the years went by I added more and 
more features and devices to the transport. I designed more configurations 
for it. I re-worked its machinery as I found new and better ways of doing 
things. I even programmed it with a couple of physical configurations for 
using it as a watercraft, which I found surprisingly fun and enjoyable.
    Now some did ask the obvious questions: "Why do you need that when 
you can just zap yourself to anywhere?" Shoot, that's nowhere near as fun as 
flying over the cityscape, feeling free and having fun cruising around. "But 
you can fly by yourself: turn yourself into a bird or just levitate yourself." 
Well, yes. This is all true, and I occasionally do this, but there is something 
very satisfying in building a flying machine from scratch to do the work for 
you and to be able to use it to go anywhere from down the block to across the 
world.

    This may all seem too much to swallow. How could such an advanced 
device be constructed in the mid 1940's when conventional and practical 
computer technology wasn't invented on Earth until the 1960's, and touch 
screens not until the 1970's? 
    The answer to this question can be understood easily once one realizes 
that necessity is indeed the mother of invention. The toon world is in many 
ways the aspiration of what humans wish to become. This relationship is 
reflected in our science, which gave us computers and robots with brains in 
the 40's, and interplanetary spacecraft in the 50's. It also gave us the portable 
hole, which quickly became a restricted item since it made it extremely easy 
for the average toon criminal to get in to and out of places where a toon 
criminal is not always welcome, such as a well-guarded bank vault or a toon 
actress' dressing room.
    Since there is no limit to a human's imagination our science and 
engineering abilities continue to explode exponentially as humans began to 
dream of bigger and better things that could happen in cartoons.


CHAPTER 5
MEETING A GENIUS
----------------

    I have no recollection of where I was in 1947. But in 1949 Warner Bros. 
had created a new character that had aroused my interest. I saw the first 
cartoon that he starred in: "Fast And Furry-ous": he was a genius, but was 
downplayed and shrouded in accident and failure so to invoke sympathy 
from the audience. I made it my task to meet this toon, and in 1950 I 
ventured out into the desert to seek the coyote out. He seemed like someone 
whom I could confer with, someone to discuss the matters of the world, 
someone I could get to know.

    I arrived near where he was working and stowed my transport. I saw the 
coyote in the midst of yet another plan of his. He was covered with tan fur on 
his face, cheeks, ears, and front and dark brown fur everywhere else. His ears 
were long and slender. His tail was a short bushy stub of fur, and his piercing 
yellow eyes could see with spectacular acuity. But he looked a bit different 
than he did in his cartoon: He was a bit less scrawny, his lower limbs had 
been lengthened, his cheeks looked a bit fuller, and his colors were brighter. 
He did not notice me as I approached him. I walked slowly over, taking in 
the surroundings. Momentarily he saw me. For a moment he froze, staring at 
me. Shortly he turned his attention back to his work.
    "It's just that fox from the studio or something," he thought to himself. 
    The coyote was taller than I by a little over an inch, his nose and mine not 
quite level with each other. My legs were shorter than his, but my limbs were 
thicker. In a good old knockdown drag-out I think we would come out a tie.
    "Mr. Coyote?" I called out, a bit unsure of myself. "Hello. My name is 
Andy Fox." There was no reaction from the coyote. "Ah, I saw your cartoon: 
very impressive." There was still no reaction. "I ah, was wondering, well, if I 
might have the privilege of watching you work." The coyote continued his 
work and I began to think I had made a mistake in coming to see him. I 
stopped a few paces away and tried again. "I saw some real genius in your 
schemes. I really hope they decide to star you in another cartoon."
The coyote slowly put his tools down and held up a sign over his shoulder 
    "Really??" it asked.
    "Really," I answered.
    The coyote turned to face me with a genuine smile on his face. He held up 
another sign: "You really liked my work--I mean you think I have a shot at 
another cartoon?"
    "Sure," I replied. The coyote dropped his sign and took my right paw in 
both of his and shook it vigorously, nearly turning my arm into jelly.
    "Ah!" the coyote blurted out in a voice that no one had yet heard, "I'm so 
pleased to hear you say so. I get so tired of toons coming out here to laugh at 
me or make fun of my inventions. I know I come off in the cartoon like some 
sort of bumbling fool, but that's what they wanted I guess. The cartoon 
didn't do so well, so the studio is still trying to figure out if they should star 
me in another... but I'm so happy someone saw through the facade." The 
coyote released my paw.
    "Articulate, aren't you?" I asked the coyote, a bit confused.
    "Oh sure," he replied, his voice having definite Mel Blanc origination, 
"but it's not in the contract: no speaking during filming. And I can say so 
much more *without* words. That's the key, and that's what the studio likes 
about me." The coyote then put a paw on my shoulder and looked me stern 
in the face. Our eyes locked: "Still, I don't verbalize with just anyone. I 
choose who I talk to."
    I stood there rigidly for a second, frozen from his stare of seriousness. 
The coyote chuckled a bit. "Ah, but I've heard you are also a pretty bright 
fellow yourself," he said. Then he cocked his head towards his blueprints: 
"Come, let me show you my latest scheme," his said expectantly.

    I spent the day with him. The coyote and I hit it off right away. I watched 
him as he devised and implemented numerous plans to capture this Road 
Runner, as small remote cameras that Warner Brothers had set up 
documented his activities. I saw great thought in some of his plans. Yes, this 
coyote would be good to get to know. Sometimes I would inquire about his 
plans, and the coyote would eagerly explain them to me, pointing out the 
subtleties and intricacies of them with signs of exuberant self-pride. 
"Cripes," I would think, "hasn't anyone else been out here for him to talk 
with?"
    Evening came and the thought of supper began to play around in my 
mind. The coyote also was feeling hungry. A turkey drumstick suddenly 
appeared over the coyote's head. He grabbed it and helped himself to a 
hearty mouthful of meat. I smiled and shook my head at my pre-conceived 
notions. He wasn't out here starving and scrounging for tiny crumbs of food 
as was depicted in his cartoon. Sometimes I forgot that not everything is as it 
appears in a cartoon. He was doing all right out here in the desert, working 
up plans to capture the Road Runner in the hopes that Warner Brothers 
would pick him up for more cartoons. And he enjoyed doing it, the constant 
challenge, the struggle with uncooperative equipment, the pushing of his 
creativeness to new limits.

    It was dark now. The fire was quietly dying and I curled up for bed. I fell 
asleep to the quiet of the desert--quite peaceful. Later that evening, the quiet 
was broken by distant howls of coyote song, the words echoing in my mind, 
speaking of things sacred to toon coyotes. I glanced about for the coyote. I 
saw him some ways away, preparing for sleep.
    During the night I did awaken once, to find that the coyote was sleeping, 
not where I had seen him preparing for bed earlier, but next to me, with his 
back against mine. Toon coyotes will only sleep with their backs against 
something they know is safe and not a threat. Perhaps he was lonely. 
Perhaps he was simply cold. Desert nights can get chilly and he was doing 
what was needed to keep warm. But I sensed that this might have meant 
something else.

    Morning came. When I awoke I was alone. I wondered if the coyote had, 
upon awakening, recoiled in horror to find he had curled up next to a 
complete stranger of a fox. I stirred and saw him some distance off, devising 
yet another scheme. He heard me stir and looked over at me. I hadn't slept on 
the ground before and was somewhat sore. Apparently he sensed this, for as I 
stood up he walked over and socked me in the side with his fist, snapping my 
spine back into alignment with a "crack!" Bewildered, I thanked him. He 
gestured as if to say, "It's nothing." I wondered what his thoughts were on 
that special night.
    Over the next few days we became good friends. I watched him scheme. 
He watched me make mini-dust storms with my mind. I discovered the 
genius, and he discovered the true me. We discussed complex problems, 
pondered the ways of the world, and theorized. I would teach him, and he 
would teach me.

    The time came for me to leave and go back to Tetra Dimensional. I felt 
like I was leaving something behind--the wild outdoors, the openness--but I 
wasn't really, for it is all around. The world is what you make of it, and the 
difference between here and home is only a matter of distance. It was the 
experience that linked this place, the association of this desert, to a unique 
time of wonder and memories to cherish. 
    The coyote's words took me from my introspective spiral. "Well, looks 
like I'll have to make a trip over there sometime. Got a reason now--no one 
out here to discuss physics with."
    "I'll be around," I answered, "maybe I'll see you again first."
As I sped off on my transport, and saw his figure shrinking in the distance 
behind me, I know what he was thinking: "Hah. That would make it too easy, 
no way to chase a roadrunner."

    Almost 18 months went by before I saw him again. By that time I had 
wondered if he was just another of Warner Bros.' one-time characters, to 
appear once, and then drift into obscurity. I had often thought of him during 
those months as mention of him popped up here and there between the 
Warner Brothers. animation staff. A few times I tried to make it down there 
again, to see how he was, and if he still was. But I was always stopped by 
"more pressing matters". The time flew by before I knew it. Then, early in 
1952, out of the blue, I saw him in a new cartoon called "Operation: 
Rabbit".  Ah, how grand! He was pursuing... Bugs? Interesting. And he has 
his voice! They decided to let him speak, though the dialog they gave him 
was saturated with strange, ego-boosting tripe. Still, it was he. Then, a few 
months later he was back again in a short entitled "Beep-Beep", back to 
chasing that roadrunner from the first cartoon. It looked like Warner Bros. 
had decided to pick them up as repeat characters. I was ecstatic with joy. 
Now I had to go back out to the desert and pay my friend a visit and 
congratulate him. But, I wondered, were we still friends after not seeing each 
other for two years? As it turned out, I didn't need to take that trip to find 
out.

    A few days after seeing "Beep-Beep" I was sitting in a soundstage 
supervising the shooting of a cartoon when I heard a distant commotion 
outside. I turned my head and looked over my shoulder out the rear door to 
see... him! He was being ushered past outside, surrounded by some WB 
drones and a few members of the toon press, buffeting him with questions. I 
flew out of my chair and trotted over to the door, unaware of my actions. I 
stopped a few feet short of the exit and watched the procession about 40 feet 
away. After not even sending him a letter for two years, would he even 
*want* to see me? Did he even remember me? Had my memories become 
sweetened over the years making the experience we had more than it really 
was? Did it mean more to me than it did to him? I guessed it was time to find 
out. I started walking towards the commotion. I saw his head and ears 
sticking above everyone else's in the group (he was, after all, a relatively tall 
character). He was trying to fend off the press and glanced about with 
uncertainty, as if trying to flee a sinking ship. Then, he spotted me. I stopped. 
"Oh well," I thought, "here it comes. Now we'll see."
    He looked confused for a second or two, as if trying to remember 
something. Then, to my delight his cheeks lifted up as his mouth curled into 
a smile and his eyes widened. He began to struggle and get free of his 
entourage, looking a bit uncertain as to his situation. I continued over as he 
broke free and ran over to me.
    "Fox! Fox!" the coyote shouted happily. "I'm back! I'm a regular!" He 
was beaming with uncharacteristic happiness at his situation.  
    I didn't realize it at the time, but I have been told that I was brimming 
with a mile-wide smile as well. "How have you been, my friend?" I asked.
We gave each other a strong hug, then I held him at arms length. "You 
look good, coyote," I remarked.
    He did a mini-pose and replied: "Quite, they spiffed me up a bit, made me 
look a bit less rough."
    I glanced past him and noticed that the cluster of people had turned and 
was watching us. The press quickly ran over and inquired about us.
    "Do you two know each other?"
    "Have you met before?"
    "When did you meet?"
    "Did you have anything to do with getting the coyote a permanent 
contract?"
    Having gained some influence at the time I got rid of the press agents and 
the coyote and I re-joined the WB staff, who were, as it turned out, in the 
midst of describing to Wile E. Coyote (his now full name) how his cartoons 
would work. Some of the staff groaned a bit as I joined the group, knowing 
that with me present, they couldn't pull any legal trickery on Wile E. As we 
walked Wile E. put his hand on my shoulder.
    "I'm really glad to see you," he said earnestly.
    I looked down. "I'm sorry I didn't come to visit sooner."
    Wile E. shrugged. "Ahhh, you didn't miss much."
    "Sure I did. I missed you."
    I hesitated a bit, wondering if I had crossed the line. But instead he smiled 
and replied: "Well, for most of the time they weren't sure what to do with 
me."
    I sighed a bit with relief. I felt only positive feelings from him towards 
me.
    I started again: "It seems they're working out the finer details on you. 
Won't be long until you're a full-fledged Looney Tune." I sensed Wile E. 
growing a bit concerned deep down inside. "Don't worry," I said, "who and 
what you are will never change. Deep down you will always be who you 
always have been. Ink and paint can't change that. And, you will be accepted 
by the other Looney Tunes."
    Wile E. looked at me and smiled, re-assured that I understood exactly 
what he was feeling. "Thanks," he said softly, "you really know what to 
say."
    I tapped my head with a finger. "Lotta stuff up here, you know." Wile E. 
nodded his head.

    Later that day the contracts were signed, and the paperwork completed. 
Wile E.'s working schedule was to be something new and different than the 
standard WB work practice. Rather than acting with scripts, scenes, and 
direction, he would be left to his own devices while remote cameras 
monitored his activity. He ended up choosing Acme as his main supplier and 
was given an unlimited credit line with them to fulfill his needs. He was 
given base guidelines for his work: attempt to catch the Road Runner, 
acknowledge the audience, use standard gravity rules, try to invoke 
sympathy from the audience when possible, and so-fourth. Only occasionally 
was he called upon to do an orchestrated scene, such as the familiar "starving 
coyote scrounging for food" takes which appear at the beginnings of several 
of his cartoons, or when he starred with Bugs and actual scenes needed to be 
worked out. The setup suited him perfectly. It gave him all the room he 
needed to work.
    Wile E. was now a Looney Tune and destined for great things, including 
a 26-minute animation destined to be the pilot for a television series, but the 
idea was rejected and the animation instead went to theatrical release. 
Unintentionally, The Road Runner and Wile E. had returned to the big screen 
one more time.
    I remember the making of that animation: "The Adventures of the Road 
Runner". In one part of it Wile E. demonstrates to the viewer his practice of 
filming his endeavors in order to identify and eliminate errors. In the cartoon 
Wile E. analyzes a failed attempt to lasso the Road Runner, the primary 
reason being that his timing was off and he missed the bird completely, 
causing him to topple off the side of a cliff as he pulled back on the rope. His 
solution involved constructing scaffolding extending several feet off the cliff 
giving him "proper backing clearance". Unfortunately, upon his next attempt 
he mistakes a bus horn for the Road Runner and gets dragged along the 
asphalt a good 100 feet by the vehicle. There was, also, a third attempt by 
Wile E. to use the lasso: an attempt involving a very heavy boulder as a 
counterweight against the possibility of lassoing another motor vehicle. This 
third attempt, however, did not make it out of the Warner Brothers lot. And 
now that the funny twist of fate has allowed the human me to see the cut 
scene, so old locked-away memories are given to me. Yes, I do remember 
that scene. In fact, I was the one that cut it. "You're making him look like a 
dang fool!" were the words I used, I believe. "Do not diminish the genius 
with over-emphasis on sympathy. He could put you all away with his 
genius." I fought for him often like that, as the bond between us grew.
    Wile E. Coyote has become the best friend I have ever had, and I his. He 
would begin coming to Burbank more often, and I would visit him in the 
desert. Eventually he moved from the desert to not too far away from where I 
now live. We have schemed, planned, felt joy and sorrow together. He 
opened up to me, and I to him. With his mechanical and engineering skills 
and my mathematical and scientific skills, it seemed as if there was nothing 
that we couldn't accomplish when working together. I'll be the first to admit 
that I would never have thought of using a refrigerator's ice cube maker, a 
meat grinder, and a pair of skies to make a contraption to chase after a 
roadrunner. But, when it comes to calculating the kinetic force from a 
boulder smashing into a cliff side, figuring out how many pieces the boulder 
will break up into, and taking into account how current humidity and 
temperature conditions will affect everything, I'm your fox. With my left- 
brain abilities and Wile E'.s right, we were, and still are an unbeatable 
duo. We are two geniuses, surveying the world we are a part of. Many years 
later we would chose to join our minds together in a type of psychic link, 
giving each other a part of ourselves, and inexorably tying us together.
    Since that week back in 1950 he has spoke eloquently and performed 
countless schemes to capture the Road Runner. His genius, recognized by the 
true seers here on Earth, laughed at and made fun of or simply not seen by 
others, still lives. In cartoon shorts up the cufoo (cuffoo, kufoo, how do you 
spell that?), he has gained a place of recognition in this society, if only for a 
limited period of time. He will live, and I am glad to see that he will.


CHAPTER 6
A PERIOD OF DULL QUIET
----------------------

    By the mid-fifties the world of cartoon actor contracting had begun to 
slow down. Cartoon studios all over were feeling the strain of production 
costs, having to compete with the new television audience. The constant flow 
of new cartoon stars began to diminish. After about fifteen years of hectic 
hours, mad frenzies, and running back and fourth between animation studios, 
it was time to relax and take in the sights that I had helped to create. 

    By the start of the sixties I had moved away from the realm of contract 
negotiation and toon law at Tetra Dimensional and had begun to focus more 
on its scientific branch. I began working closely with toons developing 
theories and experiments on the cutting edge of toon science: theoretical, 
wildly speculative and dangerous stuff. I was there not only for my vast 
knowledge and powers concerning the toon world, but to also represent the 
toon community in matters of safety concern. I was placed in charge of 
toonkind wellbeing by the government, supervising all scientific endeavors 
that had potential of causing danger to toonkind. This was a high position 
indeed and looked upon with honor and reverence by the rest of the toon 
community.

    I remember having to sign an official document presented by various toon 
organizations and animation companies to explicitly state my rights and 
privileges that were required with this unique job position. The document 
also outlined some of my contract negotiation rights and responsibilities, so 
there would be no confusion from the animation companies. A severely 
truncated version of the document is presented below for hysterical purposes:


                               DOCUMENT 801
                  SPECIAL INSTANCE - SUB G1 FILED 53285

                     EXECUTIVE OPERATIONS DEFINITIONS


Section I: Acting executive officer of organization of or pertaining to toons

It is understood that the signer of this document is in a top executive position in Tetra
Dimensional, a company directly involved with toons, contracted or otherwise, and a company
directly involved with the welfare and rights of said toons.  It is hereby stated that the exercising
of this position will require access to non-public, sealed, and private documents, sessions,
informational exchanges, and other proceedings concerning the treatment of any toon or group
of toons.  It is understood by the signer of this document that any knowledge of said non-public
information shall remain private and will not be disclosed except to the toon in question, the
toon's contractor, and the toon's dimensional representative.


Section II: Stature

It is understood that the signer of this document was not created by any available animation
company and is therefore non-contracted by any studio.  The signer, however, because of
mutual brotherhood towards and apparent and genetic similarity with that body of toons, is
hereby granted full toon stature with membership in the Warner Bros. class of toons.


Section III: Information access

The signer has the right to formally submit documents suggesting or demanding changes
regarding the current treatment or action of any toon or group of toons.  The signer has the right
to high-level document submission and review of toon-related materials with the right to submit
formal opinion and counter-action orders.

The signer, in order to assure the welfare and health of toons, shall be allowed access to
classified and confidential material and/or sessions relating to toon science, affairs, and activities. 
The signer is also allowed interjection and supervision on a confidential basis concerning
irregular, experimental, and potentially-dangerous activities discovered in said material and/or
sessions.

Section IV: Litigation Rights

The signer shall be allowed to perform negotiation of the disposition of a toon and negotiate the
contracting thereof shall the toon desire it.  The signer may also act directly on that toon's behalf
should that toon desire it.  However the signer is obligated not to interfere or distract the normal
operation of major cartoon studios unless deemed necessary by a legitimate representative of
toon affairs.

The signer is given right and status to perform legal litigation actions of ranks under judge.   The
signer has the right to represent individual toons or a toon body in front of a court of toon law.

    Much of what we did at Tetra Dimensional became classified top secret to 
the toon public. Tetra Dimensional's scientific branch began to be looked on 
as the top theoretical and groundbreaking toon science facility in existence. I 
enjoyed it--working with toons on fascinating, new ideas and discussing 
new theories, scrawling formula and graph all over chalkboards, spending 
late nights in laboratories taking notes and wondering. And, always in the 
background were Wile E. Coyote and myself, discussing and pondering such 
things as dimensional shifts and alternate existences.


CHAPTER 7
REMINDER OF FAMILY, HARASSING THE LOCALS
----------------------------------------

    Early in 1960 the top brass at Warner Brothers decided to create a new 
show where top WB stars, primarily Bugs, Daffy, and Porky, would present 
various cartoons of the "golden age" of their careers. It was dubbed simply 
"The Bugs Bunny Show". As head of Tetra Dimensional I had supervisory 
access to attend and observe the filming of the introductions and lead-in's to 
the "classic" shorts that Warner Brothers Wanted to film. For these 
sequences Warner Bros. had bestowed upon it's top stars formal dress attire 
including yellow tuxes, hats and canes. I sat quietly as the toons dawned their 
attire for the first time. They looked very suave. My friends were together.
    As the weeks passed I attended and watched these filmings as my friends 
marched across the stage, discussed the art of cartooning, and otherwise 
made small talk with the audience. Always in the back of my mind was a 
hint of despair that I never became a significant part of the acting staff at 
Warner Bros., and a true part of my friends' history and success. But they 
seemed to be happy, and that was all that mattered to me. I was pleased that 
Warner Bros. was, in their own twisted way, recognizing the 
accomplishments of these wonderful friends, although WB probably credited 
the success to it's human staff. No matter though, my friends were having 
fun. I watched them silently from the shadows. Apparently, they were 
watching me too.

    The three of us were leaning against a fence along 5th and Yorkshire on a 
warm evening, doing our best to represent the loitering segment of the L.A. 
population. Someone had once dubbed us "The Three Brothers" and the label 
had stuck loosely with us since. We weren't actual brothers, of course, but 
we sure looked the part. The group consisted of myself, Sly Fox from the 
Warner Brothers short "Fox Terror", and Malcolm, the fox from the Warner 
Brothers short "Easy Peckins". Aside from a few minor points, the three of 
us were nearly identical in appearance.
    Sly and Malcolm had starred in only one short apiece, but this fact never 
bothered them one bit. They were quite happy to be one-shot characters with 
Warner Brothers and had better things to do with their time then spend it 
doing cartoon shorts. This loose attitude was why I enjoyed hanging out with 
the two. Unconcerned with the tangled mess of cartoon acting, not wanting 
to get involved with it, they reminded me that there was a world outside of 
that of the cartoon making industry, a fact that sometimes became buried in 
work. Sly and Malcolm had achieved their limited fame. They did not need 
or want to go any further.
    "Why you hangin' around with that coyote anyway?" Sly asked me. "He 
ain't no fox."
    "Yeah," chimed in Malcolm, "coyotes are our enemies for gosh sakes."
    "Not everyone is what they appear to be," I told the two.
    "You're a funny apple, Fox," Malcolm replied.
    "So are you, Fox," I said.
    "You talkin' to me?" Sly asked.
    "No," I replied, "I was talkin' to Fox."
    "Clean the fur out of your ears, Fox," Malcolm told Sly.
    The conversation only lasted for a few seconds more before we all broke 
up into snickering.
    Presently, a cluster of hens passed by our position. The hens were busily 
clucking amongst themselves, as hens often do. As if on cue, the three of us 
bowed graciously before the hens. "Good evening, ladies," we said in deep 
sonorous voices.
    The hens had not noticed our presence and were completely taken off 
guard with our greeting. Suddenly seeing three carnivorous chicken eaters, 
the hens turned into a noisy cloud of feathers and clucking before scattering 
madly down the street.
    "I think we spooked them, Sly," I commented, half-laughing.
    "Wonder why," he replied, "it's not like we're a bunch of dangerous-
looking predators to them, and that they would have made a convenient meal 
for us."
    "Yeah," Malcolm added. "Plus, the only cartoons we starred in showed us 
goin' after chickens." 
    "Strange bunch of ladies," I mused. Sly and Malcolm agreed.
    Eventually the local law enforcement happened by and inquired as to our 
reason for hanging out on the streets after dusk and frightening helpless hens. 
The three of us shrugged innocently and insisted we didn't know what he 
was talking about. The patrol man (dog, actually) scoffed at us and sent us on 
our way, never knowing that he was threatening someone who could have 
reduced him to a pile of ash with a simple "Zap." The three of us scattered 
and went our separate ways, but we would be back. We would always be 
back.

    When I arrived home I picked up my mail to find a rather anonymous 
box. I took it inside and opened it. Inside was a complete formal dress set of 
the same make as the attire that Warner Bros. had presented to Bugs, Daffy, 
and the others. At first I thought this was some kind of mistake or some cruel 
joke. I lifted the yellow tuxedo out of the box and saw my name sewn in the 
back of the neck collar, as was done with all of the tuxes. Had my friends felt 
the same loneliness as I had watching them up on stage having the time of 
their lives? Was this a way of saying, "You're a part of this too"? Had I 
reached that level of friendship that is more than just friendship? Or was this 
just a blunt formal gesture from Warner Bros. to not leave me out of the 
running just because of my rank? As I lifted the tux out of the box a white 
piece of paper fell out and onto the floor. I picked it up and gazed at it. It 
read: "You were right the first time, Doc. Now come join us."
    The next day I went to the shooting session as normal, except I was 
wearing something new. I arrived, was greeted by friends, and was given an 
experience I will never forget. I was allowed to march across the stage with 
them, and then to stand stage center with two of the best friends I had ever 
known as the title music played and the cameras rolled. That day I was 
allowed to be with my friends on stage as one of them, though I had stayed 
shy of the camera and ended up in very few shorts. I was there, not because 
of what I was, but because of who I was. They wanted me there, and they 
made Warner Bros. comply. I had never felt so touched in my life.

    That day's particular filming has never been released to the Earth public, 
due to various regulations regarding my presence in Toonity. Since I hadn't 
been created by a human animator or writer from Warner Brothers, I was an 
unknown to them, the human staff still unaware of my existence. Perhaps 
now and then one of them would pick up on me and hence cause some 
nameless fox to appear in one of their cartoons, but otherwise I was non-
existent to them. Explaining my sudden appearance on a weekly television 
show would be a difficult task and would require Warner Brothers to come 
up with some kind of story about me to give to the Earth public. This in itself 
wouldn't be so much, but I also had an agreement with all of the animation 
companies that, because I was involved with toon actor contracts, it would be 
a breach of protocol for me to appear unplanned in an animated cartoon 
destined for the Earth public. There was also a small issue with the toon 
government, whom I worked for and reported to concerning toonkind well-
being. The government doesn't exactly smile on employees with Top Secret 
clearance who suddenly pop up on cartoons destined for foreign words. Who 
knows what slip-ups might occur. Of course, I was different, and they knew 
that I had enough sense and discipline to never spill anything publicly, so 
they were never too concerned with my activities when, occasionally, even 
with these restrictions in place, something would sneak through.
    At home, that particular episode of "The Bugs Bunny Show" was viewed 
and noted as a pleasant twist as the mind behind what helped give the 
Warner Brothers, and many other cartoon characters, a bargaining chip in the 
game of animation contracting was allowed to join them in parade on stage, 
truly one with them.
    I still have the tux in my closet at home. So everyone else has theirs. I 
gaze at it now and then as I rummage around for other things, remembering 
why I have it and what it means, my mind drifting back to a younger time. It 
was given to show that I am not alone--that I will never be alone.


