chapter 5

Before the dawn of last night, a thousand years ago, Jolly ole St. Limbaugh drank some beer and had a revelation.  He stared into the dingy mug, and wondered what he was supposed to do in life.  He had no aspirations.  Nothing to live up to.  He had always wanted to save a whale, but despite the adds posted in the classifieds, no whales called needing his services.  He was feeling down and out.  He decided to start looking for whales.  Where do whales hang out, he  asked  himself.  Why, in the water, of course.  And where is there a lot of water?  Why, near ports.  And who would be at a port, besides a whale?  A porter.  "Another beer, kind Sir."  He slapped down his coin, and opened the beer, which was conspiciously labeled, 'Dimentional Trans Porter'."  Damn, no whale.  Oh well, maybe next time.  He sipped from the bottle, closed his eyes and swallowed.  It was truly love.  Well, actually it was a bird, but it was the bird of true  love.  The bird stood up, and asked him, "Mr. Limbaugh, Do you know of anybody who saves whales?"  This was too good to be true!  He nodded his head frenziedly.  "Well follow me.  He walked after the bird, until they reached a merchant wandering along the road.  "Nice bird you've got there, sell it for a beer?"  Now, he hadn't had a beer in at least five minutes.  He thought about it and said, "How about two beers?"  The merchant looked confused and said,  "Let's make it three and you keep the bird."  He graciously accepted, and walked away, nursing his beer.  A little further along the road they came upon a man in a business suit.  "Good day, sir, is that a beer you have there?"  "Why, yes it is."  "That'll be one bird, please."  "A bird?"  "Yes, a bird, it's the law that you supply the feathers."  "Feathers?"  "Are you hearing impaired?"  "No, I'm Beering imtrioed."  "That'll do.  Go on." They walked for six days and seventeen nights,  and ended up at Porterland, Dixieland.  He walked down the main street and saw row after row of vendors selling cups and beer.  The market was empty except for the vendors.  He walked up to one of the cup stands and asked how business was going.  "Not bad," the man replied taking up an empty cup, putting it to his lips, and setting it back down.  "Is the beer here good?"  "Dunno, never had any."  "May I have a cup?"  "Can I have some beer?"  "No."  "No."

                chapter 17

The bird, having been quiet, except for the incessant throat noise it was making chimed in, "We're almost to the whale."  They walked to the dock, and found a whale sitting at a table.  "This is the whale," the bird chirped.  "Hi, Mr. Whale."  "Eusuk."  "You too, buddy."  "No, call me Eusuk."  "Sure thing, Mr. Whale."  The whale sipped at his margarita.  Limbaugh nursed another beer.  He was beginning to feel like a physician's assistant.  "Mr. Whale, the word is, you need saving."  "No, the word is, blech.  But, I do need saving."  The whale went on to explain how he was being held prisoner by the evil Yersol.  Then went on to say that he was late for his daily torturing, and dived into the water and swam off.  Jolly ole Saint Limbaugh jumped in after him, and followed him to Yersol's hideout.  It was big.  It was scary.  It resembled a Hostess Factory.  He knocked on the front door.  The door ominously opened.  A woman dressed in a blue dress opened the door and said, "Welcome, I hope you enjoy your stay."  Her face had a smile on it that would make a man bleed gummi worms.  "Thank you." Looking up he noticed the bird was no longer with him.  Probably off finding another hero.  He followed the arrows conveniently drawn on the floor.  All around him were women like the one he met at the door. One came up to him and said, "Peanuts, beverage, hot towel?"  "Uh, no thanks."  He trotted through the hallways, following arrow after arrow, until he reached a large, heavy looking door. He knocked and stood back. The door opened a crack and a little man stuck his head out.
 

                      Chapter 23

"Hello?" he said in a high pitched squeaky voice.  "Hi, I'm here to save the whale."  "Here, you'll need these."  The little man handed Limbaugh a stack of religious tracts.  He said thank you and entered the room.  The room consisted of four walls, a ceiling, a pool of water, an assortment of torture implements, and a microwave.  A little man with white hair and a lab coat was playing in the area marked, 'Torture Corner'.  The whale, who he remembered, was sitting in an intertube in the pool.  "Hey! I'm here to save the whale!" Limbaugh shouted.  "What have you to say for yourself?" the little man in the labcoat asked.  He couldn't think of anything to say, so he grabbed a tract out of his pocket and began to read.  "Squash the Cookie:  Don't Be the Cookie.  You are here because of the toe fungus of a Packiderm."  He threw the track to the ground and grabbed a new one.  "You Suck!  Give Us Your Soul!"  Before he could continue the whale broke in, "I'm sorry!  You can have him!  I was just lonely and wanted someone to play with."  Eusuk thought he had said, "Eusuk, give us Yersol!"  The old man walked over to St. Limbaugh and grabbed his sleeve.  "Home go?  Food eat?"  The old man had evidently been here since birth and nobody had ever taught him how to speak correctly.  "You thirsty?"  The man nodded 'yes'.  "Here, have a beer."  "Eusuk, go do good things, like help old ladies across the street.  They will spend time with you."  Eusuk wiped the tears from his eyes and jumped into the pool, which led to the ocean.  The man and Limbaugh walked out of the complex, and swam to shore.  When they arrived at Porterland, Dixieland they traded their last bottle of beer for enough cups to build a small bed with.  They slept great that night, and the first person in the history of Porterland, Dixieland drank a beer.  When Limbaugh woke up, the first thing he noticed was that someone took his cups.  Then he opened his eyes, and noticed someone took his sky, and replaced it with a crowd of faces.  "He's awake!"  "Was there any doubt I was going to wake up?  Someone give me a beer."  "You've had quite enough to drink for the time being," said a man

Chapter i

that looked like the bartender, "You should probably go home."  St. Limbaugh grabbed his hangover and stumbled out of the bar.  Maybe I have some beer at home, he thought to himself.