Please add to the story using the edit button. Don't be shy ........ anything goes! Remember, you can also create links.

For a wild example of collaborative cartoon making see Abram Stern's Charlies Ants [link]

Prologue

No! Please don't start. But we must. We have to tell a tale as it must be told. No we don't. Come on, lets go before it is too late. It is already too late. There is no negotiation with destiny.

Chapter 1: Blind Date

Don't be too hard on me. I really had no intention of subjecting you to all this. In fact the more I think about it the more bizarre the series of events seem, those events that led me here, sitting in the Purple Armadillo [link] with Karen, listening to her inexhaustible flow of Southern Californian profundities. When I asked about the Garfield tatoo adorning her bicep, she laughed and told me it was a souvenir of her time in a Russian prison. [link] If only she knew I used to be a Russian prison guard, but that is neither here nor there.

Apparently Karen was water skiing on Lake Baikal [link] where she met some seedy characters who persuaded her to join the Siberian Circus [link]. Karen was a gymnast and her high-air acrobatics only convinced them that she was well suited for the job. Four years. Four long, cold, and unrewarding years. If only she had known ahead of time what she was about to be dragged into.

The circus toured all over Siberia, far and wide. During a particularly cold and uninspiring winter, the troupe decided to take a gig at a local prison camp. Well, maybe "decided" is an exaggeration...they were told they had no choice in the matter. The act started out normal enough; horse and rider tricks, siberian tigers, contortionists, and Karen doing trapeze work with a pair of twins from Zimbabwe with skin the color of India Ink.

But then a space ship from Tralfamadore [link], that had recently returned a well-know American novelist [link] back to earth after a spell on their planet, decided to drop by - Tunguska [link], after all, was nearby the circus.

Their objective - to secure a blind date for one of their species. This, of course, was easier said than done. The Tralfamadorians (we call the aliens this because in their tongue what they call themeselves sounds like a series of ticks and %@*&^%) had a peculiar odor; not unlike tiramisu that had been left out for three nights in the middle of a Sicilian scirocco (the African wind). This too happened to be the model of their car, a 1984 Volkswagen Scirocco MKII [link]. And incidentally (apart from the five tentacles that they try to pass off as nose hair [link]), this posed yet another obstacle in their ability to secure a blind date. Who in their right mind would recommend such "bachelors" to a friend.

But Karen was not without her enemies, especially with regard to her theft of Boris's Crepe Suzette receipe [link], which she started to recite to me as if it were a liturgical chant[link]

"In a large skillet over high heat, bring the orange juice to a boil. Add the sugar, reduce to medium heat and simmer for 2 minutes. Remove from heat and add the orange liqueur and orange sections. Set aside.

Using a narrow spatula, remove the crepe to a warm serving plate. Roll the crepe into a cylinder. Spoon on some orange sections. Using a fork, pick some orange zest from the grenadine syrup and distribute it over the crepe. Top with vanilla ice cream and serve immediately."

You see, Boris was extremely partial to his receipe. He truly believed he had perfected the Suzette and that he had stumbled onto a potential goldmine. This was to be, not only his ticket out of the Siberian prison where he had toiled for the last decade, but also a way for him to pay off the Tralfamadorians. Boris it seems had accumilated a massive gambling debt when he had been abducted by the aliens. But he knew they loved oranges ...

Karen was under the impression that her theft had gone unnoticed. Clearly, Karen had underestimated how much the recipe meant to her crepe loving friend. Boris' security cameras had caught everything. And now it was time for him to take his revenge, and re-claim his prize.

Her memory of the events was hazy at best, but as far as Karen could recall, she has just finished her second trapeze act. She was in the dressing room preparing for the finale when... BAM! Shooting pain, as if someone had split her head open. And then, everything turned to blackness... [link]

Chapter 2:

Darkness. Enveloping darkness. Karen could fill a thin feathered cot beneath her. The metal rod of a dislodged spring was working its way into her left thigh. The stench of urine filled the space. Karen tried desparately to sit up. Her head ached so bad her eyes began to haze over. On the edge of the bed she could make out the dark recess of a door to her right. A weak light revealed the rectanglar edge of a small opening near the top of the door. As the haze cleared she soon realized she was was in a cell [link]. Directly across from her was another cot. A dark lump shifted. Karen was not alone...

..a link begging to be used [link]