CHAPTER 8
LAB ANTICS AND UNEXPECTED STUMBLING
-----------------------------------

    On the main floor at Tetra Dimensional, near the elevators, a small red 
sign with the words "SCIENTIFIC DIVISION SUBLEVELS" is posted next 
to a set of escalators taking anyone who may be interested in riding them 
down to and back up from the floor below. Once reaching the floor below, 
riders are greeted with a larger red sign with white lettering:

             SUBLEVEL 1
     LAB AND RESEACH FACILITIES
          RESTRICTED ACCESS

    There isn't much to look at here except for a security camera hanging 
from a corner of the ceiling, a bulletin board on a wall with project schedules 
and timetables thumb-tacked to it, and an innocent-looking thick glass door 
with an electronic card access lock. The door opens to a large main lab room 
with several dozen scientific stations and a vast array of expensive but useful 
scientific equipment: electron microscopes, toon DNA sequencers (and re-
sequencers), and sub-atomic particle accelerators to name a few. Against one 
wall next to the safety supplies cabinet hangs a yellow diamond sign: 
"SAFETY FIRST, MALLETS SECOND". Another sign adorns a different 
wall and states plainly: "THIS SIGN IS LYING". Blackboards, whiteboards 
and lab tables containing sporadically arranged papers, notebooks, and lab 
equipment are sprinkled throughout the room making an effective obstacle 
course for any toon wanting to practice indoor marathon running.
Several smaller lab and storage rooms connect to the main lab through a 
network of hallways and corridors. On a normal day a dozen or so toons can 
be found in the complex, engrossed with various tasks, often of a scientific 
nature.
    Looking through the door is perfectly safe--usually. Entrance, however, 
is another thing and leaves oneself vulnerable to any one of a number of 
possible dangers arising from the unique nuances involved with toon science 
including body contusions, unexpected electrical discharges, and the 
occasional flying sponge. Therefore, arrangements need to be made in 
advance for any toon not on Tetra Dimensional's scientific staff to be 
allowed entrance into such a sensitive and obviously delicate environment. 
But, generally any scientifically inclined toon will be allowed to register for 
and use the facilities.
    There is one more thing I forgot to mention that someone visiting 
sublevel 1 would see. On the right wall of the anteroom to the labs is another 
set of downward escalators. Above them hangs another red sign, this one 
looking slightly more ominous than the others. It reads:

             SUBLEVEL 2
           EMPLOYEES ONLY
     SECURITY CLEARENCE REQUIRED

    Taking that route will give the rider a trip to another not-too-exciting-to-
look-at anteroom. But on this level the innocent glass door has been replaced 
by a less friendly steel-reinforced toon-proof mantrap (or toontrap in this 
case). Beyond the toontrap lies a maze of labs, more expensive equipment, 
more toons, and more sponges. These are the high security research facilities 
of Tetra Dimensional, accessible only by a selected subset of its scientific 
staff. Exceptions are rare. The facilities are surrounded by specially 
reinforced steel along with magnetic, electric and temporal damping fields, 
keeping radiation, and any temporal or dimensional effects confined inside 
the labs (or outside of them, as the case may be). These precautions 
effectively isolate the lab from the outside world and allow for the 
performing of the most delicate of experiments with protection from the 
external environment.
    Since the construction of sublevel 2, A small white sign has been 
anonymously affixed to the wall on the secure side of the toontrap. It reads:

        THIS FACILITY DOES NOT EXIST.
         THIS SIGN DOES NOT EXIST.
            YOU DO NOT EXIST.

    The sign humorously pokes fun at the fact that the lab facilities are in all 
respects isolated from the outside world by the damping fields, and that the 
security restrictions imposed on the goings on inside caused very few on the 
outside to know what was being worked on. It also reminds us not to take 
ourselves too seriously. After all, despite the work, we're still toons.
    There is a third lab area, located on the main floor at Tetra Dimensional. 
It is open to most anyone and serves as a simple research facility that can be 
used to test simple theories and perform simple experiments (blood tests, 
water purity analysis, etc.) without going through the hassle of gaining 
security access to the lower levels. It's offerings are quite rudimentary 
compared to those offered on the sublevels, only containing two electron 
microscopes, one atom basher, and a complete assortment of lab equipment 
one might find at a college university. But it serves its purpose. A small 
green sign on the door identifies it as simply: "GENERAL 
LABORATORY".

    I rode the first escalator down to Sublevel 1 and inserted my ID card 
through the door lock. The door buzzer sounded and I entered the main lab to 
see Wile E. Coyote leaning against a table talking to a stout little raccoon lab 
technician named Filbert. Both toons wore white lab coats and were in the 
midst of an extremely delicate technical argument.
    "The particle density would not be a uniform variant," Filbert said.
    "Yes, but the mass would be, proving my point," Wile E. countered.
    I propped myself up against a nearby wall and wondered what new and 
revolutionary theory was being explored.
    "I tell you the differential would be too much. The particles would not be 
stable and blow apart," Filbert insisted.
    "Ah, that's where the mayonnaise comes in," Wile E. pointed out.
Filbert considered this for a few seconds, holding his left elbow in his 
right paw and resting his chin on his left paw. After a few seconds he 
responded: "Intriguing."
    "Am I interrupting something delicate?" I asked, sauntering over to them.
    "Hi Andy. Not at all," Filbert said.
    "Just discussing the particle physics of my lunch," Wile E. said matter-of-
factly, producing a chicken sandwich with lettuce and mayo from a black 
metal lunchbox on the table.
    "Behold Tetra Dimensional's finest scientific minds," I thought to myself.
    Wile E. took a bite of his sandwich. "Oh, lighten up, Fox," he said 
through a mouthful of food.
    I obliged him and jammed my tail into the nearest electrical outlet, 
lighting myself up like a 500-watt light bulb, and adding a pleasant frizzled 
look to my appearance. Filbert snickered and turned away, pretending not to 
find the action humorous.
    "Old, but effective," Wile E. critiqued as I extracted my tail and gazed 
curiously at a thin column of smoke rising from its slightly singed tip. He 
looked back at Filbert: "Care to speculate on the contents of my coffee 
thermos?"
    "Too easy," Filbert retorted casually. "Plank's constant squared plus pi 
minus cheese. Don't waste my time."
    I smiled and shook my head: "Toon scientists; you geniuses are 
dangerous when you get together."
    "Oh," Filbert quipped, "and you fellas aren't?"
    I looked perplexed over at Wile E. who only smiled and took another bite 
of sandwich.
    I looked back to Filbert who was giving me a toothy grin: "What about 
that time you two were arguing with the rest of the staff about negative-field 
dimensional barriers using bags of potato chips as models?"
    My eyes wandered up at an imaginary something on the ceiling. I 
remembered the incident: it took a day to clean up after it. Potato chips 
accelerated by negative-field generators make quite a mess. "I donno," I 
thought out loud, still transfixed by the imaginary something. "I think it 
turned out pretty good."
    Filbert smirked and waved us off, dismissing us as an incurable case 
before returning to his duties.
    I turned back to Wile E. "You're a lot of help," I grumbled at him.
    Wile E. merely shrugged. "It would have worked if we had used tortilla 
chips instead," he mused.
    "So what are you working on down here anyway," I inquired, "expanding 
the frontiers of toon science?"
    "Naturally," he smirked, closing his eyes contentedly. "A genius' work is 
never done."
    "You just like playing with our equipment," I said accusingly.
    Wile E. dismissed my comment as he looked down at the brown paper 
bag that I had been holding in my hand all that time. "That my stuff?" he 
asked casually.
    "Yeah, direct from the supplier," I said, handing over the bag.
    Wile E. finished devouring his lunch and took the bag. He then proceeded 
to dump its contents onto the table with the exuberance of a child on 
Christmas morning: "Aaah! Perfect. Yes, very good, very good."
    A small explosion on the other end of the lab caught my attention. I 
looked over to see several frazzled toon cats with chard fur and whiskers 
exchanging confused looks with each other. Near by, on the floor, lay Filbert 
with a very satisfied grin on his face. He was pointing towards the smoking 
remains of his experiment on a table.
    "Bingo." he said weakly, and collapsed.
    I returned my attention to Wile E., who was still looking over his newly 
acquired inventory of iodized metal fittings, low-density field housings, and 
an embedded microcontroller module. I poked lazily at a few parts, then 
picked up a fitting made of polymerized steel, thinking to myself that a good 
deal of this stuff won't be invented on Earth for at least fifty years. And the 
rest would never be. In fact, 99% of the equipment in the lab did not exist on 
Earth in that year of 1969. Most of the Acme products used in Warner 
Brothers cartoons for the last 20 years were not to be found on Earth. Did 
that make us more advanced than Earth, or did we simply have different 
needs necessitating a higher technology?
    "You're comparing apples to oranges," Wile E. mumbled as he began 
assembling something out of the parts on the table. I eyed him, slightly 
alarmed.
    "Sorry," he said apologetically, "I didn't mean to intrude."
    "Getting pretty good, aren't you?" I said.
    "Only with you," said Wile E.
    "Ah, there's better things to do with your time," I chided. "Here." I tossed 
a sealed red folder onto the table of parts. "Got something new you might 
want to look at."
    "Oh?" Wile E. commented as he ran a claw down the side of the folder to 
break its seal. He opened the folder and paged through the contents inside. 
"Trans-dimensional mechanics?" he asked.
    "We're starting work on something downstairs," I explained. "Thought 
you might be interested." A small pink sponge whizzed by my left ear. I 
caught it and sent the projectile hurtling in a new direction. 
    "Indeed," Wile E. said with great interest and continued to browse the 
documents. "What sparked this?" he asked.
    "I've had the unexpected privilege of gathering some first-hand data on 
the subject. Some of the fellas downstairs thought this might be an 
interesting field to become acquainted with."
    "First-hand data?" Wile E. asked.
    "You remember that week back in 1965?" I asked.
    Wile E. nodded: "You disappeared for 8 days."
    "I think I've finally figured out what happened. I submitted my theories 
and findings to the research team for opinion. They became very interested."
    As Wile E. studied the paperwork I looked over at the chalkboard next to 
his lab table. Usually the chalkboard was sparsely populated with simple 
physics formulas. Today though, it was overflowing with quantum toon 
physics equations, all relating to each other, passing results from one to the 
other.
    "What's this?" I asked Wile E., walking over to the chalkboard.
    "Oh, that's for you," he replied, a bit devilishly. The equations concerned 
the matrices of particles in the toon universe and their coherence patterns 
evident in toon life forms. The equations were harmless enough: any toon 
scientist with an advanced degree in physics, given several months to study 
them and volumes of research material, would eventually stumble upon the 
solutions. After scanning the board for nearly a minute I picked up a piece of 
chalk and scrawled a solution.
    "This is fun," I commented playfully. "What next?"
    Wile E. glanced over and eyed what I had written. "Took me a good four 
days to come up with the same answer," he said, with just the slightest hint 
of irritation.
    "That's not bad," I offered. "So what's it for?"
    Wile E. tucked the red folder I had given him into his fur. "Take that 
answer and feed it into this set," he said, producing a small notebook and 
opening it to a page containing more equations. He handed me the notebook. 
The second set of equations written in it made the ones on the chalkboard 
look like first grade arithmetic.
    "Good grief," I commented, scanning the page. "You need to get out 
more."
    Wile E. stifled a snicker. "Just take a look," he urged.
    I did as he asked. The second set of equations seemed vaguely familiar. I 
followed their logic and applied the solutions from the first set of equations. 
These new equations were now very familiar. I shuddered with realization 
and nervously looked about in paranoid confusion. "Aw, skibble, Wile E.," I 
said a bit sadly. "You really been diggin' into things. This is why you called 
me down here, isn't it?"
    Wile E. nodded solemnly. "You know what they mean?" he asked 
earnestly. I could tell that he was not completely sure himself what they 
meant.
    I nodded: "I discovered some of these same formulas several years ago."
    "I've concluded that they might be used to perform matter 
transmutation," Wile E. suggested, "but they are useless. The unsolved 
factors needed to complete that second set are impossible to calculate. I 
couldn't even begin to try."
    "That's true," I agreed. "But you realize what you would get if you solved 
them?"
    It wasn't often that Wile E. did not have an answer, or at least a theory. 
But that day he looked blankly at me and shook his head.
    I showed him the notebook and pointed to a tiny pair of equations written 
in the corner of the page. "This subset here," I said, "concerns the Toon 
Energy Coherence Field, and this here is a derivative concerning inter-spatial 
toon energy ties--as close as one can get to the toon soul, if you will." I 
drew a few lines from one equation to the other, showing where variable 
substitution could be performed. I handed the notebook back to Wile E., and 
waited. After several seconds his eyes became very wide and he closely 
resembled a rabbit caught in an oncoming car's headlights. "Eeeeh... Ha..." 
He stammered, unable to form any coherent words.
    "With that, and the hardware required, you could manipulate a toon's 
very existence... kill a toon by blowing it out of existence, literally. How's 
that for your lesson of the day?" I said rigidly.
    "I... I had no idea," Wile E. admitted, and also began to look about 
nervously.
    "No one does, at least I hope. Never thought you could kill a toon, I mean 
*really* kill one, utterly and completely, but there it is, all you gotta do is 
solve for twelve unknowns and have the knowledge to implement the 
physics."
    "Geef," came Wile E.'s bewildered response, once again loosing his 
ability to vocalize.
    "I suppose it was inevitable that someone would eventually stumble onto 
this mess," I pondered out loud. "Glad it was you."
    "The utter possibilities of it are staggering," Wile E. finally said.
    "Ah," I continued, "but it doesn't stop there. You've stumbled onto the 
tip of something much, much larger my friend. As you said, even if you 
solved the unknowns for this set, the main equations are still useless. You 
see," I said, glancing about nervously again and lowering my voice, "there's 
a third set of equations, a thousand times more intricate than these you've 
found. They go beyond math and science and rely on extra-dimensional and 
metaphysical logic. They require a completely different consciousness, one 
that can surpass all dimensional boundaries and time, in order to be 
understood and comprehended." I leaned in closer to Wile E. and continued. 
"But, solve that set, my friend, and the whole entire collection of equations 
breaks down and dissolves into one small simple formula, and the answer to 
it is more dazzling, and more dangerous than you could ever imagine."
    "You mean..." Wile E. started timidly.
    I paused for several seconds. "Yes," I nodded. "I think some people on 
Earth primitively refer to it as the Grand Unification Field Theory, but it's so 
much more. It is the equation of everything: all universes, all dimensions, all 
thought--all existence."
    "Creation!" Wile E. whispered in awe. Then realizing the ultimate 
implications of knowing the answer his jaw dropped. "And you've..."
    I nodded again. Wile E.'s lower jaw now hung like a door off its hinge. 
"As soon as I completed the formula and realized its implications I 
immediately altered my own memories: I mentally encrypted the entire 
formula set and blanked out all answers for all solved unknowns. The 
encrypted formulas cannot be forcefully extracted. And, if for some ungodly 
reason we ever needed it again, it would take at least two hours for me to 
mentally decrypt the formulas and several more weeks to solve for the 
unknowns again."
    I tapped my head. "I don't even want that kind of power lying around in 
here. Knowing the formula and understanding it is one thing. Actually using 
it is something I don't even want to consider doing. And just imagine if 
anything came along that could extract the information from me and was 
powerful enough to be able to comprehend it."
    "It could destroy the universe, Wile E. whispered.
    I glanced over to Filbert again. His feline associates had picked him up 
off of the floor and were reviving him. "Bingo," I agreed solemnly.
    "Why did you even leave the formulas in your mind at all then?" Wile E. 
queried. "Why didn't you purge them completely instead of just encrypting 
them?"
    I shrugged: "Not sure, really. Something told me I might need them one 
day, though for what I have no idea."
    Wile E. suddenly began to look rather nervous, for he had himself 
discovered the first two sets of equations. I straightened up and resumed my 
regular tone: "Don't worry. You and I know you're the smartest toon I've 
ever run into, but even you couldn't solve the second set of unknowns, let 
alone begin to fathom the architecture of consciousness and awareness to 
comprehend the third set of equations."
    Wile E. sighed a heavy sigh of relief. He decided the universe was in safe 
hands--nobody's. I agreed.
    "Cripes," I said tiredly, shaking my head awake, "I need a drink." 
Another pink sponge flew threw the air between my nose and Wile E.'s.
    "But... it's only quarter passed one," Wile E. said informatively.
    "Yeah?" I said. "And what's your point?"
    Wile E. was unable to find a suitable one and simply shrugged. "Mind if I 
join you?" he asked, extracting himself from his lab coat and placing it on a 
stool.
    We strolled to the door of the lab arm in arm. "The simple things, Wile," I 
said, "that's all that matters. We're just toons, you know. We shouldn't be 
even be thinking of that kind of stuff."
    "What stuff?" Wile E. asked innocently.
We both smiled as the lab door closed behind us. Fifteen minutes later all 
thoughts of universal power and grand unification had been removed from 
our minds, replaced with the simple joys of comradery and Strawberry Fizz 
#5.


CHAPTER 9
THE MISSION, THEORIES AND DISCONNECTEDNESS
------------------------------------------

    It was now 1973.

    The three of us sat quietly in a dimly lit, cozy reading room in my 
mansion. A small ceiling light glowed steadily from above while a small 
fireplace along one wall cast irregular, ever-changing light patterns upon 
everything in the room.
    "It won't work."
    After a pause, "Yes it will. It should. I think it will."
    My response did not do anything to comfort my two friends. And, I 
wasn't 100 percent sure it would work. But everything I had learned said that 
it would.
    Several weeks before, the decision had been made. I was to go to Earth as 
a human. I would observe. I would learn of human interaction, society, and 
things that we did not understand--simple things that humans took for 
granted: hunger, pain, frailty, and having to go to the bathroom, just to name 
a few. Also, the mission included trying to find out more about how toons 
were linked to the people and events on Earth.
    The existence of Earth had been known of in Toonity for some time. But 
its exact relationship to the cartoon world was a bit of an enigma. It was 
known that toons were created by humans, but what tie bound the toon world 
to Earth, a planet in a completely different universe? How did humans 
influence toons? What force caused a human to affect a toon's actions? Were 
toons dependent on humans? How could humans see into the cartoon world? 
In a need to understand this link between humans and toons, and for beings 
in Toonity to better understand what the nature of their creation was, it was 
decided that a toon should go to Earth and learn of its nature. Out of a 
handful of toons, I was chosen. Now, sure I had been to Earth before, but not 
in the manor that was required for this mission. I could not just hover around 
in my natural state and watch humans and probe their minds, as I did years 
before with other forms of Terran life. That would not give conclusive data. 
It would not give us what we needed to know. To properly observe humans 
and understand my observations, I would have to *become* human. I would 
have to cast my being to the wind and embrace a totally alien form. A 
handful of toons were nominated--toons with superb mental and physical 
strength, toons skilled in sociology, advanced toon physics and existence 
theory, and psychology. And I was among the chosen. I was also involved 
for another reason: I was the one most likely to be able to perform the 
transition. And, if I didn't get chosen myself to go, I would be able to guide 
the chosen as best I could to their destination. It was an intimidating mission 
to embark on to say the least, but we were all driven with the insatiable 
curiosity to know more--more about this Earth place, and more about 
humans.
    It was now 12 hours before I was to go. I sat with two of my best friends, 
trying to get the finer details worked out in my mind, and to comfort them. I 
did have powers, and I felt I would survive this transformation. The question 
was, would I ever be able to return to Toonity.
    This question had brought us together that night. This place had been my 
home for 38 years. My friends were here. I was comfortable here. I had 
status, recognition, stature, a place in society. And, this thing might throw it 
all away. My powers and knowledge would have to be concealed from me 
while I was human, so that I would truly *be* human, and be able to 
experience things as a human.
    My powers and knowledge would be sealed until the time of my return, 
which would be performed through a special mental command, embedded in 
my human subconscious. It would only execute after 13 Earth years had 
passed, or in the case of an emergency, such as during imminent death. The 
command would execute and I would return home, the human body that had 
been created dissolving into nothingness. But, would it work? Could I 
return? Would I know how? Would the knowledge return to me? I had no 
sure answers, this had never been done before. I had only speculations on the 
data that I had. But I was so arrogant. I thought: "This is just a simple 
observation mission. It will be nothing. I will observe, I will return home." I 
had never thought about what this might do to my friends. I had never 
thought about the time gaps. I had never thought of how being stripped of my 
knowledge and powers would effect me. I had never thought of a lot of 
things.
    "When would we see you again?"
    "I should establish contact with this dimension in 13 Earth years."
    "Should? That's the best you can say?"
    "How long is 13 Earth years?"
    "From what we've calculated of that dimension it could be anywhere 
from 13 of our years to a few months. Their time is linear, at a constant rate. 
Ours fluctuates relative to theirs."
    This time differential oscillation between the toon universe and Earth's 
was nothing new, a phenomena that had been occurring since the two 
universes existed, and we had been researching the best time to perform this 
mission with respect to the time differential. We needed thirteen Earth years 
with preferably less time passing in our world. Computations at Tetra 
Dimensional showed the two timetables would be at a wide differential for 
the next toon year or so. Our time would pass very slowly compared with 
that of Earth time. But few toons would ever be aware of it, let alone be able 
to perceive it. With their internal clocks tied and bound to their universe and 
its timeline, they wouldn't notice the differential at all. They would never 
notice that time would be passing a great deal faster on Earth compared to 
Toonity, causing toon years to fly by ridiculously fast. Their years would tick 
by normally for them, never realizing that 13 Earth years would pass in a 
mere five months.
    A long silence followed as we all thought of the impact of this mission. 
After several minutes a meek voice came from one of my friends:
    "You will remember us, won't you?"
    That question, although I paid it little attention at the time, still haunts me 
to this day, echoing through my mind. I do remember, but only what I am 
allowed to. While I am there I know all that I did before. But while here I 
know less. What's the answer? Do I remember them? Yes. Do I remember 
them right now in this place as I write this? Yes--to a point. On that last 
night, my response was:  "When I return."
    We sat in silence for a good while more, as the fire danced away into the 
night. We were very small in the multiverse, but we were together.

    The next morning, as dozens of toons stood around the lab room at Tetra 
Dimensional, I waved goodbye to the only life I had come to know, and the 
first place I considered home. My form faded, my consciousness drifted, and 
I was gone.


    How I wish I could go back to that night. I'd like to talk to myself.  I'd like to 
tell myself all the pain and anguish that this mission would cause. But I 
can't, it's gone. That night is gone, and I am left with the cold reality that is 
now. I can do many things, but not while in this form.

Clenflachten nelncarnen.  Shnecan nen est.
Translation: "Friends I miss you. May we never do this again, as the creator 
is my witness. I did not think, and I have made you, and myself, suffer. 
Forgive me, and let us rejoin in the future to come."

Mechlanech sterrest.
Translation: "My friends, I salute you. May I serve you well."

    Thirteen years later...

    Something was in the air that night. He wasn't sure what it was, but 
something had awakened him. Something had triggered his alertness, his 
attention. He stared out at the night sky, sensing the air, the sounds, the 
smells. But the night was quiet, and there was nothing out of the ordinary to 
be seen or heard. Eventually he returned to bed, turning what he had felt over 
and over in his mind, wondering what had triggered it, until he drifted back 
to sleep.

    Something was indeed happening, but in a place and a dimension on the 
other end of the universe. On Earth, I too was asleep, just like any other night 
for the past 13 years. For those 13 years I had been on Earth living a different 
life, hidden from myself. However, on that night, the usual quiet darkness of 
sleep turned into chaos. All at once there were crashing sounds coming from 
everywhere, and blinding flashes filled my field of view. I sat up, shaken, but 
I was no longer in my bedroom on Earth. I was between dimensions. A 
buried, pre-programmed coded thought had been triggered in my human 
mind's subconscious. Suddenly, ideas flooded my head. Lost memories and 
thoughts of cartoons, places, events, weird concepts and sounds alien to my 
human existence were all being revealed to me, thrust upon me. It was like 
being inside of an egg now cracking open. Through the cracks, light, 
knowledge, and ideas flooded through and into my mind. I began to have the 
sensation that I was floating. I looked down, and noticed my legs were gone, 
and my hands. I had no body. The flood of knowledge continued. The 
crashing sounds ebbed away, and I was now surrounded by a reddish glow 
all around.
    I knew everything now. It had all come back to me; the flood had ceased. 
My life on Earth as I had known it fell away and drifted into the nothingness 
of a forgotten dream. I felt as if part of me had been asleep for 13 years, 
piling up 13 years of dreams, memories, experiences, now to wake up and 
resume the rest of my life, dreams in tact. It would all be given to the toon 
scientists to study. I now wondered how long I had been gone, in toon time 
that is. I was happy that we got this far. Apparently it did work: I was able to 
get to Earth. I was able to transform to a human form. And, the 13-year 
trigger had worked and I was on my way home. I knew everything now: 
where I was, what I was. My subconscious continued to guide me through 
the dimensional gateway to toonity. My conscious mind was still too groggy 
to function clearly.

    The next thing I remember was the quiet of the Tetra Dimensional Lab. I 
heard voices talking quietly, some sounding frightened, some calm, some 
hurried. The voices were vaguely familiar. I opened my eyes to see several 
toons peering at me, holding probes and measuring devices towards me. 
Some of them smiled and sighed with relief as I looked about, a bit less light-
headed. I was once again a toon. I found myself reclined in one of the lab's 
examination chairs. I looked down my left arm to my paw and wiggled my 
furry brown digits in curiosity.  "Four fingers," I thought, "back to normal." I 
felt an odd sensation of security and comfort, as if everything was back the 
way it should be--that everything was normal once again.
    One of the toons closest to me calmly spoke as he continued to probe me: 
"Congratulations." He was Ed Puma, and bore an uncanny resemblance to 
Pete "How Many Lumps" Puma, a semi-famous Looney Tunes star. Ed was 
the lead scientist in the field of multi-dimensional physics, and a good friend 
of mine for over 10 years. There was an odd touch of dismay in his voice, 
which I did not catch at the time.
    "It worked?" I asked, still not sure where things were.
    "See for yourself," Ed suggested, gesturing to a monitor behind him on 
which was scrolling terabytes of encrypted, coded data in burst download 
from my subconscious.
    "The mission?" I queried, somewhat hopefully.
    "Completed," came Ed's response.
    I sighed with relief. Ed smiled but maintained a serious expression. I 
looked around the lab. It had changed little since I had left. I glanced back to 
the monitor behind Ed. After a few seconds the scrolling data stream ended 
and a message flashed on the screen: "Download complete. De-compiling..."
    Suddenly I was wide-awake. The tiredness and grogginess had 
disappeared in an instant. The download process had taken a considerable 
amount of my energy to execute, transmitting 13 years worth of data in less 
than a minute. For those years my subconscious had been meticulously 
storing every bit of information about my life on Earth: sounds, smells, ideas, 
theories. Now the energy that had been spent maintaining that data was 
freed. Everything was back to normal.
    "It's done," came the voice of one of the other toons, a female cat.
    "We got it," called another toon, a tall mallard.
    "Okay, people. Let's get to work," Ed called out. He gestured for me to 
get up. I did so with no difficulty, now fully in charge of my faculties.
    "How do you feel, Fox?" asked Ed.
    I shook my head a bit and checked a few joints. "Part of me feels like I 
never left. How long has it been?" I asked.
    "Five months, three weeks--give or take."
    I sighed with relief. "So it hasn't been a whole 13 years?"
    "No, hardly. The time fluctuation estimates were right on. Of course, to 
us it's now 1987, just as it is on Earth."
    "Don't," I protested. "My head hurts enough as it is without trying to 
comprehend temporal differential logic." Ed fell silent.
    "How is... everything then?" I asked, moving to new subject. "What did I 
miss? How is... everyone?"
    Ed walked over to shelf against a wall and picked up a stack of papers. 
    "We've compiled a list of events that have occurred since you left. You can 
browse it at your convenience," he said, handing me the stack.
    "There's over 15 terabytes of data here!" the cat gasped from across the 
room as she reviewed the new data.
    Ed glanced at her, then back to me. "Looks like we'll be busy for a few 
months with this. You've brought us more than we could have imagined."
    "Glad you like it. You know, now that it's all done, it really didn't seem 
very bad. Since my identity was suppressed I didn't have any idea what I was 
doing, being so far from home, being gone for so long--missing all of you 
guys, and everything else here. It was like having amnesia, without knowing 
you had it."
    "Cancer? Extraordinary," Called the cat again. Catching what she had just 
said, she looked across the room at me with an apologetic expression.
    "It's okay," I told her. She sheepishly smiled and turned back to the data.
    "Mmmmm," Nodded Ed. "Well, there are some things I need to check 
out. Go see your friends. Try to re-acclimate yourself. Check back in a few 
hours."
    "Thanks," I responded. I extended a paw and he took it. "It is truly good 
to see you, again, Ed. It's good to be back."

    Tetra Dimensional's mission to send a toon to the human world was not 
publicly known, and only the closest toons to me knew of the true mature of 
my absence. These included all of the major (Class 2) Looney Tunes, 
Claude, Tom Cat, Jerry Mouse, and a select few others. To the rest of the 
world I was simply "out of state on company business."
    Why thirteen years? Why was this number chosen for this particular 
mission? It had been agreed upon that thirteen years of human experiences 
would give us more than ample data on the initial development of a human. 
It would include everything that we needed to learn about human growth 
from baby to child, and up to teen. It was agreed that we did not need data 
beyond 13 years, as it could very well take us many years to completely 
understand the data we would get. In addition, suspected troubles that might 
arise during adolescence, the possible implications it may have on the 
observer's subconscious, and the possibility of conflicting and inaccurate 
data led us to set the cut-off time to before any of that became a major 
problem.

