In our little town, the art of story telling is often regarded with great suspicion. Most of our fat-cheeked bigwigs, apparently having fat white bones in their golden closets, are quick to rave and rant, huff and pant, and loudly cry 'away, away! no birds in the sky! as soon as some of our common townsfolk started telling stories about big white bones. Sorry, sir, our humble common townsfolk would seem to say, but stories are for the telling, particularly if they invloved white bones, or bones painted white, whether they are in dark secret closets or under two flabby lips programmed to crack open anytime one of our prominent bigwigs passes by or throws a fleshy bone. And who said that bones are white outside, but red inside?

Heb, heb! Heavens grace! What things did not happen in our little town! Wonder of wonders under the sky! One of the greatest wonders being the sudden emergence of a gallant cadre of folks with lips programmed to crack open and flash some bones painted white for the pleasure of our prominent bigwigs with fat shining cheeks and pockets full of cash-cash - money-bags, our common townsfolk would call them. This gallant cadre had an exclusive club appropriately named

'Pro-Pious Club for the Protection of Good from Evil' - good being our pious bigwigs and evil being everyone else, particularly those ignorant nothings who call themselves story tellers and all those other insignificant nobodys who pretend to know anything at all about social etiquette, right, wrong or center.

One of the most prominent, outspoken and versatile members of this newly emerged club for the protection of good from evil was the famous Jumbo Scifi. Now there were many members of this prominent club, but our famous Jumbo Scifi, commonly known as Mr Rampant, was a class all by himself. For one thing, Rampant was not out to show the white bones beneath his fleshy lips for any bigwig Tom, Dick or Harry. He was the special friend and exclusive admirer, unconditional lover, musical crooner, mental massager, ego-pusher, morale-booster, tireless defender, and fierce fighter for arguably one of the greatest and most generous bigwigs of our little town - the one and only Mr. Hathol Smoothy of Jefjel Enterprises, ORST, HMPQ, TAPET. Hathol Smoothy of the eagle's eye and the gallant gait. Hathol Smoothy of heehaw fame and all fair game! Hail! The paragon of vitue and and business genius.

No wonder our famous Jumbo Scifi, the gallant Mr Rampant, left no stone unturned, no height unscaled, no truth untold, no sentence unsaid, no face unslapped, to make sure that the great Hathol Smoothy of Jefjel Enterprises was never misunderstood, never misrepresented, never miscalculated, never misinterpreted or otherwise misconstrued and therefore unjustly offended by callous common nothings whose prime motivation could only be green-eyed jealousy and nauseating ignorance of the facts and figures of Mr Smoothy's nimble sensibilities, his unrivalled contribution to the achievements of our little town, his countless acts of charity for the upliftment of our wretched multitudes, which came from the very cool bottom of his gentle heart. Hach! Heekat! Who dared say the well was dry!

As far as Mr Rampant was concerned, Mr Smoothy was not only a perfect gentleman. He was a perfect man - a rarity that grew to make our humble little town more than what we could possibly imagine. As 2001 drew to a resounding close, with Mr Smoothy's Jefjel Enterprises having more than a bumper harvest of profits and winning the Best Business of the Decade Award, 2002 was set to be a momentous year for the gallant Jumbo Scifi. After all, his one and only Mr Smoothy had declared at Jefjel's end of year banquette, that he was turning a new leaf in the new year. So that as soon as an opportunity presented itself, our vocal Jumbo Scifi whispered to the guy sitting next to him: Bro, this year I'll be a changed man. It's new year, new man. Just wait and see. I have just been lying in mental hibernation!! Boy kaii look ma!