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As you sit, right now, in the comfort of your ergonomic chair, listening to your room-warming compilation of Ramones covers, our heroes are in action. Someone or something lurks in the shadows of suburbia, not seeing the signage of agreed-upon boundaries of protected personal space. Villainy will not heed the barking of your mildly insane fenced-in mixed-breed on this night. The masked monkey that threatens your peaceful evening at this very moment does not and cannot smell the fear that he so dutifully provokes. Or is that the tuna casserole? You really ought to go see about it, since you forgot to set the timer... again.
Sir Jogs A Lot: How does one find what he cannot see? Rather, how does one league of peacekeepers find what cannot see them? It's a conundrum of sorts, like a joke without a punchline. And I'm not laughing.
Uber Eskimo: Don't look now, Captain Cliche, but I think that your conundrum is poking his head out of that garbage bin over there.
Utility Infielder: Hey dude, why don't you hop on out of that dumpster and show us what you're made of?
Unsensing Evil: I know that someone is speaking to me. I know many things. But I hear nothing. I see nothing. I smell nothing. I taste nothing. My sense of touch alone remains with me, and it is faint.
Hillbilly Robot: I reckon this fellow is like one of them monkeys what has hands covering his mouth and his ears and his eyes.
Uber Eskimo: Ah yes, the ever popular octopus monkey. Actually, this guy is more like Helen Keller having a bad day.
Bionic Jemimah: You poor soul, how pitiful your condition truly is. But even with the burdensome hand that was dealt to you, your sense of conscience must writhe within you for the wickedness carried out by your nearly numb hands.
Unsensing Evil: I can't hear you! I'm not listening! No sense of hearing means that your words fall on my deaf ears! Is anybody paying attention?
Utility Infielder: Can you, like, read people's minds, as a way of compensating for your inabilities? Do you know what I'm thinking? OK, I spy, with my little eye, something green.
Unsensing Evil: Grass? Which one of you is thinking about grass? Come on, you idiots, you're in the presence of unbridled evil, the baddest of the bad. Can you not even wriggle while poised in the palm of my hand?
Utility Infielder: Oh snap! Did you hear that? I said I spy something green, and he knows I'm thinking of grass! That is totally rockin', dude!
Sir Jogs A Lot: My friend, I'm afraid that the only thing that rocks in these suburbs is the sweet melody of justice. I certainly don't see eye to eye with this foul perpetrator, and the sweet taste of his imminent apprehension makes me feel a little bit of alright.
As the dialog slipped into banality for a few hours, Hillbilly Robot excused himself from the scrum to go get the pickup truck warmed up. Unsensing Evil desperately tried to slip slowly into madness in order to make his last stand, but to no avail. Bionic Jemimah's heartfelt encouragement proved to be a formidable good vibe that even he could feel.
Hillbilly Robot: How long must this possum be treed before we attempt to take a shot at him? It'll come daylight, and we'll still be here preaching to the casket.
Unsensing Evil: I renounce my will to live.
Hillbilly Robot: Well I'll be.
Anonymous Passerby: Thank you, League of Vowels. I feel at ease now, knowing that as I pass by anonymously, I can again go home and watch sit-coms with peace of mind in the comfort of my own futon. Please accept this doughnut and this beverage as a symbol of my gratitude.
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