    I wanted to keep my arrival secret until after I had met my Looney Tunes 
friends, so I made myself invisible as I walked from the lab across the 
building and up to my office where I dropped off the papers Ed had given 
me. Then I headed down to the employee cafeteria. As I walked I again 
noticed a calmness inside me, a feeling of familiarity, of knowing that *this* 
was my place, a feeling I lacked (and still do) while on Earth. I knew 
everything here; this place was where I belonged.
    I stopped at the doorway to the cafeteria. It was a large, open room where 
toons often came to relax and converse. Even though it was the "Employee" 
cafeteria, toons being helped by Tetra Dimensional, and often just friends 
would stop in and have a bite to eat. It was the company's common area. A 
food counter serving daily specials and a good selection of regular delicacies 
made up the back wall. Several coffee and tea machines sat at either ends of 
the counter. A few vending machines lined the walls.
    The room was mostly deserted. A few toons sat here and there. I saw 
Porky behind the food counter cleaning. "That's odd," I thought to myself. "I 
wonder where the regular cook is." Then I realized that some things might 
have changed since I had last been here. I needed to catch up.
Seated together at one of the center tables, I saw them; the two toons who 
I had shared my last night in toonity with: Bugs Bunny and Wile E. Coyote. 
Daffy Duck was also seated with them. They were facing away from the 
door. "How perfect this is," I thought. "The same two, together... here now. 
And Daffy as well. Wonderful." They were not talking, but looking rather 
blankly at each other, or down at the table. Every now and then one of them 
would slowly sip his beverage. Wile E. had told them of his experience the 
previous night, and they now wondered if I would ever be coming back.
    I became visible and strolled into the cafeteria very casually, as if I had 
never left. Porky saw me and his eyes began to widen. As his mouth opened I 
held up a finger to my lips, giving the "Shhhh" signal, then pointed to the 
three toons. He smiled, knowing I wanted to surprise them myself. The trio 
had not moved since I came in. Bugs and Daffy were sitting on one side of 
the table, Wile E. across from them. I casually walked over and sat down 
next to Wile E., facing all three toons. "So, ah... what's up with you guys? 
Kinda dead around here.  Bad day at the studio?"
    It took a few seconds. Slowly their faces lifted to look at me with 
expressions of confusion and shock. I smiled and waved my fingers at them.  
    "Fox," Bugs started, "you... you're back? Is that *you*?"
    "Of course it's him!" came Daffy's happy voice as he jumped up and 
bounded over to me.
    "Hi, Daffy," I said as I stood up and we hugged each other. Bugs 
followed.
    "Boy, Doc, It's great to see ya. We was startin' ta really miss ya `round 
here."
    "Thanks, Bugs," I said as I embraced him. Then I turned to Wile E. who 
was just sitting there, smiling at me. I held out my paw. He stood up and took 
it, still smiling. As we shook paws a flood of emotions traveled between us. 
Thousands of words were being spoken between us, with no sound audible.
    "Hello Fox," came Wile E.'s audible response after a few seconds.
    "Hi chum," I said, smiling back at him.
    For the next half-hour we sat and talked about where I had been and what 
I had been doing on Earth. As we talked other toons passing by saw me and 
stopped in to welcome me back. I had almost forgotten how many dear 
friends I had here.

    "See that?" Ed said, pointing to a monitor in the lab showing a 
representation of toonity and Earth separated by dimensional boundaries, and 
a shimmering thin line crossing the boundaries and connecting the two.
    "Mmmmm," was my impartial response. I knew full well what it meant.
    "You are quite literally in two places at once now," Ed explained. "For 
reasons to be determined, you were unable to completely disconnect with 
your human self on Earth. Your toon self, your core energy, has returned 
here to Toonity, but a part of you still exists on Earth." Ed pressed a few 
keys on a keyboard as he continued. "A type of tele-psychic energy bridge 
has formed between the two halves, tying you to both places."
    The image on the monitor zoomed in on the shimmering line with 
represented the energy bridge. Diagrams and paragraphs of text explaining 
the nature and composition of it began to display on the monitor. "It could be 
some sort of instinctual reaction. I am not sure. Regardless, there is now the 
human `you' and the toon `you'. Everything of you that is human is still on 
Earth. The majority of your `tooniness' has returned here.
    "Majority?"
    "A fraction has remained on Earth and has integrated with your human 
self. With that fraction, and with this energy bridge you will be able to move 
your consciousness from one form to the other."
    I looked tiredly at Ed, who continued: "While your consciousness is here 
your human half sleeps, currently not possessing enough mental energy to be 
conscious. However, when your consciousness is down on Earth your form 
here will not be as weak, and should allow you to operate more normally due 
to your core energy residing here and this world being... more natural to 
you."
    Ed stopped and looked at me. He saw the concern on my face and spoke 
quietly, trying to re-assure me: "We knew this was a possibility... that you 
may not be able to return completely." Ed shrugged: "There's always... The 
Directive."
    I nodded. "...To be executed by the subconscious in the case of 
emergency circumstances and/or immanent death," I finished, quoting the 
directive instructions discussed before I left. The Directive was a safety 
bailout precaution that had been stipulated in the mission protocols. 
Embedded in my mind is the knowledge and power to disconnect my energy 
from my human form, freeing me from it and allowing me to return to 
toonity. A single mental command is the trigger, buried from conscious 
knowledge to prevent accidental activation.
    "It's still down in there?" I asked Ed, referring to my human 
subconscious. Ed nodded.
    I thrust my paws into concealing pockets and continued, slightly 
distraught: "There's no way I'm gonna be able to get at it. That-is, unless I'm 
about to croak or something, or if something happens here. Me and my 
wonderful mental faculties... I've made a nice trap for myself--locked away 
my only key."
    "Eeeeh, most likely," responded Ed reluctantly, now regretting that he 
brought up the subject. "It was meant for use for the time you were on Earth 
observing, to bring you back in case of emergency. I guess we're lucky it's 
still there at all. Maybe you'll find a way to get at it."
    I continued to ponder the topic for a bit. "There may be a way through to 
it," I thought to myself. "Perhaps down the road... with sufficient energy 
channels..."
    There were several seconds of silence as my mind wandered.
    "There's no other way?" I asked longingly.
    Ed looked down at the floor. After a pause he spoke softly: "You mean 
scientifically? We don't know. We still aren't sure how or why this energy 
bridge has formed, or how you are tied to your human `self' and weren't able 
to disconnect. And we aren't sure what you can and can't do in this situation. 
Perhaps if we knew more..." Ed trailed off. He turned and threw up his paws 
in a gesture of futility. "Heck, you did most of this." He waved his paw at the 
monitor. "You helped set it all up. You helped designed it. What you did is 
totally new... transform yourself into a completely different being of matter 
in a completely different dimension. How can we know everything? We did 
all we could think of to prepare." Ed turned back to me, his face now holding 
an expression of apology. "I'm sorry, Fox. We just don't know enough... 
about you, trans-dimensional toon energy links, humans. Multi-dimensional 
physics is still a breaking field of study here. We're still learning. Perhaps... 
we'll find the answer together down the road."
    I smiled and turned away. "Know more about me?" I asked with futility. 
"I'm some kind of freak--a being who lives as a toon but dared to become 
human and is now trapped with the form. God, Ed, we were so arrogant.  No 
one would have been able to survive this except me. If another toon had been 
chosen... I don't think he could have handled this."
    Ed walked around to face me. "And you, Fox? How are you?"
    I looked blankly back at him. "I don't know the answer either. We're at 
the limits of my knowledge as well now. I just don't know enough about 
humans." I smiled weakly, speaking in a shy, sad tone, looking distant and 
on the verge of tears from the futility of the situation. "They do have 
fascinating minds though, Ed. Inside the human mind worlds are created and 
destroyed. Ideas and thoughts more complex than can be physically 
manifested exist. It is an intriguing thing, you know? It's so..."
    Ed laid a paw on my shoulder. "We'll get through this. You are not alone, 
here, or down there. Maybe there is a way. We just haven't found it yet."
We embraced each other as Ed continued. "Remember, you are home 
now. The real `you' has returned. That can't change."
    After we released each other he added: "...and one day, the rest of you 
will return."
    "Until then... what do I do now?" I asked, sounding a bit lost.
    "You return to Earth, you continue to observe, fulfilling the list of 
extended research topics specified in section 4: graduation of High School, 
acquisition of a job, evaluate various toon-related subjects... that Disney 
World thing, etc. Monitor Earth broadcasts concerning toons... whatever you 
can. It is all supplementary now. The main mission has been completed, but 
anything additional you can find out would be useful. However, now you 
will be in possession of your knowledge of who you are. Your mission now 
is not just to observe, but record, give conjecture, postulations, theories on 
what you observe."
    "The mental filter..." I muttered, remembering back to the planning 
stages of this mission. It was decided that if this scenario should happen and 
I did not return completely to toonity, that a mental filter would be put in 
place so that all knowledge and memories I had of the toon universe would 
be filtered and either allowed to be remembered by my human counterpart, 
or be altered or not allowed to be known at all, for sake of preservation of 
both worlds. This became known as the Tetra Dimensional Protection of 
Information Stipulation of 1973. Some toon knowledge does belong on 
Earth. Who knows what could happen if someone on Earth learned too much 
of the existence and make-up of the toon universe. We did not want to take 
that chance. And, knowledge of that nature could not be stored in a human 
mind; it is too primitive, too inadequate. Information could leak. And, the 
human body has a history of terrible temptation. It cannot resist having in its 
possession nearly omnipotent powers and not using them. Therefore, my 
powers too would be locked away, existing only in toonity.
    Ed nodded: "It will be in place, but it will give you enough to know yourself, 
the goings on here, and allow you to perform your job. Oh, and about that 
time differential, looks like you won't have to worry about it." He took a 
small remote control from his pocket and aimed it at the screen. The display 
on the screen changed and now showed a graph of a sinusoidal wave with 
about two dozen sub-harmonics, causing the wave to peak dramatically at 
some points, and appear as flat as a cadaver's pulse at others. This was the 
plot of the temporal differentials between Earth time and Toonity, a graph 
that everyone on the mission team had seen many times before.
    "We've analyzed some of the readings we took on you when you arrived 
earlier," Ed explained. "No matter what the delta in time rate is between the 
two dimensions, your toon self and your human self appear to remain nearly 
synchronized to within the same region of time in each universe. For you, 
when it is July 15, 12:46 AM on Earth, it will be within about a day or two of 
the same time here. Even with this minor difference, while you are on Earth, 
time here may seem to suddenly fly by at times, and at other times seem to 
slow down to a crawl. This will also be the case while you are here in 
Toonity. This effect will be most evident during extreme crests and troughs 
on the time curve when the true time differential will amount to weeks or 
even months."
    "But for me there will only be up to two days difference between Earth 
time and Toon time?"
    "Two days plus or minus," confirmed Ed, "sometimes only a minute or 
even a second, but at most, about two days. Nothing's perfect, not even that 
dandy little link that has formed. But it's definitely better than dealing with 
the true time differentials."
    "Lovely," I commented dryly.
    "Nice and neat, isn't it?" agreed Ed.
    "What else?" I asked.
    "Not much," Ed replied. "That's about all there is to tell for now."
    I sighed and shrugged. "Back to the grind, then? You know, these last 13 
years were no sweat. I didn't know who I was. I didn't know what I was 
missing. Now, I don't know what I will feel. I'll always be thinking of here, 
of home--you guys--everything. And, now thinking of what I did and how I 
was for those 13 years, it's like looking at someone else. Boy I did some 
dumb things that I never would have done had I been in possession of my 
faculties, and now I'm trapped with that person, bound to do more dumb 
things, bound to make stupid mistakes I never would here."
    "Well, like I said, it's all supplementary. Do what you can. Return and 
log your findings with us. And we'll continue to do what we can. Besides, 
being dumb and making those mistakes is apparently what being human is all 
about."
    "Harumph," I retorted.
    I began to leave the lab. As I approached the doorway I looked back at 
Ed.
    "Thanks," I said solemnly.
    Ed smiled: "Any time."

    After seeing my friends again and explaining the situation, I spent a few 
hours assimilating all of the events that had gone on in toonity since I left. 
"Looks like Tetra Dimensional has done well," I thought to myself as I saw 
news articles and business logs of many advances in toon physics and a 
considerable list of contract negotiation cases, some for toons who had been 
created only recently while I was gone. It was time to get back out there--to 
become known and to get to know some of these new toons--to re-establish 
myself in society, though I would later find out that I was not as forgotten as 
I had thought.
    After a while I sat back and contemplated my situation. "I'm home," I 
smiled to myself, looking around my office, trying vainly to think of a way 
to stay here forever, to not return to my human self.  I wanted to hide from it, 
pretend it wasn't happening, but it was, and I could find no way out of it. It 
had become painfully evident to me that I was going to be stuck on Earth for 
some time. I decided to head home to my mansion.  Daffy and Bugs came in 
as I was packing up.
    "So, you're kinda stuck down there, `eh, chum?" Daffy inquired.
    "Looks that way," I sighed back. "You fellas want to come back with me 
to my place for a bit?"
    "Sure, Doc," Came Bugs' response.
    My right paw disappeared in my pocket, fumbled around a bit, and re-
appeared holding a silvery rectangular object. I looked at it inquisitively.
    "You ah, remember how to fly that thing, Fox?" Daffy asked cautiously.
    "Oh yea of little faith," I responded smugly.

    As we arrived at my mansion, Wile E. Coyote, Foghorn Leghorn, Porky, 
Elmer, Sylvester, Yosemite Sam, and Pepe Le Pew drove up the driveway.
"Hey fellas. What are you doin' here?" I called.
    "Well, shoot, son," Foghorn explained, "we weren't, I say, we weren't 
gonna let you leave again without wishing you on your way--give you a 
proper send-off that-is."
    I walked over and hugged him. "You guys are great." Then I turned to the 
rest of the clan. "Well, c'mon in then."
    I served some drinks and snacks and we all sat around enjoying each 
other's company.
    "Ozwald awards, huh?" I commented, reclining into a large armchair. My 
statement referred to the award ceremony from the movie "Friz Freleng's 
Looney, Looney, Looney Bugs Bunny Movie". "What the heck was that thing 
all about?" I asked, stretching.
    "Oh, heh heh," Bugs fidgeted. "That was Friz's way of congratulating us 
guys for all the years of laughter we gave him."
    "Well then, congratulations. High praise you received."
    "Yeah," Bugs replied, somewhat hollowly.
    "You to, Daffy," I said, turning to him. "I could always tell Friz really 
took a liking to you."
    "Well, of course," Daffy remarked, full of himself, "After all, I am Daffy 
Duck, superstar."
    I cocked a finger at him. "Yes, you are. You're all stars and heroes to a 
great segment of the Earth population. Just don't let it go to your heads."
    A series of humbled comments swept around the group.
    "I also saw `The Bugs Bunny Road Runner Movie' while I was on Earth," 
I continued, directing my gaze at Bugs. "Nice piece of work from Jones. 
Curious though: the inherent toon energy in that movie was abnormally high. 
My toon energy was able to pick up on it, and it ended up triggering some 
unexpected mental flashbacks--definitely an unplanned variable in the 
mission. You guys wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
    Bugs only looked away. I sensed that he was becoming a bit uneasy. He 
began to twitch his whiskers nervously.
    The conversation continues as we talked about everything from Earth to 
work to new characters to traffic problems to new building construction to 
Pepe's trip abroad. It went on for a good while. Time passed and I began to 
feel uncharacteristically groggy and sluggish.
    "I... think it's time I get back," I muttered.
    "What's wrong, Fox?" Yosemite asked. "You look kinda... well... you 
don't look right."
    "Yeah," I agreed. "I get the feeling it's time I return. I'm beginning to 
feel awful weak suddenly."
    "Well then, maybe we should get goin' fellas," Daffy suggested to the 
gang.
    "No, not yet. Please," I said tiredly. "Come with me upstairs."
    We went upstairs to my bedroom where I sat down on my bed, growing 
more fatigued with every passing minute.
    "I want to thank all of you for coming out to see me. You don't know 
what it means to me to know I have you fellas to help me through this."
    "Do you weawy have to go?" Elmer asked.
    I lay down on the bed: "Not really up to me at this point. Down the road 
though, I'll be able to stay longer."
    "So what happens to you here while you are gone?"
    "Can't say for sure yet. I think I'll disappear while I am down there, until 
I can build up some energy reserves in both worlds. It'll probably take 
several Earth years, but then I'll be able to remain visible and semi-active 
while down on Earth. All of you remember though: while I am down there, 
I'll be right here sleeping. You may not see me, but I will be aware of what 
goes on."
    "Well, until Friday then," Bugs shrugged.
    "Quite," I replied.
    I adjusted the pillows on the bed and closed my eyes. Surrounded by the 
soft red glow from my eyelids I placed myself in a calming trance as I began 
to trace my path back to my Earth self. The energy link provided the path. 
Only passing through dimension and time boundaries was required. As I 
slipped away from toonity I heard a faint voice echoing in the darkness: 
    "Come back soon, Fox."

    On Earth, a few hours had passed and morning approached. A human 
awoke as normal, got dressed, and began to go about his daily routines, now 
possessing answers to questions he had not asked, and possessing more 
knowledge and information than he had ever known: thoughts, memories, 
and ideas about a new place, referred to some humans as "Toonity." Over the 
coming years, he would learn more and more of his forgotten past, becoming 
a much wiser and older being, looking at himself and the way he was. 
Decades later he would reflect on his actions as a human and wonder: 
"Where was I? Where was my true self? What a mess: people I wrecked, and 
the stupid, stupid mistakes I made. I want to give it all back. I want to grab 
all of it, take it all up and crush it into a ball and throw it away saying, `That 
is not me! Get rid of it.'"
    He would eventually take solace in his situation and realize that he was 
indeed lucky to be "split" into two beings, and thus give him the perfect way 
to learn of humans while keeping in contact with his home world. 
Nevertheless, he would always pine for his true return to his homeland.

    The toons stood around my now empty bed for nearly a minute before 
anyone spoke.
    "So, he's gone--again. He disappeared like he said. He's left us."
    "No..." came Wile E.'s hesitant voice after a few seconds, "He's still 
here." He laid his hand on the bed where I had been laying.  "Part of him 
never left. I can feel it--a presence. He is right here--sleeping.  It is as he 
said. He just doesn't have the power to maintain a visible form."
    "Oh great. Wile E. is psychic," came Daffy's mocking voice.
    "Daffy!" Bugs said, a bit harshly.
    "Well, good. I like that boy," commented Foghorn, "hate to see him go 
again."
    "No, we will be seeing him again," Wile E. responded.

    Over the next several years my energy grew as I became accustomed to 
traveling between Earth and Toonity. I became able to keep a visible toon 
form in Toonity while on Earth, and, when needed, could even perform on a 
more or less normal level in toonity while still conscious on Earth, though it 
is still somewhat draining to perform, even to this day. 
    Many times while on Earth I think of home. I can look back in my mind 
to my toon self, seeing into the toon world around me, and see myself lying 
on my bed resting: a toon red fox sleeping quietly, turning every now and 
then. Sometimes a friend stops in to check on me. While I sleep they may sit 
in the corner and read the day's paper, or review a work schedule. Every now 
and then they gaze at me, perhaps smiling, knowing that I am still there. 
These are not idle visions, but something I am able to do. My toon form 
senses their presence and it can be felt in my human mind, reminding me that 
I am not alone down here.
    Maybe Ed was right. Maybe we'll find the answer--someday.


PART II - THE SPLIT YEARS
=========================

"Always hold in your heart the pride of your special heritage." - 
Jor-El, Superman
 

CHAPTER 10
REALIZATION OF CIRCUMSTANCE
---------------------------

    The universe works in mysterious ways. A life form can find a 
comfortable little corner within it and enjoy happiness there for many years, 
then decide one day to throw it all away for new challenges, with the 
possibility of never returning to that quiet little corner.
    Sometimes I wonder about that day, that moment, that first recollection I 
have of my existence, out in space so many years ago. How did I get there? 
Why was I there? Was there something before? Sometimes I have dreams--
fantasies of toon parents, looking like me, with spirits and abilities like mine. 
I wonder if I did have parents. Maybe something happened. Maybe I was 
sent out to that point in space, away from a danger. Maybe my memories 
were covered. Or, maybe it was time for me to go out to find my own path. 
Was I a toon before? Why is that which I am so close to what toons are? 
There are so many similarities with what is considered the toon core and 
myself. Maybe some day I'll learn the answers, or maybe not.
    I remember those last few days in Toonity before the mission. I remember 
submitting my toon biological information to the central computer at Tetra 
Dimensional for analysis and conversion to its equivalent in human DNA. I 
remember receiving the key genetic sequences that would be required for my 
human form on Earth. These key sequences were few compared to the total 
number of human DNA genes, but these few were required--they were 
essential. We needed to find a match for these sequences. I remember staring 
at a printout of these sequences back on that last night. And, when the 
morning came and it was time to leave, I transferred my entire being to the 
void--the driftless nothing where all things wait to be found. All that I was 
joined with the life force of the universe, to be condensed out into a human 
form by forces that to this day I do not understand, neither here nor at home. 
The experience scared the life out of me--terrible images and flashes. Then, 
nothing, blackness, and quiet. 

    Since that fateful day back in 1987 when the mission ended I have been 
split. The human half of me that had been created was unable to disconnect 
from the human body that had been created, so this human half of me 
remains here on Earth, while my true self has left and is again existing in 
Toonity, providing a link of knowledge and communication with home.
    All of my powers and most of my toon knowledge resides in Toonity now 
as well, locked away from my human half. A primitive human mind cannot 
handle powers of such magnitude--so said Sargon.
    Also while here, certain knowledge of Toonity is hidden from me, thanks 
to the Tetra Dimensional Protection of Information Stipulation of 1973. 
Mental "filters" were erected in my mind to block specific thoughts and 
ideas from my human self. There is some knowledge that does not belong in 
this world, and the knowledge that does pass through is only the smallest 
percentage of what I really know. As a result I cannot know the precise and 
exact nature of Toonity to the last detail, so, I have an incomplete picture of 
the world from which I came. Even the nature of my own existence, and my 
own toon name are not completely revealed to me in this world. The scenes 
and events from my life that I have transcribed here are true. But no doubt 
some names and some facts have been altered to protect the innocent. The 
name "Andy" is used in this book for lack of anything better to use. After all, 
it is indeed one of my names.
    Still, even with the mental filters, bits and pieces of my memory get 
reviled every day. And during times of my choosing, of which mostly occur 
during unconsciousness, I can shift my being to exist almost totally in 
Toonity. During these times I temporarily return to the world of toons and 
can find a kind of peace to know and see and be with things and friends 
again and to return to a life.
    As time passes, however, I am forced to return and 
focus my attention back to this world where a different beauty exists and
the possible source of what I have come to be thrives. Yet, forever
persistent in a small part of my consciousness is the knowledge I carry
that I am something more, and that what I am here, this crude matter, is
not truly me, nor anyone here. It is only a temporary shell. And, upon this
physical form's death, that part of me which resides here will be released
and I shall be free, at which time I shall be reunited with myself and be
whole once again; whole and home in Toonity. Until that day I will remain
here: observing, existing, and ever waiting for my complete return to Toonity
and my toon self. Nightly I log my findings for our scientists and
sociologists in hopes that they may discover what we are and, why we are.

    There is a "Tiny Toon Adventures" fan fiction called "A Reluctant Toon" 
whose plot is a shocking reverse-parody of what I have experienced. It tells 
the story of a human boy who is unexpectedly transformed into a toon and 
must attempt to adapt to a new life there. Oddly, when I read the story it sent 
my mind wandering into the hellish thoughts of my worst fears that 
something will go wrong and I'll be stuck here, unable to disassociate myself 
with this body when it's end approaches. Strangely, this scenario has played 
itself out in an exploratory vision I encountered. The vision focused on the 
idea that this has all happened before, this timeline, these events, and that 
something went wrong when, on some future date, my human body had 
expired and I was to return to Toonity. Powers and memories returned but 
something didn't work and I was trapped in a dying human body, unable to 
go home, unable to escape, unable to separate from it. With my soul 
saddened and missing my friends I did the only thing I could do: I took 
myself out of history, out of time, out of existence, as far back as I could; 
back to that point of recollection. Memories flew by and were extinguished 
as my presence was erased from history; both here and in Toonity. Only this 
way would no one come to harm. Only this way could I save Toonity from 
the loss I would bring by never returning. "What do I do now?" I asked 
silently to no one as the timeline around me collapsed and I disappeared out 
of existence. And, suddenly, in 1936, a small white light appears in space, to 
start again. My God, does such power exist in me?
    After reading numerous stories involving cartoon characters with 
extremely powerful abilities (characters with magical powers, mental 
powers, Q-type powers, and what-have-you), I find myself content that my 
demeanor in Toonity is far from most of them. These characters who conduct 
such an over-bearing or awe-inspiring presence wherever they go apparently 
live by the credo: "If you've got it, flaunt it." While I, on the other hand, 
have quietly established myself in the toon community so that all know what 
I can do without me having to demonstrate it. Because of this I can sit quietly 
relaxed, off to the side when some mysterious and powerful character 
orchestrates his influence and presence on the masses. I'll just look on and 
wonder if this person is worth getting to know, and always checking to see if 
he is a danger to those to whom I have pledged to protect. Power is one 
thing. How one conducts himself around others and uses that power is quite 
another.

    On a good night, relaxed from the day's work, enjoying the drink, a 
viewing of certain movies will bring a weak tear in remembrance of home. 
My mind will inevitably drift and wander back to my relative youth, spent in 
a place where the senses were alive and stimulated with vibrant and 
cherished experiences: the golden days of Toon Hollywood. That special 
time and place in a different age and reality was, to quote Hunter S. 
Thompson, "a very special time and place to be a part of... but no 
explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of 
knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time in the world. 
Whatever it meant..." Thompson was speaking of San Francisco during the 
sixties when he wrote those words, but my feelings for Toon Hollywood 
during the 1940's are no different.


CHAPTER 11
MY CONTINUING ROLE IN TOONITY
-----------------------------

    Since returning to Toonity, my time there, as it has been for many years 
past, revolves around the many facets of my "job". Actually I have not 
considered it a job for decades. When one's day is filled with activities one 
enjoys doing, and when that person is free to do as he wishes, it can hardly 
be considered work. And, that's indeed how it is. Now, if you dig deep 
enough, you will find that my title at Tetra Dimensional still is 
"Founder/President". But more accurately, I now exercise visible titles of 
"Executive of Toon Science Relations" and "Animation Contract 
Consultant". There are, I suspect, other titles ("Lawyer"). I have also, 
through various accomplishments and circumstances, earned the public 
office titles of "Chief Scientific Advisor" for the Department of Toon Safety, 
"Head of Toonkind Well-being" for the government, and "Advisor on Toon 
Affairs" for the Bureau of Toon Investigation. I also have standing with the 
Bureau of Toon Psychology and other various scientific institutes. My 
powers and unique ability to learn anything rapidly have helped me to 
become a key figure in the world of toon science. But, that is only one side 
of what I do. Tetra Dimensional started out as, and still is, a place for toons 
to come and get help and/or learn about the many aspects of animation 
contracts and the cartoon acting industry. I am active in this area as well, still 
going to shootings and still attending toon review meetings, using the title of 
"Toon Relations Expert" when simply "Agent" does not apply.
    The Looney Tunes are a common sight at Tetra Dimensional. They join 
in on work and assist where and when they can--all well off themselves, 
wanting to help the less fortunate toons. Not charity, just simple helping of 
brother. They have always been a never-ending presence there. Since back 
when Tetra Dimensional was being created, there have always been a 
handful of them around, helping out. Deep down I feel they may have been 
there also because I was there. All are considered transient employees and 
draw a minimal wage. When they are not busy they come by and see me--
see how things are going. For, I can usually be found there, and I obligingly 
handle all of their contracts for them and act as their agent, as I do for a great 
many WB toons including the Tiny Toons and the Animaniacs, but always 
asking permissions to do so first. Of course, the more famous toons like Bugs 
Bunny and Daffy Duck don't really need representation, so I am not as much 
of an agent to them as I am a filter between then and WB. It gives a toon one 
less thing to worry about, relieving them from nominal interruptions in their 
lives when WB might want to change or negotiate something. It goes through 
me, and then to the toon, confidentially of course.
    During any given week you'll have a good chance at seeing toons like 
Bugs or Daffy wandering around Tetra Dimensional. Or, perhaps you'll see 
Woody Woodpecker storming by, going into my office, and emerging a few 
minutes later smiling and thumbing through a wad of bills--due to a 
animation company's payroll oversight. Yes, other major cartoon stars can 
always be found scattered about as well. Any toon working in the animation 
industry knows of Tetra Dimensional in some way or another. We are a kind 
of hub, a meeting place where toons can come and find out the latest news of 
Hollywood, Warner Brothers, Disney, Paramount, Universal, etc. For us to 
do our job in the world of cartoon character contracting, it could not be 
otherwise.
    Besides contract negotiations and agent facilitation I am also there for a 
toon to protect his or hers better interests. If a company is doing a cartoon 
and I feel a toon is not being drawn or represented properly or the script they 
give him/her is out of character, I will act on that toons behalf to ensure the 
toon is presented to character. An example of this was the "Sylvester & 
Tweety Mysteries" series released by Warner Brothers in the mid-90's. I 
spoke with Sylvester after a few episodes had been filmed. I was concerned 
that he was being represented as a bumbling idiot, that it made him look 
stupid. Sylvester acknowledged this point, but assured me he wanted to 
continue, stating: "At least we're [Tweety and myself] back up there on the 
screen. I know it's kinda pathetic, but it's publicity."

    Some may say I'm a Warner Brothers player only, and that I favor WB 
characters over other animation company toons in the area of legal assistance 
and effort. This is certainly not the case. As an example, I fought well with 
Disney on behalf of the lead characters from the animated movie Robin 
Hood (this was, in case you are curious, my final legal case before I left 
toonity for Earth). Normally Disney movie characters were all single-shot 
characters created to appear in one movie and that was it. Once the movie is 
over the characters linger at Disney under "inactive" status, getting 
commissions and hoping to find other work and be picked up on a future 
date. The cast for Robin Hood, however, consisted of existing actor toons 
gathered by Disney and hired for one cartoon movie only. Because they were 
only hired on a temporary basis, when the shooting was over, they were let 
go completely, made famous for their roles they played, but receiving 
nothing from Disney for it. I fought and won to get Robin Hood (who's real 
name, by the way, is not Robin Hood), Little John, Prince John (they were all 
actors, and only played out the story of Robin Hood, as plainly said at the 
beginning of the movie), the sheriff, Maid Marian, and the other main 
characters, $100,000 in post-production compensation pay, and a percentage 
in any and all future earnings that Disney would make on them, including 
merchandise sales and licensing. Granted it wasn't anything remotely near 
what a regular character pulls down, but it was something, and the toons 
were grateful for my help. Disney has never attempted this type of hiring 
technique since. I run into "Robin" now and then. He's a good fellow. We 
foxes like to keep in contact. And, even though he may not be wearing his 
Robin Hood costume, I still think of him in it whenever I see him.

    My daily schedule at Tetra Dimensional is very loose. I arrive, more or 
less daily (under current circumstances) to a small stack of papers in my 
"IN" box which may contain information ranging from the bio of a new toon 
from Disney that has just been created, to the notes from a lecture on toon 
behavioral theory. I review everything, then check on the daily news and 
activities. Perhaps I attend a shooting of a new movie with Sylvester and 
Tweety. Maybe I partake in a discussion on inter-dimensional convergence 
of space-time. Perhaps I take a stroll around and see who's about the place. 
By wandering about and making myself visible I can learn everything that is 
going on around me and keep myself informed as to everything that is going 
on around Hollywood. It may not sound much like a job, and that is why I 
don't consider it one either. But I do take everything I do for Tetra 
Dimensional seriously. If I am attending a meeting on some topic of toon 
science I will represent Tetra's science division. If I see a toon being cheated 
out of something because of some legal issue I will act. I am always looking 
around to see what is going on. And every other Friday I get a check. I 
honestly have little use for money and pay it little attention, also possessing 
an unlimited credit account with Acme as Wile E. And, after all, what does 
an omnipotent toon need money for? The money goes into accounts, stocks, 
presents and gifts for my friends, and sometimes, rare materials or scientific 
equipment. No, I don't have as much of a financial stockpile as Scrooge 
McDuck, but I am among the top ten wealthiest toons. Bugs Bunny has 
surprisingly less than what most people think.

    So, this is what I do--a bit of many different things. I love it. I love being 
immersed in the buzz of the Hollywood scene, allowed on any movie lot, 
able to go to any viewing or shooting I want. I am considered a friendly 
presence to other toons and am a resource to them: "There's *our* guy. He'll 
straighten everything out." "Oooh, wonder what he's doing on the lot." "Hey 
Fox, any news on the new show?" The animation companies do not mind my 
presence either anymore. They now look to me as a type of liaison to toons 
and resource of toon knowledge, not completely understanding toons 
themselves. In a scientific and metaphysical aspect I am looked at as a key 
figure of knowledge relating to all things toony and the world of toon 
science. I attend lectures, sometimes give them, and have on occasion even 
substituted at Acme Looniversity, the local institution of higher learning. I 
monitor the creation and production of new cartoons. I sit in on meetings 
concerning toon science. And I still manage contract negotiations, because I 
am still excellent at it. 
    Tetra Dimensional has grown to 50 or so employees, including around a 
dozen in the scientific staff. We do not need any more. It's a great feeling to 
be caught up in all of this. And I wouldn't trade it for anything.

    "Peace, happiness, and contentment are maintained. The body lives." -
Landru


CHAPTER 12
THE LINK
----------

    "Is this gonna hurt?"
    I shrugged: "I won't feel a thing."
    "Alright, that's it. I'm leaving," said Wile E. and started for the door.
    "No, I don't think so," I muttered and waved my hand behind me. The 
door slammed shut. Wile E. raspberried me.
    "Lie down," I told him, gesturing to a couch.
    "Why?"
    "Because when I do this your body is going to go limp. I don't need you 
falling out of a chair and collapsing on the floor or anything like that."
    Wile E. shrugged and lay down on the couch.

    It all started several weeks before when I had asked Wile E. if he would 
be willing to join his mind with mine through a special mental link. We 
would tie our minds together slightly, allowing common thought to be shared 
between us. It would be a very real symbol of the very deep friendship and 
trust that had formed between us. Unfortunately, due to a cosmic error in bad 
timing, the day we had planned to perform this action also turned out to be 
the day that a few of the Looney Tunes had decided to throw a little get-
together for the whole Warner gang, along with any friends anyone cared to 
bring along. It had only been a couple of years since I had returned from my 
mission on Earth. Though only about six months had passed in the cartoon 
world during my mission, thirteen years had passed for me and I was eager to 
spend any time I could get with the Looney Tunes, so this get-together was a 
welcome event for me. It was held at Bugs Bunny's mansion and its events 
consisted primarily of everybody laying back, reminiscing, pool antics for 
those who didn't mind chlorine in their fur, and the mass consuming of food 
and drink for several hours. The food and drink turned out to have a curious 
side effect on everyone, similar to the effect alcohol or vasodilator drugs 
have on humans. I began early on to suspect that the consumables had 
originated from Wackyland, a zone in the toon world where any remaining 
shred of recognizable logic breaks down utterly and the hand of chaos rules 
with a rubber chicken.
    Around eight in the evening the party had begun to show signs of wearing 
down and some of the guests began to disperse. I realized through a blur of 
bizarre sponge cake that my time was growing short and I would soon have 
to return to Earth. I snapped up and began wandering around looking for 
Wile E. I found him a short while later lounging with a large red furry 
monster named Gossamer. I informed Wile E. that it was time. He stared 
blankly back to me.
    "Come on," I said blearily. I took his arm and drug him off to a quiet 
room in Bugs' mansion where we would not be disturbed. We were both in 
an extremely loony state. But, deep down we were still fully in control of our 
faculties.

    "Try to lie still," I said again, for about the fourth time.
    "Why?"
    "Because, I don't want to fry your brain. Why are you so nervous?"
    "Do you know what you're doing?"
    I shrugged: "I guess so."
    "Why are you holding a drill?"
    "Ah... better you don't know."
    Wile E. sighed: "Just wake me up when it's over."
    I took Wile E.'s left paw and held his palm between my index finger and 
thumb, an obscure toon gesture to communicate safety and awareness. This 
told Wile E. that I was fully in charge of my faculties and re-assured him that 
my apparent lunacy was currently only skip deep. Wile E. returned my action 
with a somewhat accusing look, as if to tell me he knew darn well my 
mental state and would never let me do what I was about to do otherwise.
I passed my hand over his face. His eyes closed and he entered a quiet and 
calm state of unconsciousness. His muscles relaxed.
    "Don't worry, my friend," I thought. "This won't hurt a bit."
    I placed a hand on Wile E.'s brow. Several silent minutes passed. A soft 
glow began to emit from where my hand was touching Wile E.'s head. 
Several tiny sparks of energy flew around it. My eyes closed. At one point I 
nearly fell over as I also temporarily lost control of my muscles. The point 
passed. The glowing ceased. I removed my hand from Wile E.'s brow. A few 
minutes later Wile E. slowly opened his eyes.
    "Oh my," he started groggily. "Is that you in there?"
    "Mm hmm."
    "Feels... odd." He sat up.
    I nodded, "How do you feel otherwise? Queasy at all? Dizzy?"
    "No, not really, just an odd sensation."
    "Your brain is getting sensory impulses from two different sources now. 
It'll take it a few days to get use to it. And, it will take a bit of time for you to 
be able to make use of the link and come in to my mind. But you will."
    "I can feel it--your energy."
    "Yeah. I wasn't completely sure if you would feel any ill effects from the 
new sensations or not. I apologize. The strangeness will pass."
    Wile E. shook his head. "No, no. It's all right. I'll manage." He looked up 
at me. "Thanks for the gift."
    "Gift?"
    "Gift. So, how does it work?"
    "Ah, let's see..." I began, playing with my chin fur and taking on a 
contemplative tone, "at any given time each of us is sharing our mental 
faculties with the other. Think of it as a common mind pool. I've taken 
approximately three percent of each of our subconscious minds--our mental 
energies--and turned them into a sort of common shared area for both of our 
minds to use. Each of our original three percents still exists, but now they are 
dispersed and intermingled between the two of us. Normally they will be 
half-and-half between our two minds; one and one half-percent of my 
subconscious in your mind, and vise-versa. But should one of us choose, we 
can take up the entire three percent of the other's mind. Of course, that 
means the other will get the other's full three percent in their mind. The 
converse is also true; if one of us chooses to fully re-claim his three percent 
he can do so, pushing the other's three percent back into his own mind. 
Everything stays in balance, the three percent going wherever it fits." I 
paused for a second, wondering if what I had just said made any sense at all, 
and noticed that the walls in the room seemed to be moving--darn 
Wackyland food. After mentally stumbling around a bit to find my place I 
continued: "With our minds like this we can use our presence in the other to 
access the others mind, communicate telepathically, and learn about each 
other. We will be able to sense each other's emotions, good and bad, detect 
mood, spy on each other in a sense, though I doubt we'd do that."
    "But, you could do all of that before with me, or anyone else for that 
matter," Wile E. observed.
    "Yes," I agreed, "but now with you I don't have to spend one one-
hundredth the energy and concentration to do it. And, now you will be able 
to do everything as well. Over time I suspect our presence in each other's 
minds will become more intricate and complex, going beyond the original 
three percent--branching out into new areas. We will become increasingly 
intertwined in the coming years."
    Wile E. walked over to a window and looked out into the quiet evening. I 
wondered if he was having second thoughts about what I had done. "Now," I 
continued, "there is the issue of personal lives here. I mean, I hope it doesn't 
become an issue. You know I'd never bother you if you were... indisposed. I 
hope you don't refrain from going out with any female coyotes or doing 
anything you consider private. Your mind will subconsciously block me out 
if your it feels your current situation is not to be intruded on. Same for me."
    "But you could," Wile E. suggested.
    "Alright, yes. But..."
    This time Wile E. cut me off: "Ah. Don't worry about it, Fox. I trust you. 
I dang well wouldn't have let anyone but you join with me like this." His 
gaze returned to the scene outside.
    "Look," I started, placing a paw on Wile E.'s shoulder, "if you're having 
second thoughts... This can be undone. Just say the word. I don't want to 
force anything on you."
    "What?" Wile E. asked in surprise. "And miss this fascinating scientific 
opportunity to learn of the toon subconscious mind? Are you a dunce?"
    I stifled a chuckle: "Ah, hah. Well... okay then." My gaze joined Wile 
E.'s. The sun was low in the west and everything was taking on a golden 
glow mixed with the creeping dark, cool shadows of night. "This should 
really make a difference with me shifting between here and Earth from now 
on also," I commented absently, "...won't need nearly the amount of energy 
and concentration."
    "You must be going through hell over on Earth," Wile E. said as a scrap 
of emotion floated into his mind through the new link.
    "You have no idea," I muttered.
    Wile E. scratched his head. "So this is more of an enhanced thing than 
what you did before with me?" he asked.
    "What are you talking about?" I asked back.
    "That thing you did to me back in... `68 was it?" Wile E. replied.
    "Oh, that."
    "Yes."
    "You mean when I laid my hand on your head and held the other up in 
front of your face and a big white energy bolt zapped from my hand into 
your head?"
    "Yes." Wile E. was now showing signs of being slightly impatient with 
my evasiveness.
    "Fancy light show," I said flatly.
    Wile E. looked coldly at me. "What?"
    I shrugged: "That's all it was."
    Now Wile E. looked baffled. "What do you mean?"
    "I didn't do anything to you," I told him. "It was just a flashy light show."
    "But how...?" Wile E. trailed off.
    "How have you been able to sense thoughts from me?" I asked.
    "Yes," Wile E. admitted.
    I shrugged. "Donno. Must be something in the cosmic forces of the 
universe or something."
    Wile E. scowled at me with disbelief on his face.
    "Or," I continued, "maybe you had the ability all along. Maybe your mind 
needed an excuse to try its skills out."
    "So, why did you even do what you did then, if it was just a light show?"
    "Here, you might like this," I said, and produced from one of my pockets 
a small black device with a clear dome protruding from its top. I turned the 
device on and set it on the floor between us. The clear dome on the device 
began to glow red. A white glow began shimmering around myself. Wile E. 
also began to shimmer with a faint white glow. A thin shimmering white 
wisp of light floated between us, connecting the glows surrounding us.
    "Is that..." Wile E. asked, gesturing to the thin wisp of light.
    "That... is the mental tie you began to form with me back in 1968."
    Wile E. opened and closed his mouth several times, but failed to say 
anything coherent.
    "Extra-magical toon energy illuminator," I told him, gesturing to the 
device on the floor.
    "I...?" Wile E. stammered. "I tapped into your mind? Me?" His 
expression and voice were flooded with surprise and wonder.
    I nodded. "You did it all yourself."
    "I had no idea," he whispered.
    "The toon mind is more powerful than most think. It can perform some 
the most outstanding and unbelievable things you could imagine. It's simply 
that the average toon isn't aware of this fact."
    I shut the device off and the white glows vanished.
    I shrugged: "Back in `68 I was curious. I wanted to see what would 
happen. I had no idea you would forge a telepathic link with me."
    "Nor I," Wile E. agreed. "You did it so I would see what I could really 
do." I smiled. He was indeed correct.
    "Imagine how I felt when I woke up one day and suddenly found traces of 
you in my head--not something I was expecting to find that morning."
    "Ah, heh," Wile E. stammered and tried hard not to look guilty.
    "You reached out to me," I finished. "I merely took your hand, so to 
speak. I built this new link on your existing one."
    Wile E. chuckled and embraced me warmly. I returned the sentiment.
    "Careful," I said, "People might think we've got something for each 
other."
    "Everyone already knows we do, Fox," Wile E. replied. 
I half-spoke, half-thought to Wile E., "It's really good to see you again, 
coyote. It's good to be back."
    We released each other.
    "Here," I said, tapping an index finger on the bulb of his black nose. A 
visible wave of energy and light rippled through Wile E.
    "Yerrouwff!" he cried out. "What was that?"
    "Energy boost. The linking procedure drained you a bit. Feel better?"
    "Yes, actually."
    "Good. Off you go then. I have work to do."
    "Heh, sure Fox."
    We exited the mansion and returned to the remains of the party. Several 
toons were still hanging around, scattered sparsely about Bugs' patio area. 
The whole scene looked as if a tornado had just blown through and left in its 
wake a pile of dazed and lost toons. Bugs himself was collapsed in a reclined 
deck chair. Seated next to him was Daffy Duck. Bugs was looking blankly at 
the sky and talking to Daffy about the importance of character duality.
    "Where'd the punch come from anyway?" I asked Wile E. He directed my 
gaze over to where the food tables were. A catering crew was busily packing 
up the dishes and remaining food items into several boxes and cases to load 
on to their truck. On the side of one of the cases were the words: 
"Wackyland's Finest: Slightly Off Catering Services."
    "Great," I commented, and went off to join Bugs. Several years later I 
would form a similar bond with him as well, though it would only be one-
ninth as strong.


CHAPTER 13
GRATUITOUS CAMEO
----------------

    For the first several years after my return, I was still quite adamant about 
keeping my true identity a secret on Earth. As a human I was still unsure 
what was going on inside my own mind, my memories jumbled in a chaotic 
frenzy as the mental filter attempted to sift through them and produce 
coherent results for my human mind to understand. With this going on, it 
didn't seem like a good idea to reveal to anyone who I was--not until I knew 
enough of myself to do so, and not until I could do it in a manner in which it 
would be at all accepted. So, when Bugs Bunny came to see me to propose a 
possible breach of security concerning my identity on Earth, I was just a bit 
reluctant.
    "Fox," Bugs started, coming into my office one afternoon, "the gang and 
I have been thinking. We want to give you a welcome back present, 
somethin' special. I think it's about time you get a little exposure."
Bugs paused for a second before delivering the main blow: "We wanna 
get you on to the big screen."
    "The big screen," I repeated, "Bugs, I've been there, remember?"
    "I'm not talkin' about a 6-minute short, Doc," he countered. "I'm talking 
full-length feature."
    "Bugs," I sighed, "I can't. You know that."
    "Yeah, yeah. I know, the whole Protection of Information thing, but that's 
over now. You're back. It's done. There's no reason to conceal your identity 
on Earth any more."
    "It's not done, Bugs. I can't reveal my identity yet. There could still be a 
danger. Plus, the mission committee would have a fit. Any new data I gather 
may be tainted if people knew who and what I am."
    "But no one on Earth knows about you yet," Bugs pointed out. "We 
won't be revealing your identity. The people will just see some cartoon fox 
on the screen. We'll keep it short--a second or so. That's it."
    "It's not a good idea," I said flatly. "I'm not suppose to appear in cartoons 
for the public. You want to get in trouble with the government over this?" 
Actually I was quite flattered that Bugs and the others had thought enough of 
me to propose such a thing: Andy Fox, cinema star. No, I thought. Not yet.
    Bugs continued, undaunted by my statement: "What if they made you 
look different? The animators could re-color you--give you gloves--
somethin', but not completely re-draw you. It'd be you, but in disguise, in 
make-up."
    "What about the animation companies?" I inquired.
Bugs eyed me as if I had just given him the weakest excuse I could 
possibly think of. He was right. "Aw, C'mon, Fox. You've done it before."
    "I don't know."
    "Okay, how `bout this," Bugs insisted, "This is the kicker: we even get a 
completely different company to draw you. Then no one will know."
    "The big screen, Bugs..."
    "Doc, you've been hiding behind those rules and regulations too long. It 
ain't healthy. Whaddaya say?"
    I sat for several seconds contemplating the ramifications of the proposed 
action.
    "Okay," I finally admitted. Perhaps I had been a bit overly concerned 
about the whole identity issue.
    "Great!" Bugs exclaimed with excitement and relief.
    "You... know something, don't you?" I asked Bugs slyly. "You had this 
already worked out before you even asked me, didn't you?"
    "There's this movie comin' up from Disney," he replied.
    I looked back at Bugs with a bit of a start: "You want to stick me in `Who 
Framed Roger Rabbit'?"
    "It's a walk-on, split-second shot," Bugs assured. "Like I said, we'll keep 
it small, but you'll have made it to the screen, in disguise, but you'll be 
there."
    "What are you, my agent?"
    "Don't gimme that," Bugs grumbled.
    "Hey, I meant it in a good way," I replied. "With you as the agent my role 
changes to `actor'. It nullifies the restriction I have with the animation 
companies."
    "It don't matter anyway, Doc. Disney already gave us the O.K. to bring 
you in."
    "Well," I shrugged, "if Disney said it's O.K., it must be." I sat back and 
pondered the situation. "Roger Rabbit, Bugs? Good grief. You had to pick a 
ground-breaking movie that every animation fan would turn out to see, didn't 
you?"
    "What can I say, Doc. It's the best we could do."
    "Thanks." I replied.

    And so, if you watch closely, you may just glimpse a cartoon fox walking 
by the camera about ten minutes into the movie "Who Framed Roger 
Rabbit". I was re-colored with red fur, white feet, and given white gloves to 
wear. They trimmed down my ears and cheek fur. The final shot was as Bugs 
had promised: a walk-on, lasting only a second, with me facing away from 
the camera. It may seem like a very minor gift, until you appreciate what we 
had to go through to pull it off, plus the fact that even this type of minor 
cameo is not easy to come by for toon actors and is not something to be 
taken lightly. Even a part this small is something sought after by actors. 
Publicity equals pay to them. For myself, it was a matter of recognition, and 
a welcome home.
    The Protection of Information Stipulation of 1973 was revised by the 
mission committee in 1993 and ratified by the toon government. By that time 
I had acquired enough of my memories on Earth to be able to make direct 
requests to the mental filter for specific items. My toon energy also had been 
completely replenished so that I could, when needed, be awake 
simultaneously on Earth and in Toonity. The revised stipulation allowed full 
disclosure of identity to the Earth public, at my own discretion, and limited 
to information retrieved from the mental filter only. It also allowed for a 
more relaxed attitude towards any more "accidental" appearances in 
animated cartoons.


CHAPTER 14
THE EVALUATION
--------------

    In 1990, Warner Brothers, in partnership with Steven Spielberg, created a 
new family of toons called the Tiny Toons, and gave them their own 
animated series, "Tiny Toon Adventures". The Tiny Toons were designed to 
be teenage equivalents of the classic Looney Tunes characters, brandishing 
their own unique wit and charm which was not completely unlike that of 
their Looney Tunes counterparts. 
    The Tiny Toons attended Acme Looniversity, a recent collaborative effort 
between Warner Brothers and the Toon Board of Education that had been 
constructed about a year earlier. Aside from being a fully qualified and 
proper college, its main purpose was to educate the young and aspiring toon 
in the art of cartoon acting and general toonery. For this, many of the classic 
Looney Tunes characters had been brought in and given teaching positions, 
each teaching a subject suited to their skills. Bugs Bunny had been made the 
principal, with Wile E. Coyote as the Dean. Both Bugs and Wile E. also 
taught classes in their respective fields of expertise.
    At the Looniversity, The Tiny Toons were taught the art of cartooning by 
the Looney Tunes. Bugs Bunny mentored Buster Bunny, Daffy Duck 
mentored Plucky Duck, Porky Pig mentored Hamton Pig, and so on. There 
were over a dozen Tiny Toons in all, with several hundred other toons 
attending the Looniversity.

    With the creation of the Tiny Toons, and the newly developed curriculum 
for them at the Looniversity, came the necessity for me to present 
psychological evaluations of them to the Toon Board of Psychology. As a 
side project I was also required to observe and evaluate the quality and 
capability of the Looney Tunes' ability to teach the essentials of cartoon 
acting to their students at the Looniversity. After all, the Looney Tunes had 
never been teachers before. The results of the Tiny Toons' psychological 
evaluations would be used to learn how well the toons would cope with 
possible future requirements of them. The Looney Tunes' evaluations would 
confirm that the proper knowledge was being presented in a clear and 
understandable way to the Tiny Toons. Both of these tasks would require 
extensive observation of both the students and the professors.

    For several days I pondered how I could perform such an evaluation 
without affecting the results with my presence. I pictured myself standing in 
the back of a classroom at the Looniversity while Bugs Bunny gave a lecture 
about wisecracks to his class. No, I decided that would not work. I could 
make myself invisible. But then how could I get into the world of the Tiny 
Toons and really get to know them?
    I arrived at the answer several days later. I would pose as a temporary 
transfer student who had come to study at the Looniversity. With this plan I 
could interact with the Tiny Toons and attend the classes taught by the 
Looney Tunes. Ha! Perfect. But, how do I make sure the Looney Tunes don't 
suspect that *I* am the transfer student, or that I am really performing an 
evaluation of them? I would have to do something special.
    My powers had been steadily increasing since discovering Toonity and 
the gaining of my toon form. I was steadily discovering how do to new, more 
powerful things. One thing that was completely unheard of at the time was 
one toon's life force being able to support a second, completely independent 
toon body of different shape, with completely independent senses and 
feelings--essentially two toons from one mind. Such a performance would 
require great power and control. I had a new task for myself, to attempt to do 
just that.
    It took me several days of concentration and practice, but I was 
eventually able to manifest a second copy of myself, a Tiny Toon-style 
version of me. Over time I was able to control both forms simultaneously, 
actually interacting with myself--a very strange experience.  A week passed 
and I was ready.
    That Friday I scheduled my Tiny Toon self, who I gave the name of Alex 
Fox, to be registered with the Looniversity as a temporary transfer student. I 
would escort Alex myself, to put to rest any suspicions that may arise. If I 
were to be seen with Alex, people would never suspect that I was Alex. 
Additionally, I had scheduled a vacation for myself which would take me 
several thousands of miles away, completing the believability. My friends 
would not be looking for me, and I could observe them, and the Tiny Toons, 
completely and thoroughly.
    After registering Alex was to meet the principal, Bugs Bunny. I went with 
Alex and introduced him to Bugs. I performed a light sense of Bugs' mind 
and found he suspected nothing--good. A student was assigned to give Alex 
a tour of the Looniversity, who the student was escapes me. I waved to Alex 
as he left the office. Bugs watched the door close and then turned to me. 
    "Nice kid, but why did *you* come with him?"
    Why? Why, indeed. To test the waters, to see if I could pass the first line 
of defense, as it were. I explained to Bugs that Alex, who was transferring 
from upstate, was a bit shy and had wanted a fellow fox to go with him since 
his parents were unable to. Alex and I had met a few days before, as I was 
allowed to oversee transfers into Acme Looniversity. Bugs was convinced. 
We spoke a bit more and then I left. Alex continued his tour as, outside the 
Looniversity, my form suddenly faded as I shifted my being fully into Alex.

    The next eight weeks were something I won't ever forget. I ended up 
discovering a whole new side of the Tiny Toons that I had never seen before, 
which isn't to say that I knew them very well to begin with. They had only 
been around for a few months, spending their time with each other and their 
mentors. During my evaluation, though, I finally began to learn who they 
really were. I was able to see them as fellow students, peers, and equals, 
struggling with the problems of adolescence. With myself being new to the 
campus they tried earnestly to make me feel welcome. I was invited to their 
homes, we went to Weenie Burger together, the movies, the mall. I had never 
had a toon childhood. Sure, I had, since becoming human, recently gone 
through a human childhood, but the human life was a separate existence. 
This toon childhood was completely unique. To be a young toon... there 
must be a song in there somewhere.
    Buster Bunny, a blue rabbit sporting a red sweater, turned out to be a 
great pal. We were both energetic little troublemakers. Also, Buster was 
always loyal. He would never backstab a fellow toon. He really cared for the 
rest of the Tiny Toons--a true leader. Plucky Duck, the green mallard... now 
he was interesting to figure out: wisecracks, lame jokes, a complex facade to 
cover up... what? During the evaluation I discovered some unique things 
about Plucky. I found Shirley The Loon, a toon clairvoyant, most interesting. 
She was hard to pin down on her disposition towards some things. She never 
really said sometimes how she felt, or was feeling. Other times she would 
burst fourth with emotional expression. Inside her mind was another story. 
She had accomplished a kind of serenity inside herself, a calmness that she 
could retreat to and ponder things. She was still developing true mind and 
thought control, but she was doing excellent for a toon of her age. She will 
be very formidable one day, I think. Calamity Coyote reminded me so much 
of Wile E. it was spooky. Things he did, methods he used, and his creativity. 
And Fifi La Fume, the ever-passionate lavender skunkette--I never realized 
how gorgeous she was until I was sitting in a classroom with her. I'd find my 
eyes wandering--to meet hers!? She had also been watching me with similar 
thoughts. We... well... we had some special moments. I didn't want to hurt 
her by us getting too close. And she knew I was only a temporary student. It 
was difficult... for both of us. She is a sweet toon. But, there was always a 
strange mix of desperation and fickleness in her actions, as if she wasn't sure 
what she wanted, or was sure, or feared getting hurt and so became elusive. 
Her mind was like an endless field of broken eggshells: careful where you 
step or something could get upset.
    During that time I was able to confirm an earlier suspicion I had about 
Elmyra Duff, a human redhead. Elmyra has a unique gift: intricate 
knowledge of toon physiology and biology. Whether she knows she has it or 
not I do not know, but she has the ability to make it look like she is 
strangling or otherwise causing discomfort to a toon when, in actuality, the 
toon feels nothing. You have to know quite a bit about toon physiology and 
physical make-up to be able to twirl a cat in the air by its tail or put a chock-
hold on two rabbits without causing them pain. It took me several years of 
learning before I could grab and hold a rabbit by its ears without causing it 
discomfort. With Elmyra, it is mainly annoyance and the fear of her making 
you wear a baby bonnet and bib that caused animals to run.
    Classes at the Looniversity took on a whole new meaning as a student. 
Now, being smaller, the Looney Tunes seemed to be an intimidating, 
overpowering force, meaning well and teaching us very earnestly and 
carefully. During class, as the other toons would be scribbling notes about 
the lecture, I would be writing up their evaluations. As they asked questions I 
would analyze them.
    One time, I can remember vividly, we were in Foghorn Leghorn's class 
and I was particularly busy writing up an evaluation of him. I was so busy, in 
fact, that I hadn't noticed Foghorn had stopped talking and was staring right 
at me. I lifted my head and dropped my pencil. I was completely caught off-
guard. "Huh?" was all I could think to utter. Foghorn walked over to me 
rumbling about me not paying attention. I realized that I actually felt slightly 
worried and fearful of him. This toon form and experience can really affect a 
person's mind. He stopped at my desk and reached for my notebook. Using a 
bit of my power, the words on my notebook page began to swirl and change 
shape until my evaluation notes now resembled the class notes taken by 
Furball Cat, a blue alley cat seated next to me. Foghorn took my notebook 
and looked at the page. Seeing nothing but lecture notes and looking a bit 
annoyed and confused, he dropped my notebook back on my desk. Now back 
in control I conjured up an appropriate explanation.
    "I'm sorry, professor Leghorn, I just didn't want to forget anything from 
your lecture. I guess I was too busy writing." 
    Foghorn looked satisfied. "That's okay, son. I like, I say, I like to see a 
boy who knows how to take interest in his classes." Foghorn returned to the 
front of the room as the contents of my notebook page returned to my 
evaluation write-up. I relaxed, noticing that I had broken out into a bit of a 
sweat over that. As Foghorn continued his lecture I added a new subsection 
to his evaluation: he was never cross, even though he may have looked it, 
and though his voice was loud, he never exploded at the students. Giving that 
he was such a large toon it was the last thing he should do. From then on I 
always kept an ear out for what was being said. Furball was always one to 
keep good notes.
    Since becoming Alex I had put up a thought re-direction mechanism in 
my mind to spoof Wile E. that I was indeed on vacation in Australia, visiting 
with the cast from "Taz-Mania" (another of Warner Brothers short-lived 
semi-popular series from the early 90's). Wile E. never suspected that I was 
sitting right there in front of him, trying my best to look like I was struggling 
to solve one of the equations from the textbook. I remember times in Wile E. 
Coyote's class where he would be teaching some complex formulas and 
asking students in the class for answers to them. On occasion when he would 
ask me for the answer to a specific problem I would respond with more than 
what he wanted. He would stare, grumble, and go on. The other toons would, 
at times, snicker about this. Calamity, however, would look at me with silent 
admiration.
    Upon completion of the evaluations Alex's temporary enrollment at 
Acme Looniversity came to and end. Coincidentally, I returned from 
vacation the next day with evaluations in hand. The Tiny Toons were sad to 
see Alex go. "Aw, we'll see each other again sometime," Alex re-assured 
them. "I'm bound to be by here again."

    Two weeks later, after taking a *real* vacation to rest up and get use to 
being myself again, I presented the Toon Board of Education with the 
Looney Tunes' evaluations. I also presented the Bureau of Toon Psychology 
with the Tiny Toons' evaluations. Next, I met with all of the Looney Tunes 
that I evaluated at the Looniversity and presented them with copies of their 
evaluations. When they saw my name on them as being the one who 
performed the evaluation they broke out into questions.
    "Hey! You never did this?!"
    "You can't just make these up!"
    "You have to be in close observation of the subject for at least three 
weeks!"
    "This is a gyp!"
    "I am not egotistical!" (that was Daffy).
    I tried to interrupt the bantering: "Guys, guys, simmer down." I was 
abruptly cut off by a loud bang as a bullet whizzed by my head. I looked 
squarely at Yosemite Sam and the smoking six-shooter in his right hand. I 
extended my hand and the pistol was suddenly wrenched from Sam's grasp 
by an unseen force. The pistol floated quickly through the air and into my 
hand. I fingered the trigger and loosely waved the pistol about at the toons. 
For some reasoning which escaped me the group suddenly became quiet and 
attentive, their eyes fixed on me. "Thank you," I said quietly and set Sam's 
pistol on a nearby table. "As I was saying, I was in close observation for 
eight weeks." They began to look at me curiously.
    "You were out of the country, you were on vacation. Were you mind-
probing us? You didn't!"
    "Naw, I would never do that to you guys. Well, almost never," I retorted.
    "Then how...?"
    I closed my eyes and curled my arms to my sides. Momentarily, the door 
opened and Alex Fox walked in the room. "Hi, guys!" he quipped happily.
    "Alex? You used Alex to evaluate us? He isn't qualified to perform 
educational evaluations. He's a student, he's just a kid!"
    Alex and I gave each other a glance. "Are you sure?" I asked. "Are you 
really sure?" Alex walked up to Bugs and extended his hand. "Take his 
hand," I told Bugs. Hesitantly Bugs took Alex's outstretched hand as I began 
to pass my senses to Bugs, through Alex. Bugs dropped his hand.
    "It's some kind of trick," he said.
    "No. Maybe it's not," came Wile E.'s voice as he approached Alex and 
took his hand. Through our special bond Wile E. could see into Alex, and 
into me. "It is him, I see it. He *is* Alex."
The other toons looked bewildered.
    "But how?" Wile E. asked, dumbfounded. "Our minds are in constant 
communication. I saw you in Australia."
    "Well," I said, a bit sheepishly, "I am an all-powerful being, after all, but 
sorry to trick you. It had to be done." I then telepathically revealed to Wile E. 
the thought re-direction mechanism that had been feeding him the false 
thoughts.
    "Believe me, it wasn't easy," I thought to him.
    "Ingenious," was his reply.
    I sat down in a chair and Alex hopped up and sat on my knee. "Oh, c'mon 
guys, can't a nearly-omnipotent fox be in two places at once?" I asked. A 
quiet awe swept the room, replaced shortly with a torrent of inquisitive 
questions, congratulations, praise, and a few "You were there when I..." 
accusations.
    "So, am I cute or what?" I inquired, gesturing at Alex.

    I have not told the Tiny Toons themselves about Alex. It is not because I 
fear their reactions. It is simply not yet time to do so. There are other issues 
at hand. I will tell them one day, when the fact and impact of hearing it will 
blend into obscurity from the passage of time and the moment forgotten. For 
now they have taken my normal self on as sort of an adopted family 
member--sort of an eccentric uncle to their Tiny Toons family with Looney 
Tunes mentors. I am seen as someone to turn to for advice when a mentor or 
parent won't do, or just someone to join in on a baseball game. I enjoy their 
youth and company. And, I have the greatest hope for them and wish them 
well, as the other Looney Tunes do. For one day far away when we, the 
classic and aged toons of yesteryear, are faded and resemble only hollow 
shells of our younger selves, they will succeed us and continue our roles in 
the cartoon world with a strong new light. And, as we become lost to the 
void, they shall keep our memories alive and make us proud. That is their 
destiny. They are our legacy to our world.


CHAPTER 15
SQUIRRELS, CONTRACTS, EXPLOSIVES, AND COFFEE
--------------------------------------------

    "Now that's comedy!"
    "Iris out... and... cut! Way to go, Slappy. Another gem."
    "Ehhh, go stick your head in a sack of lemons."
    "Okay, everybody we're done. Get the set crew in here."
    An elderly gray squirrel trudged off of a cartoon filming set that she had 
just spent over an hour acting out a cartoon scene on. She was followed by a 
much younger, brown squirrel. Behind the two squirrels several toons 
converged onto the set and began dismantling it. The sound engineer went 
off to raid the fridge for any tidbits of food that might have survived the 
lunchtime mob scene. The director disappeared into the shadows.
    "Seltzer!" shouted the gray squirrel to anyone within earshot. A small 
rabbit obediently ran out of the soundstage. It returned a moment later 
proudly carrying a full seltzer bottle as if it were an Olympic torch. The gray 
squirrel took the bottle from the rabbit and immediately doused a nearby 
cameraman with a generous amount of the bottle's contents.
    "Ah!" sighed the squirrel happily. "That's better." The squirrel then 
walked over to a make-up table and mirror. She sat down at it and began to 
undo the make-up job that had been given to her that morning.
    "Seltzer," I thought to myself, "that's different."
    "Miss Squirrel?" I called as I walked over to the make-up table.
    The squirrel looked up at my reflection in the make-up mirror. "Cut the 
formalities, bub. This ain't no royal palace. Call me Slappy."
    "Slappy then," I acknowledged. "Nice job today."
    "Eh, today was nothin'," she replied disgustedly. "You shoulda seen me 
back in the 40's. I was putting it out ten times as good. My co-stars wouldn't 
last half the cartoon before being completely blown up. It'd take us a week to 
do one short they'd be in traction so much. Heh ha."
    Indeed I should have been there, but I hadn't been. Instead I had been 
doing who knows what, but I did remember her: the great Slappy Squirrel. 
She had been a young, chipper little squirrel, visually on the borderline of 
being excessively cute, and causing gratuitous chaos and comedy in her 
cartoon shorts. But she had been essentially thrown away by Warner 
Brothers in the early 50's, never achieving any significant popularity, and the 
Earth population never even seeing her at all. Now, forty years later she had 
been picked up and dropped into the cast of a new animated series called 
Animaniacs. She had, additionally, been re-drawn to reflect the look that the 
passing of forty years can make one look like, and now resembled a aged 
(but well-aged, in my opinion) squirrel. She was about half as tall as I. Her 
body suggested a general sagging look but she had an aged wit and cynic 
aerie as sharp and as potent as ever. Indeed the title song for her cartoon 
shorts referred to her as "the crankiest of creatures in the whole wide world", 
and this facet was what had peaked my interest in her and caused me to sit in 
on most of her recent cartoon shooting. Strangely, I never found her 
appealing back in the 40's. She had been too chipper and cute. Only now, 
after she had been aged, did she suddenly cause my brain to jump and dance 
around and try to wriggle out of one of my ears to run ecstatically through 
the streets of Hollywood proclaiming it had at last found happiness.
    Slappy continued: "Now days we got all these flippin' censors cutting half 
the things I want to do and directors that want less explosions and more plot 
and lessons for kids. Go fig."
    I pulled a stool over and sat down next to Slappy. I watched her as she 
became intensely fixated on her eyelashes.
    "My name's Andy Fox," I told her. "I work in the cartoon industry."
    "Yeah, I've seen you before," Slappy agreed, "...hangin' around on the 
sets. You handle contracts and junk."
    "Yes," I responded a bit hesitantly, "among other things."
With a free hand, Slappy dug through her purse, which was sitting on the 
make-up table. After fumbling around for a bit her hand emerged holding a 
set of papers stapled together. "Here," she said casually, thrusting the wad of 
papers at me. I took the papers and saw that they were, in fact, her contract 
with Warner Brothers.
    "I know you handle the Warner Kids' contracts," she said. "And you do a 
bunch of the other older Loonies too."
    "Sure. I..." I trailed off, unable to find anything relevant to say.
    "J, K, L. Look, Mac, how are you at handling sixty year-old squirrels who 
are thrust back into the spotlight after forty year sabbaticals?"
    "Ah, heh. Sorry to tell you, but you already have an agent who handles 
your contract."
    "Not anymore," responded Slappy, sounding oddly pleased. "I got rid of 
that slimy parasite this morning. He doesn't know comedy from a brick."
    "Mmm," I pondered. She had been back in the cartoon business for less 
than a month and had managed to fire her agent--outstanding woman. I 
watched her as she finished undoing her make-up. My gaze drifted around 
her body, from her thin, flat perfect gray feet to her short and furry legs and 
haunches, to her skilled fingers that could construct the most diabolical 
explosive devices a toon could think of, to her white cheeks, to her blue eyes, 
back down to her one protruding incisor, to her sweet white belly, and to her 
curled tail.
    Slappy eyed me curiously. "So how `bout it, Foxy? You up to the job?"
Foxy? No one had ever called me that. "I'd be glad to," I said, tucking her 
contract into my fur, "my pleasure."
    Why, oh why did she have to go and ask me to be her agent? Why did I 
accept? It just made what I had come over for in the first place that much 
more awkward.
    "Ah, there is something else I would like to ask you," I said, trying not to 
sound out of place.
    "Oh?" Slappy asked apprehensively.
    "Would you like to go have a cup of coffee with me... maybe paroose a 
few explosives catalogs?"
    Slappy eyed me as I made my proposition. Her eyes glinted as I 
mentioned explosives.
    "Eh?" Slappy squeaked with surprise.
    "I've been watching your recent cartoons. I enjoy them."
    "Yeah," said Slappy. "I saw you snickering during the shootings."
    "What can I say? You make me laugh, Slappy, especially when you're 
yelling at the filming crew, but it's more than that. I hope you don't think me 
too forward, but when I watch you I feel a strange happiness I've never felt 
before. Suddenly everything else in the world seems to blur and dissolve. I 
would like the honor of getting to know you better."
    "Ooh, a charmer," commented Slappy to an imaginary camera. She turned 
back to me and gave me a light right cross across my snout. "Snap out of it, 
bub. You're cute, but it takes more than that to win me over." Slappy 
finished with her make-up and turned around in her chair to face me. "Now," 
she continued, "if you were to find somethin' for me to throw at Beanie the 
Bison over there, I might consider your offer. Ya see I'm out of dynamite--
used up all I had on me during the shooting."
    Beanie was a portly, light brown fellow of a bison, a bit slow upstairs, 
your basic dopey villain. He was wearing his traditional attire consisting of a 
pair of blue and white sneakers and, of course, a beanie. He had co-starred 
with Slappy during her entire career of cartooning.
    "What'd he do to you?" I protested.
    "He missed his mark earlier and stepped on my tail with those big feet of 
his. I told him I'd get him back."
    "Ahhh, okay," I reluctantly agreed. To me this didn't justify retaliation 
with explosives, but who was I to judge. I fumbled around in my pockets for 
something to give Slappy.
    "Will this do?" I asked, holding out a small red stick of Acme dynamite.
Slappy took the explosive and examined it. She noticed it wasn't quite 
your normal stick of Acme dynamite, but with a dismissive shrug she lit the 
fuse and lobbed the dynamite through the air towards Beanie.
    "Hey, Beanie! Heads up!" she called.
    "Duh, what is..." was all Beanie could get out before the dynamite 
reached him and promptly exploded in his face. Now, besides the normal 
"Bang!" sound one normally expects when a stick of dynamite explodes, a 
strange "Thoop!" had also sounded. And, after the normal outward explosion 
of debris and flame that accompanies a dynamite explosion, all of the matter 
in the immediate vicinity of the dynamite seemed to be sucked back inwards 
after the initial explosion, towards the explosion's epicenter, and, as it 
happened, towards Beanie as well. A large amount of the matter that was 
sucked back inwards happened to be in the form of a large metal filing 
cabinet, which crashed into Beanie with a loud thud.
    The thoroughly exploded and dazed bison stumbled around for a bit, and 
knocked into the boom of a hanging microphone. This caused the other end 
of the microphone to swing wildly about. It ended up slamming into the head 
of a goose who had just taken a good swig of hot tea. Upon the impact of the 
microphone the goose's beak decided to violently release its contents back 
out into the world and in the direction of another goose that the first goose 
was talking to. Meanwhile Beanie lay lifeless on the floor, doing a very good 
impression of a smoldering pile of ashes.
    "What the heck was that?" whispered Slappy in astonishment.
    "Acme's Little Giant Firecracker series--carbon enriched, 90% infused 
nitro, with conical-focused inverted blast gravity well--Part #25859B-C-N9-
CI." 
    Slappy's mouth opened and her cheeks lifted, giving her the happy, yet 
confused look one might see on a small boy's face who has just found out 
that the rare comic he had been seeking for all of his life was now for sale for 
a mere 50 cents. She uttered a sort of happy-dumb "Haaaaaaa."
I took this reaction as a positive one and produced a handful of similar 
explosives from my pocket. "I have some more," I said, suggestively.
    "My man!" exclaimed Slappy as she leapt into the air and wrapped her 
arms around my neck. Unconsciously my hands moved to support her 
weight. The explosives telepathically returned to my pocket.
    "Ooh, not bad," Slappy commented at my reflex as she examined her 
situation.
    "My, aren't we direct?" I asked coyly.
    "Hey, don't knock it," she warned.
    "Not me," I said.
    "Heh Ha!" Slappy laughed, and called over to the young brown squirrel 
who was currently engaged in a conversation with the small rabbit who had 
brought Slappy the seltzer bottle. "Skippy!"
    The brown squirrel turned to see his aunt being held rather tenderly by a 
somewhat sheepish-looking fox. I gently set Slappy down and tried to look 
as if nothing had happened.
    "Yeah, Aunt Slappy?" called the brown squirrel.
    "Go ahead home," Slappy called. "I got some business to take care of. I'll 
be there in a while."
    "Alright, Aunt Slappy," called Skippy and returned to his conversation 
with the rabbit.
    As we left the soundstage I looked over at Beanie who was stumbling to 
his feet. I sensed he was all right. I wondered if Slappy knew that I recently 
acquired his contract as well.

    We walked to a nearby specialty diner which caters primarily to the 
yuppies of L.A. The fact that the diner attracted yuppies was not the reason I 
had chosen it. Rather, it was the fact that the diner boasted 25 distinct nut-
flavored coffee blends. When we arrived Slappy gave me a look which you 
might give to someone when that someone has just taken you somewhere 
you know is too expensive to eat but have always wanted to go.
    "Are you tryin' to impress me?" asked Slappy, sounding a bit skeptical.
    "I hadn't planned on it," I said. "I just thought we could have a nice 
time." I could tell Slappy saw right through my fabrication, but to her credit 
she said nothing.
    We entered the diner and seated ourselves at a small, square table. A 
yellow cat with a white face, chest, and belly appeared at our table and very 
pleasantly tried to make it known using body language that she had better 
things to do with her life then wait on tables.
    "In that case," Slappy responded, turning to the waitress, "I'll have the 
walnut-almond black bean blend." 
    The waitress looked uninterestedly over to me. "Neopon Mist." I told her, 
and very pleasantly added, in my own body language, that we were done 
ordering for now and to please find someone else to bother for a while.
    "Ah, I knew it," proclaimed Slappy. "You're a yutz."
    "A yutz?" I asked, taken aback.
    "Yeah, only yutzes drink that stuff--all smoky and wishy-washy."
    "Sorry."
    "Ah, don't worry. There's hope for you. Heh ha."
    "I hope this isn't too boring for you," I said, looking around a bit. "You 
probably would have preferred something more along the lines of a monster 
car show or something."
    "Ahhh!" Slappy waved her hand dismissively, "That's just my day job, 
which I love. But there's more to me than pyrotechnics, demolitions, and 
gratuitous anvil dropping. I like to relax like anyone else, especially if it 
happens to be with a cute fox who knows his explosives."
    The waitress again appeared at our table, this time with our coffees. She 
set them down with all the aerie and mannerism of someone who had just 
been informed by her supervisor that the people she was waiting on were 
rather important ones in the world of cartoons and that their presence could 
be good publicity for the diner. And, as a matter of coincidence, that was 
precisely what had happened. The waitress lingered for a bit at the table, not 
sure if she should say something about the $4.10 tab or not. I slid a five-
dollar note her way, covering half with my paw. She took the bill and 
dismissed herself, unaware that something had been affixed to its downside. 
Slappy, however, did notice and she eyed me devilishly.
    "Subtle, Fox," commented Slappy. "But where's the motive? You can't 
just blow someone up without a reason."
    "I know," I told her. "Wait."
    Slappy was willing to accept my suggestion and changed the subject. "So, 
Fox," she began, sampling her coffee, "where've ya been all my life?" 
Slappy once again caught me off-guard by calling me simply "Fox", a 
familiar address that I had picked up over time and was used only with good 
friends.
    "Ah... heh. Oh, around--mostly occupied with unimportant matters."
    A small explosion somewhere in the diner caused everyone to 
momentarily look up. At a table on the other end of the diner sat a large, 
stout, smoking and badly singed beaver who had just received five dollars in 
change from a very shaken waitress.
    "Your x-agent?" I ventured innocently, acting as if nothing unusual had 
happened.
    "Fox," Slappy began accusingly, observing the scene, "you're mean." 
Then her voice changed to a tone of approval: "I like it."
    "Heh ha!" we both chuckled.
    "Subtle, Fox. Real subtle. I'm impressed. How'd you know he'd get the 
five?"
    "Good ears," I said, scratching one, "and a bit of foresight. I've seen him 
here before and noticed he always orders a sandwich with wood chips and an 
Evian. He always gets a five in change. It's all in the timing," I reflected.
    I dug in my pocket and produced something looking very similar to what I 
had affixed to the five-dollar bill I have given the waitress.
    "Focused-field explosive with secondary-field trigger detonator," I said, 
handing it to Slappy.
    "Really?" she asked, taking the explosive and examining it. "What else 
you got in those pockets?"

    We talked through our coffees, first about that day's cartoon filming, then 
about different parts of L.A. they we both hated, and then about how grand it 
would be to blow up some people we knew. As time passed the subject 
drifted to the older days of cartoons as we both reminisced about events long 
past. We continually surprised each other by remembering similar events.
    "So George and Astro told them to go flush themselves down a toilet," 
Slappy explained.
    "So that's why they cancelled the show?" I asked.
    "Yup," agreed Slappy. "Although I hear Wally Gator put George up to it."
    "Wally had his own problems," I said, "arguing with Magilla Gorilla that 
he was just a cheap parody of Wally. At the same time Wally being bothered 
by Top Cat that Wally was a cheap copy of him."
    "Heh ha, yeah. Hanna and Barbera kept cranking out all those guys and 
they started arguing with each other over everything."
    "And almost all using Daws Butler or Don Messick voices."
    Slappy seemed to quietly reflect for a moment. "You've been around here 
for a long time, haven't ya?" she asked.
    I nodded. "Since `42. That's when I became a toon I mean. Actually I first 
came here back in `36. This place sure wasn't much to look at back then, and 
neither was I. Becoming a toon was the greatest thing that ever happened to 
me. I just hope I've brought the form justice."
    "Ah well," groaned Slappy, again waving her hand in a dismissive 
gesture, "you're a toon alright, just as much as I got gray hair. Heh ha!"
    "And I've never been happier," I finished, filling my mouth with a 
generous amount of not-so-hot-anymore liquid. "I can't believe I'm falling 
for a squirrel," I thought to myself, "a potential dinner, delicacy of foxes 
everywhere, but not always true in the world of toons."
    "So can you really... you know, do all that stuff I hear you can do?" 
inquired Slappy.
    I extended my right index finger and thumb with a one inch gap between 
them. A small arch of electricity appeared and danced between the two 
extended digits for several seconds, accompanied by a sound of air being 
charged and discharged by electricity.
    "Warners could save tons by letting you do their special effects," Slappy 
commented, sipping her pungent nutty-flavored drink.
    "Actually I've never thought about that," I pondered. "So, how did you 
end up back on the cartoon scene?" I asked.
    Slappy stared at her cup for a second as if it held the answer to my 
question. "I was just hangin' around the town all those years, perfecting my 
art. Then out of the blue I get a call from Warners saying they wanted me in 
some new cartoon show. I felt like shoving a microphone stand down their 
throat for leaving me in the gutter for forty years, but I figured a paycheck's 
a paycheck. This new cartoon show was going to star those Warner kids. I 
thought that might make things interesting--with them around causing chaos 
and driving everyone crazy. So I figured, `What the heck?' and agreed. After 
the initial casting was completed they came in and said they were gonna re-
draw me to look like a squirrel my age ought to look like," At this point 
    Slappy looked down and gave herself a once-over. "Whatever that means. I 
wasn't too happy about it, I can tell you. But I suppose it's grown on me. I 
donno. You saw me before. What do you think of it?"
    My mind was swimming with her words, or was it the Neopon Mist? "I 
like it," I said dreamily.
    "You... like this?" Slappy asked, with a mixture of surprise and happiness 
in her words. She re-examined herself to see if she had suddenly changed 
appearance.
    "It's beautiful," I confirmed. "It's perfect. I'm not sure why, but when I 
see it I want to... well..." I couldn't help but smile a bit mischievously, "get 
to know it better." I had, though I did not know it, said something that made 
Slappy very happy and more at ease with herself.
    "Look, Fox. Are you for real?" Slappy asked seriously.
    I took her right paw in mine and let my fingers play with hers. I looked 
deep into her eyes, which were busy looking back at mine.
    "I try," I said warmly.
    Slappy made a sound of approval. "I've never dated my own agent 
before," she offered. "Never dated any agents before," she continued, "too 
degrading."
    "I've never dated a client," I offered back.
    Slappy tapped a finger on my arm: "Well, I don't think that's gonna get in 
the way of anything for us."
    I agreed.

    As we left the diner I found the waitress who had taken our order and 
passed her a fifty note and my apologies for startling her. She passed me 
back a little smile and thanked me, indicating that she was all right.
    "You think they'll let you back in there," Slappy asked as we exited the 
diner, "you blowing up the guests and all?"
    "Don't worry," I said, "I go there every now and then. They expect 
strange little things like this. It keeps the place interesting-draws some new 
patrons." And, I added silently, the fifty should cover any property damage 
issues.
    Slappy smiled back. We stood on the sidewalk in pleased silence for a 
few seconds, wondering which one of us should break it, and with what.
    "So, Fox," asked Slappy, "what am I thinking right now?"
    "I have no idea," I said honestly.
    "Eh, what about all those psychic powers I hear you have?"
    "What about them?" I said.
    "You mean you haven't been..."
    "No, I haven't. That would be rude."
    "Oh," responded Slappy, sounded a bit disappointed. I sighed a bit. Why 
did my powers always have to be brought up? I wondered about this for a 
few seconds until I realized Slappy had been playfully elusive and wanted 
me to discover what she was thinking.
    "You were thinking," I offered softly, "that you could use a ride home."
    "Oh, really?" she asked back, smiling.
    I pulled out a small silver block from somewhere in my fur and tossed it 
gently in front of us. As it fell through the air the block began to change 
shape and grow in size until it resembled something similar to a space car 
from a science fiction movie. It was roughly arrow-shaped, with a short, 
slender nose about 3 feet long with two open seats behind it. Behind the seats 
the craft's arrow shape continued for a few feet more before terminating in a 
flourish of intricate and fancy, but mainly useless, tail fins. The craft hovered 
silently several inches off of the ground. It looked sleek and small, and most 
importantly, stylish.
    "Eh, what the heck is that thing?" queried Slappy.
    "My transport," I said. "It's something I built."
    "Looks like somethin' out of Star Wars."
    "Eh, never cared too much for that movie myself," I commented. "It can 
look like lots of different things. This configuration is something I made up a 
few years ago--just for fun. Get on," I told her, gesturing to the seats. She 
shrugged and stepped on to the floor platform and sat down. She wiggled 
around a bit in the large, cushioned seat.
    "Hmm. Comfy."
    I walked around to the other side of the transport and sat down in the 
other seat. She looked over to me. "So does this thing actually move or does 
it just sit around and look expensive?"
    I grunted a happy little grunt and fiddled with some switches and levers 
on a control panel in front of me. There was an odd little "Foop!" sound as 
an invisible shield formed around the transport. Slappy waited expectantly. 
Without warning, the transport suddenly shot into the air at a 45 degree 
ascent angle. The ground fell away at a giddy speed as we left Los Angeles 
behind. Slappy gripped the arms of her chair in wild panic as her face 
contorted to a grimace of g-force pressure.
    "Yeeeaaaaeeeeaaaaeeaaahhh!" yelled Slappy, coiling back into her chair.
There was, however, no g-force to be felt. One of the features of the 
transport is a gravitational acceleration force damping field which counters 
any inertial forces from changes in velocity and direction. I explained this to 
Slappy as she stared fixedly in front of her at the blue sky.
    "Yaaw," she said shakily. "But it's fun to do sometimes anyway," she 
added after re-composing herself.
    Our ascent flattened out. The ground stretched out beneath us as and we 
shot across it with tremendous velocity at a relative distance of 1500 feet. 
About one minute later, L.A. was far behind us, along with the rest of 
California, Arizona, and New Mexico. Slappy looked down at the ground 
speeding by underneath. The land on the right had given way to a large body 
of water. A coastline and several long islands were beneath us.
    "Galveston Island, Texas, down there," I commented.
    "Woah hoah, baby!" Slappy exclaimed. "Now that's what I'm talkin' 
about."
    I played with the control panel instruments a bit more, then sat back and 
put my feat up on the top rim of the control panel. The transport slowed and 
gently arched, turning back in the direction of Los Angeles.
    "I'd say it moves," I quipped. "Sort of a round-about way to your place, I 
admit. But it is more enjoyable than spending 20 minutes in Los Angeles 
traffic." My toes began doodling invisible designs in the air.
    "Oh yeah!" agreed Slappy. "Hey ah, Fox, you know where I live?" she 
asked.
    "Ah, not yet," I admitted, sitting up. I tapped my fingers around on a 
small touch-sensitive screen on the control panel. The screen lit up with a 
large telephone company logo and the words: "The Toon Yellow Pages - Los 
Angeles Area." I tapped a few more times on the screen and Slappy's 
address and phone number appeared on the screen.
    "That it?" I asked, gesturing to the screen.
    "It ain't the Shirt Tails' tree, bub. Heh ha!"
    I put my feat back up and relaxed. Slappy did as well.
    "This ain't so bad," she concluded. "Nice view."
    After a few minutes the transport began to turn again and I glanced off to 
the left to see a DC-9 rising from the Albuquerque Airport several miles 
away. The transport continued to arch and dive a bit to stay clear of the 
aircraft and avoid entering the airport's commercial flight lanes. After a few 
moments it returned to level flight. I glanced at the screen on the control 
panel, which now resembled an Air Traffic Control radar display indicating 
the DC-9 and a course correction.
    "What, you got some kind of auto-guidance deal-y on this thing or 
something?" inquired Slappy.
    "Yuppers," I replied.
    Several silent minutes passed as we both enjoyed the scenery and each 
other's company. The only sound was the gentle "whoosh" of air flowing 
along the outer edge of the transport's force field and a low hum from the 
transport's matter displacement drive. Soon the familiar outline of Los 
Angeles appeared and grew larger in front of and below us. The transport 
slowly descended into the city and merged into the road traffic. I sat up and 
navigated our way along to Slappy's home.

    Slappy's home was in fact, a tree: a large oak whose innards had been 
hollowed out to make a very comfortable three-story home just perfect for a 
pair of squirrels. The tree stood in a city park, surrounded by a few houses, 
with the city buildings of L.A. proper looming on the near distance.
I stopped the transport in front of Slappy's front door.
    "Okay?" I asked.
    "Thoroughly," stated Slappy.
    I stepped down and walked around the transport to her side.
    "Don't be a stranger, Fox," Slappy said, stepping down to the ground. 
    "You find yourself with some free time, call me up. We'll go paint the town, 
or blow it up. Heh ha!"
    "Sure thing, Slappy," I replied.
    Slappy turned and walked into her house. As she was half way through 
her front door she tossed something over her shoulder to me. With a swift 
reflex I caught it. It immediately exploded in my face.
    "Heh ha!" laughed Slappy as she shut the door behind her.
    I stood dazed for a second or two. A small piece of shredded wrapping 
from the explosive floated down and landed on my snout. I picked it off and 
looked at it. In tiny letters it read: "When you care enough to use the very 
best, choose Acme high-yield black powders." A model number was also 
printed on the wrapper. It was one of the very finest, rarest, and most 
expensive items in Slappy's private supply of explosives. I sighed happily; 
we would definitely be seeing each other again.


CHAPTER 16
SURROGATE MENTOR, ECCENTRIC UNCLE, AND FRIEND
---------------------------------------------

    I had arrived at my office bright and early to catch up on some work 
before having to go over to Acme Looniversity for the better part of the day. 
I arrived at my office at 7:00. I was expected at the Looniversity one hour 
later.
    After completing my daily routine of reviewing new character profiles 
and addressing client requests I settled down to paroose the current issue of 
VarieToon and enjoy a hot cup of tea.
    "Let's see how accurate they are today." I thought to myself as I paged 
through the magazine to an article entitled: "Bear Brawl Turns Into Studio 
Scramble: Humphry Claims Character Deformation."
    The press was pretty well informed as to the goings on in the world of 
cartoon animation. What they couldn't find out they speculated on, and boy 
how they speculated. I was deeply engrossed in an editorial about how 
Disney seemed to be denying any existence of some of it's own characters 
when the intercom on my desk crackled to life.
    "A Babs Bunny to see you, sir." came the voice of the staff receptionist.
    "At this time of morning?" I thought to myself. "What the heck is she 
doing around here before school?"
    "Okay," I replied, "send her in."
Babs entered my office with an energetic flourish only a toon of her age 
could muster at 7:30 AM on a Monday.
    "Hiya, Andy," she said, full of pep and cheer. "What's the dish?"
    By this time the Tiny Toons had resigned from addressing me as "Mr. 
Fox" and had become more adept at conversing with me on less formal 
terms. It had been a half-year since their evaluations. Their first summer 
vacation from school had came and went, and the Tiny Toons had become a 
more familiar sight to me as they were mentored by the Looney Tunes. I, on 
the other hand, had also become a regular sight in their lives as well, as their 
agent and as someone often seen with their mentors.
    I showed Babs the VarieToon magazine I was reading.
    "Eeeew," Babs shivered and cringed in fear.
    "Yeah, I know, but someone has to read it."
    Babs re-composed herself and hopped up on a chair in front of my desk. 
"Anyway," she began in her regular, bright voice, "I wanted to ask you 
about, well, Buster. That-is, me and Buster... Buster and myself."
    "Okay," I said, folding my magazine in half and reaching for my cup of 
tea.
    "You know the whole `No Relation' gag we do on the show. I just wanna 
know... is it true? I mean, do we have any chance together?"
    "I don't quite follow you," I said, sipping my tea.
    "Buster won't talk to me about his family--his parents. I don't know 
what he's trying to hide. I just want to know if we will be able to..."
Babs was doing the best she could to explain something she had never had 
to try to explain to someone before. Buster and Babs Bunny were more then 
just co-stars on a cartoon series, they were more than just boyfriend and 
girlfriend. But Babs had a family: a mother, father, and dozens of brothers 
and sisters. Buster, on the other hand, had been created with no discernable 
family. Maybe there was a reference to a parent here and there, but no visible 
evidence was ever presented to the viewing public, or to any of the other 
Tiny Toons for that matter. Rumors had floated about concerning who 
Buster's parents were, and this is what Babs had been alluding to. Were they 
truly not related as the constantly reminded the audience? And, if so, did 
Buster's family situation, whatever it turned out to be, prevent the two 
rabbits from going any further in their relationship?
    "Don't worry, Babs," I assured her. "No you aren't, and yes you can. But 
it's not my place to say anything more on the matter. Buster is the one to 
ask."
    Babs looked both relieved and embarrassed for asking. "Oh... okay," she 
consented. "Good."
    I nodded and took another sip of tea.
    "Say, as long as I've got your ear, could you get me to see Roger Rabbit?"
    "What?" I asked, nearly choking on my tea.
    "Roger Rabbit," she repeated. "You know--the Disney toon?"
    "Roger? Of course I know who he is. But why would you want to see 
him?"
    "To talk shop, ya know... wild takes, gags, things like that."
    "With Roger?" Babs had me completely baffled with this unexpected 
desire to see a toon who, as far as I knew, had been nothing but a joke to the 
Tiny Toons. "I thought you guys didn't like him," I ventured, "not too crazy 
about Disney toons in general."
    "Oh," Babs said, waving her hand at something, "That's just comedy, and 
the writers. I'd really like to get the chance to yak with him for a while, one 
professional to another."
    Professional? Babs Bunny referred to Roger Rabbit as a professional? I 
wondered if she had fallen down the stairs that morning and wasn't thinking 
straight. Or, maybe she had grown to understand why toons act the way they 
act, and recognize toons for what they do, not for what animation company 
they do it for. She was, after all, striving to be a comedian, and Roger was 
currently a popular slapstick icon to young audiences. I guess I had her 
pegged wrong.
    I started to ask another question but Babs cut me short: "It's a rabbit 
thing."
    "I see. And what makes you think I can find him, let alone get him to see 
you?"
    "Oh, C'mon, Andy," Babs said, sounding a bit cross. "You were his 
lawyer in court back when the movie came out, And I heard you still work 
with him. Aren't you his agent?"
    "How did she find that out?" I wondered, attempting to find solace in my tea. 
    "I suppose so," I sighed.
    "So, you can get me to see him, right?"
    "You sure you aren't going to drop an anvil on him?"
    "Cross my heart," she replied, and did so accordingly.
    "Alright then," I answered. "He isn't that hard to see though, Babs. He's 
here every Thursday morning for check-in. I can arrange to get you out of 
class to come here and see him if you like. I'm sure he would enjoy seeing 
you as well."
    "Oh that'd be great, Andy."
    "It's nothing, I assure you."
    "All right," Babs exclaimed and triumphantly punched the air with a pink 
fist. "By the way," she began again, tapping her finger on my desk, 
"speaking of shop, why did they re-do that gag in `Queen Babs' and dress up 
that stage-hand to be my agent instead of you?"
    "It's a bit complicated," I confessed, "but basically, there are certain 
reasons why I can't appear in any commercial cartoons destined for the 
human audience."
    "Say," Babs said skeptically, putting one hand on her hips and pointing 
the other accusingly in my direction, "just how come you're the acting agent 
for all of us anyway?"
    "Well," I began, putting my tea down and lacing my fingers together, 
"being as you all were a bit young and new to the cartoon acting world, it 
was decided that a suitable agent should be assigned for all of you--someone 
who understands new toons, someone who was diverse enough to be able to 
handle so many different toons with so many different talents, someone 
who's done this sort of thing before." I shrugged: "They picked me."
    "Well," Babs retorted suspiciously, "weren't you lucky. But still, they 
could have picked someone else. How did *you* get it?"
    "Let's just say," I replied with my best imitation of Marlin Brando from 
The Godfather, "that they wanted to keep it inside the family."
    Not completely interested in my implied comment Babs smiled 
mischievously. She cocked a finger at me. "Not a bad imitation."
    "Thanks," I said back. "I try."
    So who was this `they' anyhow?" she inquired, thumbing her nose, 
"Some executives from WB?"
    "Well, not completely," I smiled. "Once you toons learn a few more 
things and get careers going a bit more you'll all be able to chose your own 
agents, should you choose to."

    I pulled back my arm fur to reveal a wristwatch and glanced at it. It was 
7:46 AM. "I'm going to the Looniversity today to give a science lesson," I 
told Babs. "Can I give you a ride?"
    Babs gasped and looked down at her own watch with a bit of a start. 
"Wow, I'm late," she remarked. "Thanks for the ride, but I gotta go meet 
Buster."
    With that she scampered out of my office, yelling goodbye over her 
shoulder to me as she disappeared from sight.
    To this day, no Tiny Toon has elected to hire a different agent to represent 
him, or herself.

    I spent that morning at Acme Looniversity. I had been asked to be the 
guest speaker for Toon Physics 1501, a relatively advanced course, where I 
had been elected to discuss many of the unique aspects of the world of 
physics and how it related to the toon physiology. Demonstrations included: 
solid and liquid re- constitution of a toon form after being demolish by a 
heavy object, the unique properties of the classic "painted scene on canvas" 
mechanics, and how the toon body coherence field works. This last 
demonstration included me picking Buster Bunny from the class to stand up 
front while I grabbed the base of his long ears, plucked them right off of his 
head, and began to juggle with them, causing mixed reactions from the rest 
of the class. The exercise demonstrated that, if you know how the toon 
coherence field works, you could learn to do some pretty wild takes and 
gags. Buster got his ears back and never experienced one ounce of 
discomfort from the ordeal.

    To put it simply, Shirley the Loon is a clairvoyant with telepathic and 
telekinetic abilities who likes to dabble in sorcery, and practices a life-style 
of spiritual enlightenment and Zen philosophies. She prefers tofu to meat, 
uses a crystal ball when necessary, and levitates while in trance. Serve that 
between two pieces of bread and you'd have a sandwich Rush Limbaugh 
would have trouble finishing. And because there were so few toons with 
psychic abilities, I was just a tad fascinated with her.
    She found me later that day in the teacher's office that connects rooms 
302 and 303. I was seated at a desk going through Bugs' grade book and 
reviewing the Tiny Toons' test scores from a test that had been given that 
morning.
    "Uh, like, Hi, Andy," Shirley said, poking her head around the doorway.
    "Shirley," I said, somewhat surprised. "What a nice surprise. How are 
you?"
    "Oh, okay," she replied quickly, the rest of her body appearing in the 
doorway. "Can I, like, talk to you for a second?"
    "No problem," I replied, putting down Bugs' grade book and sliding it off 
to the side. "What's up?"
    "Listen, Andy. You, like, know there aren't too many toons with psychic 
powers around."
    "Yes?" I said, already seeing where this was going.
    "Well... I know you have powers like mine. I was wondering if I could, 
like, talk to you about them--just some advice, or some junk."
    "Sure, Shirley. I'd be happy to." Did I mention Shirley's Valley Girl 
dialect?
    "Like, thanks," she said, sounding relieved.
    "I know what you mean," I told her. "It's hard to talk about some things 
to people who can't relate."
    "You, like, totally understand."
    "Come here," I said, holding out a paw to her. She took it cautiously.
    "It's just sometimes it's, like, so hard to have no one to turn to and junk. 
Sometimes I even, like, wonder if something's wrong with me that I don't, 
like, have anyone to mentor me with them."
    "There's nothing wrong with you, dear," I said, trying to re-assure her. At 
that instant she seemed so small and lost in the world that my heart went out 
to her. "You've just been endowed with a few extra gifts. You just need a bit 
of guidance." I added in a quiet tone: "Just between you and me, why 
Warners created a psychic toon and gave her no one to help her out is beyond 
me. I know I'm probably not be what you're looking for in a mentor, but I'm 
here, and I'd like to help if I could."
    I felt a curious little poke in my mind from Shirley attempting to verify 
my statement. So few toons have ever read my mind that I found the action a 
bit unsettling.
    "You're serious, aren't you?" she asked, expectantly.
    I nodded. "You don't do that with your professors, do you?" I asked 
flatly.
    I felt a small wave of fear and anxiety from Shirley. Apparently she 
wasn't use to people being able to sense when she read their minds. Now 
both of us had been a bit unsettled.
    "Like, no way," she replied, quite frankly.
    "Careful," I said, "I do sub here from time to time."
Shirley looked like she wanted to climb inside of her notebook and hide.
    "Ah," I brushed the conversation aside, "don't worry."
    "So, like, can I ask you something right now?" she asked, trying to hide 
her eagerness.
    "Ask away."
    "How do you, like, keep so centered when you, like, read minds and 
junk?"
    "Centered?" I didn't adopt the same lifestyle of tofu and aura cleansing as 
Shirley and found her terminology somewhat vague.
    "Yeah. Sometimes I get, like, so entranced with it, the whole thing totally 
takes me over. I get too much information, and have mondo trouble breaking 
the connection. How do you do it?"
    "Hmmmm," I pondered. "Not sure how to answer that. Let's try this. Try 
and read my mind. Meanwhile I'll read yours and observe your technique."
    "Um, `kay," Shirley said. She pulled over a chair and sat down facing me. 
I rested an elbow on the table and looked back at her silently.
With surprisingly little visible cues, she began to enter my mind.
    "How are you so far?" I asked.
    "I'm, like, totally fine so far," she answered.
    "Let's try something simple," I said. "I'm thinking of a number."
    "Um, okay. Cute," she giggled, and began to probe my thoughts. After a 
couple seconds she responded: "Twenty-eight. How'm I doing?"
    "Fine, but I'm noticing something not quite right. Let's try something 
else--something less concrete. See if you can tell me what I had for lunch."
    "Okay," Shirley said happy, pleased that she was able to practice her 
skills with someone who could guide her with them.
    "Ah," she muttered after a few seconds. As she concentrated I began to 
sense more and more tension in her psyche. She was becoming unbalanced 
and unstable. To use her words, she was "becoming uncentered."
    "Stop," I said firmly, actively breaking her psychic connection with me. 
"I think I see the problem."
    Shirley blinked several times and shook her head to clear her senses.
"It started happening," she began, "like it does some times. Did you sense 
it? Do you know what, like, happened, or some junk?"
    "Yep," I said confidently. "The problem is you are trying too hard. You 
establish the mental link, but you don't just let it stop there. You pour more 
and more energy into it, sending more and more return thoughts back into 
your own head. You are, in a way, overloading your own psyche. You need 
to focus less on the process of sifting through thoughts. Your own mind will 
do that for you. Just let the link guide itself. Treat it in a more passive manor. 
Don't focus on it so much."
    Shirley listened intently as I explained, her eyes fixed on me as if what I 
had to say was the most important thing in the world.
    "Going after specific things, concrete, unchanging thoughts, like a 
number or a favorite color, or a thought that is very strong in someone's 
mind, like when Plucky wants to ask you out on a date, is no problem and 
you have no trouble with that. It's when you have to dig around for a thought 
or idea that isn't plainly evident and requires extrapolation from several 
different thoughts that causes you to become uncentered. The problem in the 
test I just gave you was, I haven't had lunch yet. You were so intent on 
searching for a thought that you didn't realize that you were beginning to 
lose yourself in the process."
    "So, I have to, like, just let it come to me, and not go after it?"
    "Exactly. Your mind will use the link to get the answers for you. Don't 
force it."
    "That is, like, totally fascinating, or some junk."
    "Would you like to try one more time?"
    "Sure."
    "Okay. This time, see if you can figure out what television program I 
watched this morning before coming in to work."
Again I felt her begin to enter my mind.
    "Remember," I said softly, "don't force it. Just let it come."
    I felt her psychic energy ebb off some. She continued to sit quietly for 
several seconds. This time she did not force the thought sifting process, but 
instead merely monitored it for the desired information. I also noticed the 
elegant simplicity in which she moved around in my mind. She was indeed a 
unique toon. After a few seconds more she gave her answer, as if reading it 
from a piece of paper: "You, like, didn't watch TV this morning. You had 
the radio on." She breathed a sigh of relief and disappeared from inside my 
mind.
    "Excellent," I commented.
    "Like, Wow! I, like, totally did it. Thanks mondo for the spiritual insight, 
Andy."
    "Just don't go wearing yourself out now trying this out."
    Shirley leaped onto my lap and gave me an appreciative hug. Then she 
jumped down and collected her things, and checked her hair.
    "Is it okay if I, like, come to you again sometime?"
    "Perfectly. That's what I'm here for."
    "Like, super!" she said, slipping out the doorway. "Thanks again. See 
`ya."

    During that day at the Looniversity I had invited several members of the 
staff to join me in a match or two of tennis after work. And so it came to be 
that at around 3:30 Bugs Bunny, Porky Pig, Wile E. Coyote, and myself were 
playing tennis in the back yard of my mansion.
    The score had been consistently lopsided with Porky and myself losing to 
Bugs and Wile E., and I began to understand why Wile E. and Bugs had been 
so eager to pair off against Porky and myself when I had invited them. It 
wasn't that Porky and I were worse payers than they were. We weren't. It 
had more to do with the fact that principals and deans have a lot more stress 
to release after a day of working at a college than a professor and substitute 
do.
    "Maybe it's time you used your powers," chided Bugs, sending the tennis 
ball my way.
    "Shut up," I retorted and smacked the ball into a different time zone.
    Wile E. produced a new ball and sent it towards me: "We're gonna need 
more balls," he mumbled.
    I returned the ball to Bugs with perfect form. "No powers. Happy?"
    "Ecstatic," Wile E. commented.
    "You did good today at the Loo, Fox," Bugs complimented. "Da kids 
really listened to what you had to say. You have a good way with `dem 
youngsters. I think they learned a few things today."
    "Thanks, Bugs." I sent the ball towards Wile E. He sent the ball back to 
Porky with great velocity. Porky ran backwards and prepared to give the ball 
a good whack, but ended up crashing into a trash barrel and falling head-
over-heals into it. As he toppled over, a look of extreme concentration 
flashed across his face for a split second. As he disappeared from sight he 
threw his racket at the on-coming ball. It spun wildly as it flew threw the air 
and made perfect contact with the ball, returning it to the other half of the 
court.
    Wile E. and I both watched the action with surprise and awe. Bugs, 
however, had his eyes on the ball, which was coming right at him. He cursed 
something under his breath and whacked the ball hard and at a high angle, 
sending it flying into the stratosphere before plummeting back down like a 
flaming meteor.
    "Shoot!" I exclaimed and scrambled after the ball. I reached it just in time 
see it fly right past my racket and rebound against the back fence. As I 
watched the ball I heard Bugs snickering. Meanwhile Porky had extracted 
himself from the trash barrel.
    "How did I do?" he asked.
    "Great, Porky," I complimented sarcastically. "Don't ever do it again. Or 
at least, return it to Wile E. next time. I think you got Bugs mad."
    "Im-im-imagine that," Porky said slyly.
    Suddenly the intercom box located near the net began to beep. 
Telepathically I pressed the "Talk" button.
    "Yes?" I said, throwing my voice at the intercom speaker, but I could 
already sense the reason for the call, as the morning conversation with Babs 
sprang to mind. "Oh, geez," I thought, "she's been bothering him about it. 
My fault I guess."
    The intercom responded: "A Buster Bunny is here to see you."
    "Cripes!" I exclaimed. "The whole clan is after me. What'd you tell them, 
Bugs?"
    "Nothin', Doc," Bugs insisted.
    I pointed a finger at Bugs and made a very obvious flourish to suggest 
that I was preparing to read his mind and get my own answers.
    "Hey!" Bugs protested. I dropped my finger.
    I again pressed the "talk" button on the intercom box: "Let him in and 
show him `round back to us."
    "Yes, sir," the box said.
    "Well?" I prodded Bugs.
    "I just mentioned that you understand toons real good and that you sorta 
help us out when we need it."
    "Great," I muttered.
    "Hey, Doc. What's the problem with `em? They're great kids. They look 
up to you."
    "Buster's *your* kid, Bugs."
    Bugs responded with a very nasty scowl. "Dat ain't true, Doc," he hissed, 
pointing his tennis racket at me. "Dat ain't true and you dang well know it."
    "Okay, okay. Sheesh. You act like you wouldn't want him as a son."
Bugs lowered his racket, suddenly looking a bit sad.
    "I wish he was my kid. He's just like the son I never had--just like I'd 
picture my own son would be like. Too bad he ain't is all."
    "Who's to say he can't be?" I offered. "Warners created him without 
definite parents, yow know, just like half the other Tiny Toons. May have 
been a reason for it. He does share some genetic similarity with you too."
    "You sayin' you know somethin' about Buster's creation?" Bugs accused.
    I just smiled as I retrieved the tennis ball I had missed and sent it over to 
Wile E., who had been coolly leaning on his racket all this time. He reacted 
just in time to send the ball flying in a peculiar arc over the side of the court 
fence.
    "S-se-s-smooth," Porky commented.
    "I just think that you should be the one to talk to him about stuff, that's 
all," I told Bugs.
    "Even your own kids need to seek out people to talk to besides their 
parents, or mentors," Bugs said, heavily.
    "So I've noticed," I said, serving a new ball, "They are great kids, 
though," I admitted.
    "Yep," Bugs said hollowly, becoming distracted by the tennis ball I had 
just lobbed towards him. I glanced over to my mansion and saw Buster 
coming towards us from it.
    "Well," I told Bugs, waving to Buster, "looks like he's got some of the 
same questions you have."

    Buster arrived at the edge of the tennis court and stopped fast, seeing me 
with, what were to him, two Acme Looniversity professors, and the principal 
himself.
    "Hi, Buster," I said kindly, turning to face him. "How are the ears?"
    "Ah, Hi, Andy. They're fine." Buster was clearly intimidated. Looking to 
the rest of us he added: "Hi, Bugs, Professor Wile E., Professor Porky."
    "Oh good Lord," I thought. "What a protocol trip." In response to my 
thought, Wile E. spoke up: "We're not at the Looniversity, Buster. You don't 
have to be so formal with us."
    "Ah," Buster said, tugging at his sweater collar, and laughing nervously, 
"Sorry."
    "They still treat you guys pretty formal, eh?" I thought at Wile E.
    "It's still a big matter of respect to them," came his silent response. "After 
all, we are still their professors. You aren't, so they've gotten less formal 
with you."
    "Dat's okay, kiddo," said Bugs.
    "There's some carrot soda in the cooler over there," I told Buster, 
pointing my racket at a cooler near the net. "Help yourself."
    "Gee, thanks," Buster said, sounding less nervous. He reached in to the 
cooler and removed a cola. "Klondike Karrot," he remarked, "not your cheap 
old everyday soda, huh? This is rich people's soda."
    "Well, you know," I said, "Bugs just has to have his soda."
    "S-s-so what brought you over here, B-Be-B-Buster?"
    "Ah, well, I came over to talk to Andy."
    "Sure you have, Buster," I agreed. I walked over to the fence on the side 
of the tennis court, reached out to it and pulled Daffy Duck out of nowhere. 
He was clad in a tennis shirt, shorts, shoes, and sweatband.
    "Ah Hah!" Daffy exclaimed. "Just couldn't resist eh? I knew you would 
wise up and realize you forgot to invite the master tennis player for your 
friendly match. Afraid I would mop the court with you, weren't you?"
    I gestured to the other three players. "Take over," I said, and walked off 
the court to stand next to Buster.
    Bugs eyed me and his voice echoed in my mind: "You rotten little excuse 
for a fox. Couldn't you find a better substitute?"
    "What's wrong?" I replied telepathically, knowing full well that the 
innocent response would annoy him, but Bugs only grumbled something, and 
I heard Wile E. snickering in my mind over our exchange.
    Daffy produced a tennis racket from the pocket of his shorts and readied 
himself for a grueling match of tennis, going through several strange body 
vogues in an attempt to show off his athletic skills.
    I turned away from the court and broke out into laughter.
    "Alright, Bugs," Daffy challenged. "Let's dance."
    I laid a hand on Buster's shoulder and walked with him back inside the 
mansion. As we left I felt Bugs in my mind, wishing me luck.

    I sat down on a burgundy sofa and offered Buster a seat next to me. He 
took it with a bit of hesitation, as if something was preoccupying his 
thoughts.
    "I thought you were hilarious in `One Beer'," I started, trying to ease his 
tension. "One Beer" was a Tiny Toons cartoon short where Buster and two 
of his friends attempted to discourage kids from drinking by showing how 
one behaves while drunk.
    "Oh, heh, Thanks," Buster replied, fidgeting slightly. "We really had 
trouble working that whole episode past the censors."
    "I know," I nodded, "but watching you guys on that stuff was the funniest 
thing I've seen in the last several decades."
    "Yeah?" Buster sounded surprised. He couldn't believe that something a 
bunch of new kid toons did could make someone whom had seen so much 
laugh so much. "What was that stuff anyway," Buster asked, "real alcohol?"
    "Hardly," I laughed. "Alcohol has a different effect on toons than 
humans. You guys drank isotonic strontium nitrate and phosphoric acid. 
Toons react to it identically to how humans react to alcohol, except for the 
addiction."
    "Isotonic what?" Buster asked, alarmed. "Phosphoric ACID? Are you 
guys trgin' to poison us?"
    "Nah," I said, giving a dismissive gesture. "Go ask Calamity. He'll tell 
you it's nothing. Took us a bit of time for us to get the formula just right 
though."
    Buster sat quietly for a few seconds, now ready to bring whatever was 
bothering him out into the open.
    "Ah, Andy. I wanna ask you some things, if it's all right. I know you might 
think that Bugs should help me on this, but I just can't talk to him about it."
    "Alright," I said softly.
    Buster slowly drew in a breath before starting. "Why don't I have any 
parents?"
    "Mmmm," I commented.
    We began to discuss the issues that had been troubling him since he had 
been first created over a year earlier. For sake of confidentiality and respect 
to Buster's privacy, I shall not reveal the essence of that conversation here. 
But after over an hour of talking and a few complementary slices of carrot 
pie later, I think he had the answers he had been looking for.
    "Okay?" I asked Buster at the conclusion of our discussion.
    "Okay," Buster admitted, as if a large weight had been lifted from his 
soul.
    "Good."
    "I didn't know you were involved with all of this."
    "Well," I muttered, "not involved as much as informed. But I did have a 
hand in it, I'll admit that."
    "Thanks for telling me."
    "You deserve to know. Now, before you go, I'd like to ask a little favor."
    "Sure," Buster shrugged. "What?"
    "Gimme a hug?"
    Buster gave a queer little smile, as if he had been half thinking of doing 
this anyway, and now no longer needed to ask. He hopped onto my lap, 
encircled his arms around my middle, and laid his chin on my shoulder. I 
wrapped my arms around his small body and drew him close. I held him 
gently for several seconds. Time collapsed around me as I took in every 
sensation of touch, knowing that one day, far into the future, I would not get 
the chance.


CHAPTER 17
LONG-AWAITED PEACE
------------------

    Skippy greeted me at Slappy's front door.
    "Hi, Skippy."
    "Hi, Andy," Skippy replied, then turned his head to look back inside. 
    "Aunt Slappy," he called up the stairs, "someone's here to see you."
    From upstairs came Slappy Squirrel's muffled voice: "If it ain't Ed 
McMahon I'm not interested."
    Skippy turned back to me with a slightly puzzled look. "She just came out 
of the shower," he explained.
    "That's alright," I assured him, "She wasn't expecting me. Think I can 
come in and wait?"
    Skippy shrugged as if to suggest that I should know better than to ask 
such a question, and invited me in. I bent down and walked through the small 
door.
    "She's just a little grumpy today," Skippy informed me as I sat down on a 
couch.
    "And your point is..."
    Skippy let out a small laugh.
    "Ah, well," I commented, "perhaps she won't mind what I brought her 
then."
    "What's that?" Skippy asked.
    "Some good news, I hope," I responded. "So how do you like making 
cartoons with your aunt?"
    "It's entertaining," he concluded. "I gotta admit that. But just wait `till I 
get to direct. Then, look out!"
    Here we go again, I thought. I made a tee-pee with my fingers. "You're 
not going to direct."
    "Ah, C'mon, Mr. agent-man," he protested, taking on a confused hippie 
dialect, "this is the real groove, the right thing, man."
    I couldn't help but crack a smile from Skippy's intentionally bad 70's jive 
talk. It was, in fact, stated in his contract that he would be allowed to direct 
once he had been established in the cartoon business. I decided to change my 
approach.
    "You don't want to direct."
    "And why not?" he countered.
    "It's no fun. Everybody yells at you, and you yell at everyone back. It's 
quite hectic," I replied.
    "Hey, man. It'll be cool, like, you know? Totally mellow to the max, my 
friend."
    I could tell that there would be no swaying Skippy from his prized 
possession of directorship of a cartoon short.
    "We'll talk," I assured him.

    A few minutes later Slappy came down the stairs. She was shroud in a 
soft pink bathrobe and looked ready to take on the world, Apparently the 
world did not include me waiting for her downstairs. She was half way down 
the stairs when she spotted me and froze. She made a curious, surprised 
sound and her face turned red for just a second.
    "Oh, please," I groaned. "It ain't like you got somethin' a million people 
haven't seen before." Slappy rarely wore clothes in her cartoons, or at any 
other time for that matter, save a green derby sporting a solitary daisy. 
Because of the way she was drawn, quite frankly, there was nothing to 
conceal. This, however, did not made her any less of a woman. woman 
squirrel, that-is.
    Slappy re-composed herself and walked swiftly down the rest of the 
stairs. "Fox," she exclaimed, happily and full of energy, "what the heck are 
you doin' here?" Before I could answer she had turned to look accusingly at 
Skippy: "Skippy, why didn't you tell me it was him at the door?"
    "Oh, don't worry, Slappy," I answered. "We've been engrossed in a 
highly intense discussion."
    Skippy grumbled something unintelligible and went off to his room.
    "Eh, you know you shouldn't come `rouund here unannounced," Slappy 
started, sounding annoyed, but not fooling me a bit. "The guys on the set 
have been talking."
    "About us?"
    "Whadda you think, Bub. It ain't like we've been very secretive about it."
    "No, I guess we haven't. Oh well," I shrugged.
    Slappy nodded, dropping the charade. "My feelings exactly."

    For the last three and a half years Slappy and I had been seeing each other 
regularly, though with both of our schedules filling up a good chunk of our 
time we were only able to spend any time together perhaps twice a month. 
This fact concerned me deeply, and I sometimes feared that I might loose 
Slappy to someone who could be with her more frequently than I. Sometimes 
we would run into each other on filming sets or somewhere on the Warner 
Brothers studio lot. We would exchange secretive smiles, and sometimes 
more, becoming distracted with the other's presence. We would brighten up 
each other's day, and leave in our wake any number of on-looking toons, 
baffled to see a side of Slappy that didn't involve gratuitous violence. This, 
however, did not last long, as Slappy would tend to subdue said onlookers 
with extremely large and painful boulders.
    "Maybe we shouldn't get too serious," I said once to Slappy while on the 
Animaniacs filming set.
    "Whadda ya talkin' about?" Slappy had asked, somewhat surprised.
    "Well, what about Screwy?" I asked.
    "Screwy Squirrel?" Slappy had sounded surprised.
    "Yes. Don't you. have something going with him?"
    "With Screwy? Naw, not anymore. For a while we were together--even 
talked about tyin' the knot, but it kinda fell apart. He was too kooky--if you 
can believe that--couldn't be serious about anything for long before he 
would go pull some Tex Avery gag and wreck the moment."
    "Too bad. I figured you two would be good together."
    "Ain't his fault," she continued. "It's the way he is--great guy, just not 
someone I'd want to spend my life with--specially now that, well, you 
know," Slappy said, gesturing to herself.
    "Turned old, have we?"
    "Eh," Slappy waved, "been gettin' old all my life, just didn't have the 
look for it until now--or the wit to know how to use it to my advantage until 
recently, heh ha. I'll admit Warners didn't have to make me look too much 
older than I already was. Guess that butter milk ain't what it use to be."
    "I wouldn't worry," I said, trying to re-assure her.
    "Ah, I don't. I've found a pretty sly fella who knows how to treat an old 
gal like me. Now get me a can of Walnut Soda before the director calls the 
next scene."

    "I've brought some good news," I said as Slappy sat down in her favorite 
armchair and flipped on the television.
    "What, Jon Lovitz retired?"
    "Better--something from Warner Brothers. They've got a whole episode 
for you: three whole acts, the whole 21 minutes, just you and Skippy."
    "Don't kid with me or I'll get the mallet."
    "Serious. All yours."
    Slappy's tone became skeptical: "And what lucky stars do I have to thank 
for this turn of events?"
    "Well," I said, trying to redeem any credibility I had for myself, "I'd like 
to think I had something to do with it." Then I slipped into a stereotypical 
Hollywood agent-ese dialect: "But, Hey, baby. You sell yourself. I'm just 
there to like, fill in the blanks."
    "Don't get cute," Slappy warned.
    "Okay," I said meekly.
    "Save it for tonight," she added slyly.
    I didn't know whether to run for cover or bounce around the room like a 
possessed beach ball. Actually, I did know, but the ceiling was alarmingly 
low and I would most likely end up with a minor head injury if I let myself 
go.
    "So what's the story?" she prodded, "What's it about?"
    "Depends," I said, becoming evasive. "How are you at faking a mental 
breakdown?"
    "Make me watch the WB prime time line-up and see for yourself."
    "The story is a parody," I told her. "'One Flew Over the Cuckoo Clock'."
    Slappy smacked her forehead in disgust: "Oh, God!" she grumbled. "Who 
wrote it?"
    "Hollander."
    "Oh, geez." Slappy plodded about the living room, waiting for the idea to 
settle into her brain. "This is the kind of of stuff that ruins us actors."
    Nicholas Hollander was a unique writer for Animaniacs. His cartoons 
tended to focus on intangible ideas and themes--a break from the constant 
bombardment of anvils and gags. His cartoons tended to impart to the viewer 
a simply heart-felt message of some kind--not the kind of writer you want to 
use for a comedy.
    "Well," I started, trying to sound useful, "if you want my professional 
opinion."
    "I certainly do not," she lashed out, "I want *your* opinion."
    After several seconds of silence I gave a small sigh. "Let's just say that the 
public will view it as a failure on the writing staff, and not on you." Far be it 
from me to send a client of mine, and a new love, to the actors' graveyard by 
giving her a role I knew would finish her. Since getting the offer from 
Warner Brothers I had taken it upon myself to do a bit of. research. "You 
won't be ruined," I finished.
    "That a fact?" Slappy asked with a stern look.
    "Foresight."
    "Scale plus 20%," she replied.
    "Oh, good God, Slappy."
    "That's what I want if they want me to do it."
    I pulled out the cartoon short work order and glanced at it. The studio had 
offered scale plus 30% to Slappy, knowing it was a risky move and one she 
wouldn't be willing to accept quickly.
    "Okay, Slappy," I said solemnly. "I'll try and swing it."
    "Good. You swing that, and I'll swing lunch together."

    We spent the afternoon attending the annual Explosives and Heavy Blunt 
Objects show at the Acme Convention Center. After that we went over to the 
local ACAFC office (Adult Coalition Against Funny Cartoons) and tested 
some of the explosive we bought. Then we went to Don Antonio's for a 
relatively quiet dinner.
    We ended up finishing out the evening back at Slappy's tree, watching old 
cartoon shorts on television and seeing which of us could chuck pieces of 
popcorn more accurately at a flowerpot on a window sill across the room.
Eventually, having exhausted our supply of projectiles, Slappy cuddled up 
beside me and lay her head on my chest. I wrapped my right arm around her 
side and held her warmly. I heard her sigh and felt a definite presence of joy 
in her. We lay together on the couch as the television glowed into the night. 
Slappy eventually fell asleep with her head against my chest. I smiled a 
contented smile. Soon after, I was asleep as well, my right paw on top of 
hers, holding it softly.
    As if to conclude the final scene to a movie, Skippy came down later and 
turned off the television. He saw his elderly aunt quietly asleep on the couch, 
lying with another aged toon. She had a peaceful look on her face, one she 
hadn't had for many years. Skippy smiled, turned off the remaining lights, 
and returned upstairs.

    A week later, "One Flew Over the Cuckoo Clock" was filmed. Slappy 
received scale pay plus 30%. Viewers of Animaniacs condemned Warner 
Brothers for letting Hollander have an entire episode, producing a weak and 
moody story. Slappy's place in the eyes of the fans of Animaniacs remained 
rock solid; they still loved her, and she still shined.


CHAPTER 18
CONFUSION AND LOUD NOISE FROM WARNER BROS.
------------------------------------------

    Informing toons that they have been dropped from a show, or that an 
animation company has cancelled their show altogether, is an unhappy aspect 
of my job at Tetra Dimensional. When it happens the toon may not 
necessarily be let out of their contract. The animation company may simply 
choose to discontinue the toon's active status. 
    During the early to mid nineties Warner Brothers was cranking out a new 
cartoon series every couple of years. Some lasted several seasons. Some died 
quietly. As it turned out I ended up handling contract negotiations for all of 
the starring toons from two of the heartier, more popular series; namely 
"Tiny Toon Adventures" and "Animaniacs". Both series cancellations were 
blows to me, as well as the starring toons, each series having several seasons 
of apparent success. Each cancellation affected more than a dozen toons. All 
of the toons were still to be held under contract with Warner Brothers, 
allowing them to be picked up again anytime WB chose to use them, but 
preventing them from getting jobs in front of a camera anywhere else, 
especially at other animation companies. The toons would continue to be 
paid for spots and re-runs, so they could still make a living (an item I 
regularly check for on contracts and append to them when I find it absent), 
but their primary outlet to the entertainment world had been pulled out from 
under them. I was powerless to do anything in this type of situation except 
for trying to work with WB on a toon's behalf to get him or her any screen 
time.
    Since I handled their contracts it was a convenient excuse for WB to 
designate me to be the one to inform the Tiny Toons and Animaniacs of the 
news that their shows would not be picked up for another season. WB 
figured it was be easier on the toons if they heard the news from me rather 
than one of the studio's people. Truthfully I believe they were afraid to tell 
the toons themselves, and wanted to avoid a direct exchange. It was a good 
bet that if WB sent one of their own to tell the toons they were out of work, 
the person would probably not return alive. Another more distressing but 
altogether more likely possibility was that WB simply didn't care about the 
toons anymore, now busy with other new cartoons.
    In each instance I called all of the cast members into my office. It was 
large enough to accommodate all of them comfortably, and was I felt, more 
personable then making the announcement in some sterile meeting room. 
Here we could talk more openly about how this would affect their careers.
The reaction from the Tiny Toons was mainly shock and confusion: 
    "They what?"
    "What does that mean?"
    "Did we do something wrong?"
    They were all young toons, both physically and mentally, and I hated that 
this had happened to them in the midst of their prime. The response from the 
Animaniacs was a bit different. All being much older they reacted much 
more strongly:
    "I'll cancel them!"
    "What is it with those guys? Try something for a few seasons and move 
on to the next?"
    "I'm outraged! Where's my agent? Oh, there he is. Hi, Fox!"
    We were all friends, and I likened these duties similar to informing a 
friend that his pet cat was just run over, but when I was initially informed of 
the decisions I also wanted to go over to WB and beat their so-called brains 
in. And that's part of what makes a good contract negotiator I think: 
someone who can empathize with the toon they are representing. I did make 
a lot of noise at WB over the cancellations, which eventually brought out 
"Wakko's Wish", a direct-to-video feature-length movie released in 1999 
which starred the Animaniacs. (In retrospect this outcome was an inevitable 
step anyway due to the Tiny Toons having their own video, "How I Spent My 
Vacation", released back in 1991). For the Tiny Toons, a couple of half-hour 
specials appeared after the series had been dropped, but their glamour and 
life began to show signs of fading. "Don't let them die," were the words I 
used. "Keep them popping up, and they shall remain alive and well to the 
public."
    So I give it time. I wait for an opportunity to present itself and act on it. I 
have to wait and see what happens--snatch the chance when it comes. Sadly, 
the Tiny Toons are in much more trouble than the Animaniacs.
    Two of the stars from Animaniacs, namely Pinky and The Brain, went on 
to star in a self-titled series of their own for several seasons before it too was 
cancelled, to be replaced with "Pinky, Elmyra, and The Brain". This series 
was a sideways step in bringing the Tiny Toons back on to the scene again. I 
had been hammering on Warner Brothers off and on since their cancellation, 
so they figured by putting Elmyra from "Tiny Toon Adventures" back on the 
scene I'd be off their backs. Well, I was. sort-of. The Brain, a genetically 
altered lab mouse megalomaniac, whose high intelligence is surpassed by 
very few toons, reacted to the idea of being paired with a less than gifted 
character, namely Elmyra, in a less than pleasant manor. His partner, Pinky, 
on the other hand, whose favorite pastimes include talking to balls of lint and 
spinning around to make himself dizzy, was exceptionally pleased:

    Fox:    "Hey, Brain! Bubby! Buddy! Just sign on the dotted line and it's 
            all cool." (No, I didn't actually talk like that, but this is a comedy 
            after all.)
    Brain:  "What? They want me to star with a has-been moron? I have my 
            own show!"
    Fox:    "Ah, well, not anymore."
    Brain:  "WHAT?" [smash]
    Fox:    "Ow!"
    Pinky:  "Ha ha! Narf! Brain gets to work with a ninny!"
    Brain:  "Quiet, Pinky. One imbecile is bad enough, now I'll get it in 
            stereo."
    Fox:    "Brain, you know it's all just acting."
    Brain:  "Yes, yes, I know. But why can't I ever co-star with a smart 
            character? And don't you *dare* suggest that Coyote. That 
            slobbering carnivore isn't fit to share the same brain pan as me."
    Fox:    "Omnivore, Brain."
    Brain:  [points accusing finger] "Don't *you* start with me too."
    Fox:    "Ah, yeah." [rolls eyes] "You want me to go yell at WB some 
            more or do you want the job?"
    Brain:  "Gimme that thing." [snatches contract for "Pinky, Elmyra, and 
            The Brain" from me and signs it, takes it over to Pinky, converses 
            with him for several minutes, hitting Pinky on the head twice 
            during the conversation. Pinky signs the contract and laughs at 
            Brain's predicament. Brain sticks his tongue out at Pinky and 
            hands the contract back to me]

    This is a more or less typical contract negotiation session between 
unhappy clients and myself. The "Pinky, Elmyra, and The Brain" series 
turned out to be a dismal failure.
    I try to get my clients cameos on other shows, but Warner Brothers has 
decided to move away from furry animal animation for now. Steven 
Spielberg did something grand for WB. the round-heads. Don't ya just love 
`em?


CHAPTER 19
EMPTYNESS AND CHANGE
--------------------

This chapter was composed in remembrance of the fallen creators.

    In 1997 Don Messick, voice actor for more cartoon character than I care 
to count, left this world for better things. Not too long before, Friz Freeling 
had also departed, and before him Mel Blanc. As time passes the inevitable 
will happen as those that created us will pass through to an unknown place. 
Those who drew us, taught us, gave us ideas and voice will disappear and we 
are left alone. We will, perhaps for a short time, become uncertain as to how 
to proceed. Part of our being, our fiber, becomes cut and useless, the support 
fallen away from beneath previously firm footing. But, we will continue and 
lift our eyes to the future. They created us. We are they; their ideas made us 
be. Our world is the collective play land of their spirits' thoughts.
    They will leave for an unknown place, but we shall live on, perhaps 
forgotten by those left behind. But we will remain, and those that created us 
shall not be forgotten. We will always remember, for we are what they made 
us. That cannot change, and there will always be a part of them in us, no 
matter who may come afterwards and try to re-interpret us to their world. We 
do not change.
    We have existed through the decades, changing only in how those who 
draw or voice us interpret us to their world. The creators have left now and 
reside somewhere else, but their contribution will linger, their now silent 
voices echoing through the ages.


CHAPTER 20
CONSULTING WITH CLIENTS
-----------------------

    I was contemplating the meaning of life at a local coffee shop & diner on 
the corner of Drake Street and Twenty-third Avenue. Much had happened in 
the past few years for many of my clients: The Animaniacs' series had been 
cancelled, the spin-off Pinky & The Brain series had suffered a similar fate, 
and the filming of Wakko's Wish was nearly complete: all in all, a chaotic 
time. Now the Animaniacs were out of the active scene at Warner Brothers. 
Some had taken up jobs around town, not being content with lazily sitting 
around waiting for their weekly post-cancellation checks from Tetra 
Dimensional to arrive in the mail.
    Warner Brothers had been doing some strange things of late. My mind 
wandered back to the early 90's when Warner bros. had decided to again 
create cartoon shorts starring the Looney Tunes to precede main features at 
movie theatres. The first short was "Box Office Bunny". It was an all-right 
flick and stared the great three: Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, and Elmer Fudd. 
Five years later came "Carrotblanca", staring Bugs Bunny, Penelope Cat, 
and several other Loonies. It was finished in 1995 and was a smash, and I 
have since become a fan of Bogart movies. Not too many months later the 
characters to star in the next short were decided upon. The short was to be 
called "Chariots of Fur", and the stars chosen were two toons I knew well.
    I had found the famous pair of toons engaged in a game of checkers in the 
Acme Looniversity Faculty Lounge.
    "You guys want to do a cartoon?" I had asked casually.
    "Huh," Wile E. Coyote laughed, somewhat distractedly. "Yeah, right." He 
slid a checker forward a square. His avian opponent looked concerned over 
the move.
    The duo, curiously, had recently received cameo roles in two Slappy 
Squirrel shorts. Despite her insisting she had nothing to do with it, I had 
wondered if Slappy had worked something out behind my back to get Wile 
E. and The Road Runner cameos just because they were friends of her new 
romantic interest. As it turned out I didn't have to read her mind to learn the 
answer, I had only to spot the wicked little smile that she flashed me when I 
had asked her about the cameos--that sneaky little squirrel.
    "I'm serious," I protested.
    "Sure, Fox," Wile E. said blankly, his eyes never straying from the game. 
    The two ignored me and continued their game of checkers. I sensed the 
faintest glimmer of hope emanate from the pair of toons: a desperate wish 
that what I had told them was the truth, but believing that such a thing was 
about as likely as Elmer Fudd winning the Nobel Prize.
    "Hey," I started again, "Bugs got `Carrotblanca'. Now you guys are 
getting a turn at a new short." My fact seemed to grab their attention slightly. 
    "Warners is gonna sign Jones on to work on it," I finished, dangling a work 
contract for a cartoon short between the two. The Road Runner cocked his 
head and looked quizzically at the paper. Wile E. put down a checker he had 
been fiddling with and snatched the contract from my paw. His face 
contorted from a look of skepticism to genuine surprise, and then to a wicked 
smile as he passed the contract over to The Road Runner for him to see. The 
Road Runner went through a similar display of emotions. The classic cartoon 
duo gave each other mischievous looks and began to grin.
    Wile E. spoke in a quiet voice accented with barely contained ecstasy: 
"Fifteen years. fifteen years we've been making up a plethora of new gags, 
never to make it to the screen. Now we can finally have them filmed, my fast 
feathered friend."
    The Road Runner nodded in agreement. "This is gonna be too much fun," 
he beeped. The two began to laugh maniacally.
    I slowly backed away from them. It was getting too spooky around there. 
"Ah, why don't you two just think it over," I said moving towards the door, 
"I'll be back later." I don't believe either toon noticed me leave as they 
began to discuss the numerous gags and takes that they had devised over the 
years. I buried my paws in my pockets and contentedly whistled my way out 
of the lounge.
    In the following year two more new shorts were created for theatrical 
release. Then the concept died once again, while a new project began to rear 
its head: "Space Jam".
    "Space Jam" was to be a momentous point in the careers of the classic 
Looney Tunes. It was to be their fantastic return to the big screen after 
decades of absence. It would bring them back into the light of show biz and 
introduce them to a whole new audience base. But instead it was shallow and 
empty movie where the great Looney Tunes were merely a shadow of 
themselves. And, as stated by the Whole Toon Catalog: "Having Jordan 
come to the rescue is the pretext to abundant, reverent slo-mo sequences of 
His Airness in action." Still, I do enjoy a rare viewing of it, for as sad and 
empty as it is, it is indeed a theatrical return for many of my friends.
    Unfortunately, besides bringing the Looney Tunes back to the big screen, 
Warner Brothers had also decided to create a brand new "Looney Tune" and 
throw the lives of two toon rabbits into chaos. The new toon was named Lola 
Bunny. She was the new, hot and sexy girl bunny created and written to 
catch the attention of Bugs Bunny and to bring her into the public's eye. 
Through merchandizing and marketing the concept of the two bunnies being 
together outside of the movie began to grow like wildfire, much to the 
resentment of Bugs and his wife for over twenty years, Honey. The rumors 
grew, and the press mobs began. It wasn't Lola that Bugs resented. In fact, 
Bugs enjoyed working with her and helped her hone her acting skills. It was 
the nerve that Warner Brothers had to make a new toon rabbit, call her a 
Looney Tune (a fact which is highly disputed by many cartoon fans), and 
write her in to be Bugs' girlfriend and completely ignore his dear wife Honey 
that had made Bugs fume with anger. I, on the other hand, felt extremely 
livid and cursed myself for not catching what Warner Brothers was doing at 
the beginning so that I maybe could have stopped it. I felt as if I failed Bugs 
and Honey somehow, and wouldn't have blamed them for being 
disappointed in me over my lack of foresight. The two bunnies, though, 
insisted that they felt no ill will towards me on this issue, and that they were 
relying on me to fight Warner Brothers on their behalf to restore their 
characters.
    Some on Earth may insist that Honey Bunny is not a real Looney Tunes 
character, because her existence came about though the comic book medium, 
which consists of stories and events that are, by definition, fictional. This 
statement is completely valid. A comic book story has as much a chance of 
being true as Wile E. Coyote's middle name is "Ethelbert"--there is none at 
all. To most toons, Earth comics are likened to tabloid magazines, full of 
malformed facts and buzz news, not worthy of serious consideration, but 
always good for a laugh. Honey Bunny, however, is more than a comic book 
character. She has been officially recognized by Warner Brothers, legally 
licensed by them, and she had appeared publicly with Bugs for a good two 
decades before Lola came. Her past may be mite sorted, but her mutual love 
with Bugs cannot be contested.
    There have been several stories written by cartoon fans concerning this 
troubling situation and the three rabbits. One scene that comes to mind but 
has never been written of happened back in early 1996. Space Jam was still 
being filmed, but the rumors were already flying. Lola had just evaded a 
small congregation of press hounds on her way to the Warner Brothers studio 
lot. Though a promising new actress, she was not yet accustomed to the 
stress and bombardment of a press crowd and ran inside the Space Jam sound 
stage for sanctuary. Inside she collided with Bugs. Lola looked up at him 
with confusion and a bit of fear. She grabbed him in the fear that the press 
mob might came in and resume its interrogation.
    "Bugs," Lola gasped, "look at them out there. They're like animals."
    Bugs looked down at Lola and replied in a comforting tone. "Yeah, I 
know. But don't let `em get to ya, Lola." He gently rubs her shoulders, trying 
to ease her tension and yet still keep a professional distance. It was then that 
Honey Bunny walked into the sound stage and saw the two.
    "Hi, hon," Bugs called to her casually. Honey scowled crossly at the two 
and slammed the script she had brought Bugs down onto a table.
    "Oooooh!" she growled and, just for an instant, her eyes flashed red. Lola 
began to look a bit scared. Bugs left her and walked over to Honey.
    "Hey, now. What's dis about? You know darn well there ain't nothing 
going on here. We work together. "
    "Oh, Bugs," Honey said, frustrated, "this thing is tearing us apart."
    Lola stood quietly, looking somewhat lost. It was not her fault she had 
been created and cast with Bugs. And, she had no intention of coming 
between Bugs and his wife.
    Bugs: "She's just a little frightened, Hon."
    "I know, I know." Honey understood, but still held a grudge to Lola for 
being so close to her husband. She knew it was wrong of her to feel like this, 
but she simply couldn't help but feel that way. Bugs was *her* rabbit, and 
what was Warner Brothers' problem anyway not using her in the movie?
    Honey sat and watched the morning's filming. She was impressed with 
Lola's acting, as well as her athletic skills, but she still felt reserved towards 
her. just a tad.

    I gazed through the window of the coffee shop to the hustle and bustle on 
the street outside. Yes, it had been a very strange and busy decade for both 
my friends and clients, and myself. Outside was a bright sunny afternoon in 
Hollywood. It was 1999, and there was strangeness everywhere.
    Across the room my gaze ran into Chicken Boo, a giant (giant being 6 feet 
tall) chicken who had been a minor star in the Animaniacs series. He was in 
the lobby watching a television, on which was showing one of those toon 
news programs that discuss the Hollywood scene. I finished my liquid 
concoction and drifted over to see him.
    "Hi, Boo," I said casually, tapping his wing.
    Boo's response came in a series of clucks. Luckily I could speak Chicken, 
along with over a hundred other toon animal dialects. "Fox?" Boo said with a 
start. "Hello. I didn't know you were around here."
    "Neither did I," I admitted. Boo smiled at my cryptic response. Have you 
ever seen a chicken smile? It's an odd thing to behold.
    "How's every little thing?" I asked.
    Boo clucked to me about "this and that", mainly "this" which consisted of 
him not being able to get much action at Warner Brothers, screen-wise that-
is.
    "Yeah, I know," I said solemnly. "I'm glad I ran into you. I've been 
meaning to talk to you about that." I reached up and wrapped my arm around 
the base of the chicken's neck. "Let's go outside," I said, sensing the walls of 
the diner closing in.
    I escorted him out to the sidewalk. I looked down the street at the chaos 
and general toon weirdness, suddenly remembering why I had come 
downtown in the first place.
    "I need to get over to City Hall," I told Boo. "I have an appointment with 
some attorneys over there in about twenty minutes. We can talk on the way." 
Since my transport was currently disassembled for a component upgrade I 
instinctively began to hail a taxi, but stopped myself short. "Ah, no, I guess 
not," I admitted, turning my brain back on and realizing that a giant chicken 
would have an extremely uncomfortable time riding inside of your typical 
Hollywood taxi cab.
    Boo tapped me on my shoulder with a wing. "I'll take you," he clucked, 
"Don't bother."
    A general look of confusion formed on my face.
    Boo cocked his head, gesturing to his back: "Hop on."
    "I could just mentally transport us," I suggested, making circles in the air 
with an index finger.
    Boo insisted: "Aw, c'mon, it'll be fun--unless you have something 
against being seen on a chicken."
    I paused for a second and realized that, in fact, I didn't. So I hoisted 
myself up and made myself comfortable astride Chicken Boo's back.

    This town is full of lunacy, so much that the sight of a fox riding a 6-foot 
tall chicken down a Hollywood sidewalk during the middle of the day turns 
few heads. Boo strode at close to ten miles an hour as we whizzed by 
newspaper stands and other pedestrians. "We would definitely arrive at City 
Hall in time," I thought.
    "So, what did you have to talk to me about?" Boo asked.
    "Your career in cartoons, actually," I responded, watching the sidewalk 
fly by beneath large yellow taloned feet. "I know how you've been feeling. 
    I'm sorry I haven't been able to get you into "Wakko's Wish" with the rest of 
the Animaniacs yet. It's been bugging me."
    "Don't worry about it," Boo clucked back. "I know you're trying."
Boo's soft, feathery back made me want to lie down and take a nap on it. 
    "I want to level with you Boo," I said with a hint of tiredness. "Warner 
Brothers painted you into a corner with the singular plot they set you up 
with. Now you're trapped with it--typecast for life. And if they ever want to 
use you in anything they feel they have to stick to the `giant chicken 
impersonating a human' angle."
    Boo nodded in agreement: "That whole angle was stupid. I hated it."
    "I know," I said softly. "You weren't the only one. Some of those Warner 
people aren't very good at thinking outside of the boxes they make for their 
stars. Heaven forbid a character act outside of the limits that have been set 
for it by some WB writer."
    Boo clucked an obscene reference to Warner Brothers. At that moment an 
assistant director from WB whose name escaped me was driving directly 
beside us in his convertible with the top down. "Crap!" I thought. "We're in 
for it now." But the assistant director only waved at us as he drove past and 
disappeared up the street. I wiped my brow. "Good thing he doesn't speak 
Chicken," I mumbled, now pondering the source of my sudden affliction of 
paranoia. I dismissed it to a carryover effect from something happening on 
Earth and shrugged it out of my mind.
    "Still," I added in a comparatively positive tone, "there is always the 
possibility of more break-away cameos for you. like that Nike shoe 
commercial parody you did a while back."
    The best I could guess was that Warner Brothers had been trying to make 
some sort of statement about prejudice with the Chicken Boo shorts. The 
single premise for the Chicken Boo shorts was: "Boo tries to blend into 
society by disguising himself as a human. Everything goes okay until he is 
discovered to be a chicken and not a human. Being a chicken, or being 
anything not human for that matter, ergo `not the norm', is a bad thing. It 
doesn't matter that the chicken just saved your life. It's a chicken, and must 
be ejected out of your life for things to return to normal." The premise was 
funny for the first couple of cartoons, but it shortly began to drag and 
become monotonous and uninteresting. Finally it was just depressing. It was 
so sad too, because there was so much more to Chicken Boo than the 
audience ever saw. He was an intelligent and decent fellow, but the part 
written for him did not allow any of these aspects to come through.
    I returned to my dialog with Boo: "Of course it's not just you that's 
having trouble," I offered. "With Animaniacs cancelled the whole gang is out 
of work. No one is really getting anything much right now."
    Now it was my turn to curse WB: "Those dang zombies. All they care 
about are ratings."
    "You guys have had more seasons than a lot of other cartoons lately. 
Animaniacs had gained a strong following on Earth, even after its 
cancellation. Anyone who truly remembers Animaniacs will also remember 
you. You have all earned a place in cartoon history. Now it's time to move 
on." I sat for a second and thought about the words I just spoke and realized 
they sounded extremely depressing--like something you tell someone when 
their career is over. But I couldn't think of any words to correct the situation 
and decided to simply lay a re-assuring paw on the base of Boo's broad neck 
and pat it apologetically.

    We had stopped at an intersection, waiting for the green "Walk" light to 
illuminate and guide us on to bigger and better things. Amongst the other 
toons waiting to cross were Mr. Jinx the cat and Hokey Wolf, two Hanna-
Barbera toons. They saw us and gravitated over.
    Hokey was the first to speak: "Are you gonna eat your lunch here, or wait 
until you ride it home?"
    I shrugged back and admitted: "Yeah, I know I shouldn't play with my 
food." Boo's chuckling sent me bouncing around on his back. 
    Mr. Jinx jabbed Hokey in the side: "Naw, Hokey. he's, ah like, too big for 
Andy to eat. Heck, Boo could, well ah, ya know, eat *him*!"
    Boo turned and looked back at me with a look of greedy devilish hunger 
on his face. I faked a look of terror and cowered into a furry red ball. Then 
we all broke into laughter. We continued to chat until the light finally turned 
and we migrated across the street. Jinx and Hokey said goodbye and melded 
into the pedestrian crowd.
    We went several more blocks before either of us spoke. I ended up 
breaking the silence: "That pizza delivery job holding up?"
    "It works," Boo clucked, "pay is lousy, but it gets me out and about."
    "Maybe you'll get lucky and deliver a pizza to someone wanting to hire a 
giant chicken," I suggested.
    Boo pondered this: "Maybe."
    "You could be my chauffeur," I offered jokingly. "Pays good money, 
decent hours."
    A smile re-appeared on Boo's beak.

    Boo stopped outside of the City Hall building. "You're stop, sir," he 
clucked.
    I hugged him around the neck, thanked him for the ride and got off. I 
walked around to face him.
    "I'm sorry I had to drop all of that heavy news on you. I know it's not 
what you wanted to hear. You know I'll always be trying to get you 
something new with Warner Brothers. But I honestly don't know when that 
will be."
    I looked down a bit: "I'll understand if you want to get someone else to 
represent you."
    Boo looked at me as if I had just told him I had eaten his mother for 
lunch. "No, no!" he clucked with alarm in his voice. "It isn't you. Don't 
blame yourself. I still want you as my agent. Everything is fine."
    "Okay," I said and smiled. "You want me to poke around the other 
studios, see if they have any openings, maybe work some magic? That-is, if 
you want to stay on the movie lot areas. It'd be behind the cameras, of 
course."
    "Sure," Boo clucked, a trace of cheerfulness returning to his voice, "that'd 
be super. Anything would be good."
    We shook wing to paw.
    "Okay then," I confirmed. Then I added: "Thanks again for the ride."
    "Anytime, Andy," Boo clucked earnestly, or at least as earnestly as one 
could expect a chicken to cluck, "anytime."
    Boo bowed and left, and I disappeared into City Hall. Later that year, 
"Wakko's Wish" was completed and released to video. As it turned out, Boo 
did get into Wakko's Wish, though his screen time amounted to little more 
than three seconds in two scenes. It was a small accomplishment, but it was 
appreciated none the less.


CHAPTER 21
REFLECTION, INTROSPECTIVE OF THE NOW
------------------------------------

    Who am I? Where am I? Has it really been 25 years since the mission 
began? 27? Maybe this is all just some dream--some long, drawn-out 
fantasy working its magic in my subconscious while I rest. And, flashing in 
the back of my mind, a small reminder that none of this is real and that I am 
not really here, echoing a desperate hope that someday, somewhere, this will 
all end. On Earth there is no refuge for the stranded toon: no safe house, no 
sanctuary, no familiar place to turn to for answers, except for, perhaps, the 
toon's own mind.

    So long ago was the day I arrived in Toonity--so many years past, but time 
affects a person of this world in a much more profound and severe way than 
it does to toons. For toons, there is no limit or rule of age to dictate idea of 
emotional growth. Toons are unhindered by any concept of conformity to 
some standard of getting old, and are instead shaped indirectly by those of 
Earth who write for them. A toon of 50 is likely to act just as he did when he 
was 5, unless he has been re-shaped or influenced by those of Earth, his 
profile and persona re-written by a new director, adding another facet to the 
toon's emotional structure. Additionally, the statement that it is laughter that 
keeps a toon young is not entirely fictional, and can indeed play a role in a 
toon's life. For those who receive laughter, or admiration, or love, or simple 
smiles from their audience shall be rejuvenated and remain full of energy. 
Those that are forgotten, faded, and lost to time will inevitably begin to show 
their true age, and in extreme cases, become lost themselves.
    Then I turn around and watch humans age, their fresh and unbridled 
ambition of their youth replaced by complacency, conformity, and a sense of 
cynicism. They feel as if something intangible has been lost to time, and 
sometimes vainly try to re-capture something of their past. I have even seen 
this in myself, and I resist it. I have lived too long as a toon to change that 
easily.  The lucky few that are able to retain their youthful outlook on life are 
those that are truly full of life, achieving a level of happiness others lust 
after.

    At night, alone and unprotected, the part can well up in your face: the 
nasty, horrid memories that come back and distract you, those are the things 
that come in the quiet dark to the toon that dared to be human. Where did his 
air go, his mien, his glow, and his proud self that was respected and had 
earned respect? Left alone in this world he is haunted by past earthly 
experiences that are not his own. They belong to his human self. They are 
alien to him, and upon discovering them his mind seethes and riles inside a 
cage and a world it cannot escape from.

    I haven't found anything here. I haven't discovered the elusive force that 
ties this dimension to mine--or have I? Through this human mind I have 
seen strange and unusual things. I have wandered through dreams and 
tangents, explored worlds, felt fear, terror, anxiety and relief, and have been 
plagued by strange and unexplainable visions. Perhaps, without realizing it, I 
have found that which we were all seeking: the place that is not real, but is. It 
is the place where ideas are formed and explored. Perhaps these are the 
worlds of which mine is a part: one world amongst a million others dreamed 
up by humans--the ethereal planes--my world strong because so many have 
connected to it. It is here, but it is also somewhere else.

"This is the place they cannot look--travelling without moving." - Dune

    I rely on the seers now; those few people that are able to peer into the
cartoon world and translate to this one what they find there. I look to them 
for the answers I ask. I did not believe before that I had been found by any 
seers, but things here make me uneasy and curious. Has a small part of me 
flowed through a tiny crack in that mysterious gateway through which those 
here of special nature can know the things of my world? Has some small part 
of my existence crept into someone's head and merged with their 
inspiration? Maybe not and I am just deluding myself with false wanderings. 
Yet I wonder. 
    I wonder, and the night drags on, the drinks getting stronger, this place 
becoming more and more like some deformed dream of non-reality, and a 
character from a half-read story sticks in my mind. Again, I must look to the 
seers now, for they currently may know more than I. And, the paramount 
question arises: where are these worlds that these writers create in their 
stories? How many tooniverses are there? One? Billions? I only see one--
drawn to only one. It must be where I belong, for it is the one seen here by 
those great seers of the past: Chuck, Friz, Tex, Bob, and so on. But, there 
was that incident back in the 60's, where through a careless act of my own, I 
threw myself into another dimension--another toonity. Or was this also a lie, 
as were many of my early visions that were side effects of my mental change 
and awakening, those terrible lies that haunt me? They are not gone, but 
reside in secret compartments in my memory. Crush them. Destroy them, for 
they are evil. They are old. They are dust. They are nothing but private little 
secrets existing solely in my own memory, to be wiped clean when the 
proper time comes.

    I go home to Toonity. I discuss these things with my friends. We theorize 
and we study, but I am not allowed to bring anything we learn back. Or, if I 
am allowed, it is revealed days later, filtered and made safe to this place. 
Sometimes I shudder with horrible paranoia that these filters have messed up 
what little I know of home and that what I know here is terribly inaccurate: 
no Tetra Dimensional, no mental bonds, not even the right toon form, all 
done in the sake of safety. No, I can't let myself believe that. I can't begin 
doubting everything I know. For then, I will truly be paranoid: huddled in a 
corner somewhere, wondering what my life truly is, and if I should even 
return. No, take solace in what little bit of knowledge you have. Hold on to 
that precious fragment. Keep it close.

    Something is coming--it pokes me. Where is it? Ah, old times call to me. 
I must go enfold myself in them and remember the golden days of the past. I 
must remind myself of who and what I am and where I come from: I am a 
toon. I come from another world, another existence, a world of cartoons with 
cartoon laws and rules, and a world full of strange and peculiar things 
compared to this one. What a grand thing to be a part of! I take pleasure in 
seeing references here to things in my world, knowing that *that* is the 
world I am from. Acme products--yes, I know them well. I have *used* 
them. When you see toons on the screen blowing each other up or involved 
in a hilarious chase or comedy scene, that's *my* world. That's where I 
come from. Isn't it neat? Doesn't it look like a wonderful place to be? 
Keeping these thoughts in my head helps me through this existence of role-
playing. I take comfort in knowing that I am from that world--that world of 
fantasy.

    For myself, sixty-five years have now passed. All of the memories from 
those years are, and always will be, a part of me. I have seen many things 
over the passage of sixty-five years. I have seen Bugs Bunny grow and 
mature from a strange little amorphous creature into a sophisticated 
individual. I have seen Daffy, born as the epitome of pure and free lunacy 
and chaos, mellow and soften to become a sneaky and greedy (and lovable) 
character. I have seen other toons come and go, and sometimes come back 
again. And I have seen myself, arriving as a lost wanderer, curious and 
unusual, but finding home and family, now and then becoming buried in 
work and missing subtle signs of change, always making new friends, and 
ending up very well liked by a new society. Unaffected by the passage of 
time, these memories are as fresh as the day they were created. I wonder 
what new memories will I have a hundred years from now.

    Blessed be the past, for it will never come again. "Cherish your 
memories, they're all that's left you." Wise words, indeed, but the past is 
gone and it is time now to move on to new and grand things. The past will 
still be there to cherish when you need it.

    Everything is quiet now. The turbulent time has passed. Now I may focus 
on other questions. Where did I come from? Why do I have this knowledge 
of the toon world so that I can manipulate it so precisely? Perhaps it doesn't 
matter much. What matters is, whatever I might do as a human, whatever 
foul and stupid things I may perform down here, all of the ugly things of this 
world are bound to this world alone and are not me, but this human 
representation of me. Before becoming human I was pure and never did such 
stupid things as I have done here, and it disgusts me to see what I do here. A 
toon is not meant to be human. I see that now. Toons do not make good 
humans. The converse is also likely. The human body and mind twists and 
corrupts the spirit's instructions to it. The spirit becomes confused by the 
human body's input. Signals go wrong. Evil things get created and flourish--
things that never existed before and, gratefully, things that will cease to exist 
once this body's life force does. The spirit will disconnect, the body falls 
away, and along with it, all of the stupid, ugly things that it introduced to the 
spirit, and the spirit will be free once more--free and happy.


    Poem:

    Unending in life, since the dawn.
	Changing but never broken, it exists always.
    To those who have dwelt in its safe arms,
	to him who knows it's never-ending bondage:

        See the light within and let the spirit be set free.
            Emirs yourself within the folds of its beauty.
        Remember everything for it may never come again.
            And never forget, never forget who you are,
                what has been, and what it means.
            Take comfort in the warmth of your fur,
                and in the folds of your maroon cloak.
            For it is there that you are safe,
                and it is there that I will always remember you.

        Beware the empty, quiet dark,
            and the absence of interrupting thoughts
        that leaves you open to the wandering tempest
            that dwells on things and enhances the pain,
                blowing it out of proportion, and beckoning you back,
            back to a simpler time, an older time, a lost time.

        Never forget who you are.
            Never forgot what you are, what it means, and why it is,
        For once you forget you are no more,
            and all that you know will leave you,
                and you will be truly alone.
        However, do not forget, and you will return
            to that which is you, and that which you are always a part of,
                and you shall be alone no longer.

        Never forget who you are, and where you come from.
            As the cool night air brushes your face
                and the wild freedom surges through your soul,
                    go into the night without fear,
                        and never forget, never forget.
                            For, if you remember,
                                what you are, and what that means,
                                    you shall not walk alone,
                                        and you shall always have a home.


CHAPTER 22
WHAT OF THE FOX? EARTH OBSERVATIONS
-----------------------------------

    Here on Earth, I have found that my presence is like being in a 
subculture--a subculture of one. I see the hacker subculture here. Part of me 
is like them, but I do not adhere to some of their ideals. They do strange 
things. I am not a hacker. I see the furry subculture. Part of me is like them. 
A "furry" is loosely defined as an anthropomorphic creature, which 
apparently includes toons. The furry subculture consists of those fans of 
furry animals, stories, and movies. And, in the furry subculture, there are 
those humans who believe that they have a furry being inside them--a wolf, 
fox, bear, or bird--and that this true self is disguised by a human shell. Now 
here I am: a being of Toon, masquerading as a one of these furry people, 
fooling myself into thinking that I can fit in to this subculture. But now and 
then I am shaken awake and regain my senses when I see and read about the 
things some of these people do. Some of that stuff just creeps me out. 
Sometimes I wonder how my own self is viewed in the furry society as I try 
to tell others of toon and what toon means. But I do not take to heart some of 
this culture's ideals. These people do strange things. I am not one of these 
people.
    Then there are these strange people, fans of specific cartoon shows, who 
dare to call themselves by the names of their favorite cartoon character stars 
and attempt to assume that character's identity. Now, role-playing a cartoon 
character is one thing and I am all for that. I recognize that as flattery and it 
gives the character exposure, but some of these people go too far and lose 
themselves in the specific character. They declare themselves to actually 
*be* Bugs Bunny or some other toon, attempting to mimic the toon's 
mannerisms and dialog. This would be bad enough, but most unsettling is the 
fact that these people are often able to convince those around them of this 
false identity. Having the audacity to declare that you *are* that cartoon 
character is outright heresy in my book. This business may be considered a 
form of flattery by some, but to me I find it a repulsive action and consider it 
degrading to the toon that is being mimicked. I work with these toons every 
day, and I have no desire to see their name dragged through the mud by some 
delusional human. There is only one toon on this planet. Unfortunate as that 
may be, it is the truth.

    I am a toon. But even that is not entirely correct. I *became* a toon, and 
there is more to me than toon. What was I before? What am I now? I am a 
being who has chosen to exist as a toon and has further chosen to be a toon 
currently occupying a human body. I am not here to be some sort of 
ambassador or representative for toons. I am here to observe and be human. 
Do not ask me of toon things that you do not understand. For, with my 
knowledge blocked I know little more than you. That little more though I 
will tend to keep concealed. You do not need to know certain things.
    Since becoming toon I have been nothing else. Even as I exist now, I am 
still toon. It cannot be taken away. Something special has happened to me. I 
have become myself. I am more toon than I have ever been any one thing 
before. Toon fox--form based upon conception of form.

    I am a toon fox, but alone on Earth with no other toon presence to be 
found I tend to link to that which my toon self is based upon--the red fox. It 
is a fact that I am not a true Earth fox, but there is some fox in me, and I 
must remember that. I must remember to let that fox in me come out and 
merge with myself: a Vulpes Vulpes, a red fox, a varmint, an enemy of 
yours, something you may dislike, something you like to shoot at, something 
that survives amongst you. You may say I dishonor the fox by wearing a hat 
made of the pelt of a fox, or by displaying a stuffed fox above my mantle. 
You may think that I present them to show my superiority, to show I am 
better than they, but what you see is nothing. You do not understand. You 
think I am human; you do not know me. Your accusations are only human 
shadows of what you think they mean. I honor the fox. I say: "Look upon 
him. He is greater than this human thing. He lived and was greater than you. 
He is still great. He lives now in a place where he is happy and without 
pain." I am he, we are one, and we are not you. We are wild freedom in the 
night. We are hunters, predators, scavengers, and seekers. We are fox. Let 
those who do not understand worry and fret or just disbelieve. It does not 
matter any more. What they think is no longer important, because I know, 
and that is all that matters. For now, though, I am human, so I must be feared 
and watched by the fox as I once watched humans.
    Some who do not understand my origin and history may say that my 
narrow liking of species is plain stupid: Why feel for one species and not 
another? Why care so much about fox hunting and not deer or duck hunting? 
My first response would be to tell that person to read this book, thereby 
understanding my history. An altogether more cryptic response to the person 
would be the following quote which originated from my distant past while I 
spent time observing foxes on Earth and became one for a period of time 
before I found Toonity:
    "When you kill a fox for nothing you are killing a cousin of mine. Would 
you kill me? I would never kill a fox and waste its life for no reason; it would 
be murder, the killing of one by another. Deer? Duck? I am not these. You 
may do with them as you please so long as you leave a duck for me. Human? 
A noisy creature that often wanders through the forest in search of life. I 
shall watch you from the shadows. You will not get me, nor any other of my 
kind I may see you stalking. I am a fox, but I am also something more, and 
that something more gives me the understanding of what you are and the 
desire to protect all of my kind from your mistreatment. However, leave us 
alone and we shall do the same to you. Be foolish enough to leave food out 
for us to steal and we shall do so. Sit quietly and gaze at us and display no 
aggression and we will go about our business."
    I feel strongly for the fox, and do protest the senseless killing of them, but 
I also know that some things will not change and that some things must be 
accepted. Others will continue to die. Those people that kill them will 
continue to kill, not because I helped pay their way by buying a stuffed fox, 
but because that is what they have chosen to do: kill things and make a profit 
from the skins of the things they kill. I cannot change this. I may dislike what 
fur trappers do, but you will not see me going after them with a bat, a protest 
sign, or a barrage of verbal outrage. You cannot change a person, and I will 
not try. All I can do is take something that the person has killed and restore 
it, honor it, give it's life meaning, and impart to others that it is a great thing.

    Before leaving the topic of wild canids I feel I should say something 
about the gray wolf. There seems to have been a sudden upsurge in 
popularity lately concerning these fellows. Yes, I did also spend some time 
back in 1936 observing wolves and learning much of them. Some here on 
Earth may wonder what my disposition on wolves is, since they are another 
member of the wild dog family. Yes, I like wolves. They make good friends 
and are beautiful animals. You can feel safe when you are with them, 
assuming they choose to let you run with them, but I would not want to be a 
wolf, and I am happy I am not one. I do not like the social structure. I do not 
care for pack hierarchy. I want to wander alone, unfettered by pack 
allegiance. I guess that's why I found the fox more like me, and chose to live 
as one for a few weeks. Little did I know how much of one I already was.


EPILOGUE
========

    It was a typical morning in Toonity. Birds were chirping happily, the sun 
shown bright in a clear blue sky, and down in the city toons in traffic jams 
angrily honked their horns and complained angrily to each other. In a quiet 
room in a medium-sized mansion several miles from the noise and chaos, a 
brown paw poked at something sleeping on a bed. Poke, poke, poke. 
nothing--no movement. Poke, poke. one of the something's legs twitched.
    "Fox?" asked the owner of the brown paw.
    "Mmruummph," replied the something.
    Poke, poke.
    "Fox!" repeated the owner of the brown paw more sternly.
    There was a hint of movement from the something on the bed. "What is 
it, Ralph?" it mumbled.
    "Ralph?!" The owner of the brown paw scoffed. He raised his foot and 
kicked it against the something on the bed, nearly causing it to fly off and 
land on the floor. The owner of the foot knew he could get away with this 
type of action because he just happened to be, for all intent and purpose, 
brothers with the something on the bed, and knew the something wouldn't 
take it the wrong way.
    "Alright, alright. I'm up," the something said tiredly. It sat up on the bed 
and turned to face the toon who had awakened it. "Geez, what's the 
problem?"
    "Ralph--Absurd. We look nothing alike."
    "Sure you do," the something mumbled groggily and snapped its fingers. 
Suddenly the owner of the brown paw's black nose had turned a pleasant red 
and his eyes changed from yellow to white.
    "Stop that!" he said harshly and shook his head vigorously until his nose 
and eyes returned to their normal colors. Re-composing himself, he 
continued: "You've over-slept. There's something you need to take care of."
    "Huh?" the something asked, still a bit groggy. Momentarily a small 
"Zap" sound echoed through the air as an accompanying ripple of light 
passed through its body from head to toe.
    "Ah, that's better," it remarked. It stood up and stretched. Then it grabbed 
a brush and walked over to a full-length mirror and began brushing out its 
red fur coat.
    The something that was grooming itself just happened to be a toon fox by 
the name of Andy, and the owner of the brown paw who had awakened him 
just happened to be a certain scruffy looking toon coyote named Wile E.
    "How is Ralph doing these days, anyway?" I asked Wile E.
    "Eh, well, as good as can be expected."
    It was true that, aside from the red nose and usually white eyes, Ralph 
Wolf was indistinguishable from Wile E. Coyote. To the untrained eye, or to 
someone who wasn't familiar with both toons, they were one in the same.
Ralph Wolf had starred with Sam Sheepdog in a handful of Warner 
Brothers cartoons during the 50's. But since Ralph looked so much like Wile 
E. except for a different colored nose and eyes, many people generally 
thought they were one in the same character. Both created by Chuck Jones 
and displaying similar mannerisms in their cartoons, it can easily be 
understood why one would make this small error.
    This was much to the annoyance of Ralph, who felt he was just as good as 
Wile E. and deserved his own recognition. In fact, he was just as good as 
Wile E. He was just as cunning and crafty. Perhaps he was not as smart as 
Wile E., but still, he was someone who could give anyone a good run for 
their money in a game of chess. Ralph had spent several years after making 
his cartoon shorts relaxing and living off of kickbacks from Warner Brothers 
and a lawsuit or two he had won, thanks to yours truly. He wasn't lazy 
though, and after some years had found a lifestyle which suited his talents: 
he found a position with the Sheepdog Training Foundation of America.
    "Yeah, I've been looking into the identity issue on Earth," I informed 
Wile E., "seeing what the general opinion is down there concerning you 
two."
    "And, what is it?"
    "Seems to be about two-thirds believing you and he are one in the same, 
one-third believing you are two separate characters. There was a limited 
edition animation cel released a while ago though. showed both you and 
Ralph on it. Maybe that'll make a difference."
    Wile E. made a contemptuous grunt. "You ready yet?"
    "He isn't that bad, you know." I commented, not turning to look at Wile 
E. In his mind I heard the words: "Yeah, I know it's just so spooky that we 
are so similar."
    "Spooky," I spoke aloud, "that's a scientific term, is it?"
    "Oh, hush up!"

    I had arranged to meet with several Disney toons that morning to discuss 
some recent events that had angered them. Being in charge of toon well-
being, it was my job to find out about anything that might cause issues for 
toons to fight with each other. I also had an appointment with Warner 
Brothers to explore the details and nuances of the AOL / Time Warner 
merger and how it would affect its characters.
    Wile E. had to get off to work himself, and had just come by to make sure 
I got up in time, as I had asked him to.
    "So you were at Disney World again?" Wile E. asked, picking up on my 
thoughts.
    I nodded. "What better way to observe and evaluate how Disney treats its 
public than to play the role of one and frequent its main attraction?"
    "True, but you receive no special recognition there--no executive 
treatment, no special privileges in a fantasy atmosphere aimed at toons 
themselves. Doesn't that bother you?"
    "If I wanted recognition and people clamoring around me I'd just go 
down to the movie lots here and wave at the tourists. Besides, Disney World 
has a relatively high level of ambient toon energy. It's high enough for me to 
pick on as a human--a fair energy booster, even if it is generated by 
Disney."
    I argued with my fur for another minute and decided it would have to do.
    "Well, guess I'm ready," I concluded. "See you later, Coyote." I 
emphasized the word "Coyote."
    "That's better," he commented.

    It is now a new century, a new time and place to be a part of. Life 
continues both here and in Toonity. What happens from here may never be 
known, not even by those of us with prescience.
    Now that this book is in existence, the truth will spread that there is 
another place in existence, a place where cartoon characters do indeed exist. 
This place cannot be reached by plane or car or even space ship, but 
currently only by the mind, which can transverse the journey of countless 
dimensions and universes that separate this universe and Toonity. That is 
how I found it, and that is how we have come to be a part of your culture. 
From the few humans who have learned the journey to the cartoon world, 
through their eyes and their interpretations, we have become a part of your 
world. Existing parallel to your world and universe, the cartoon world is no 
more or less real than yours, for indeed thought, time, and space are 
definitely intertwined.
    As this final excerpt illustrates, my work in Toonity continues, and shall 
for decades to come. Toon and human will continue to co-exist in the 
multiverse, both worlds journeying into the unknown future.