"I was once asked to write a novel." said Joe. The prospect of such an endeavor made my palms sweat, my left eye twitch and my feet stink. These are the very same physical reactions that took place every time I saw that girl I had a crush on way back in the seventh grade, but this time it signaled a serious medical condition, so I went to see the doctor. After devouring the bottle of caffeine pills he prescribed to me, the voices slowly faded away. Finally being drugged by caffeine, I picked up one of the pens that looked like two pens, due to being wired. I then threw it (them?) across the room disgustedly, and sat down at my computer to "get serious".

But I couldn't get the pen off my mind when I looked across the room and realized it had hit the mantlepiece, shattered, and dripped green all over my lovely white cat. I'd have to hold off on the story for a bit while I cleaned up Buttercup, my fluffy, fat, extremely spoiled kitty -- my best friend the whole world, that is except for Georgie (my llama.) As I was removing the green ooze from Buttercup's whiskers, careful not to disturb her nap, I happened to look out the window and noticed that Georgie the llama had just jumped the fence.

"Oh fiddlesticks!" I hissed. I wondered why Georgie couldn't use the fence door like all good little llamas . Then, being disgusted, I ran to the door only to trip over the lazy, fluffy, fat cat which caused my face to smash right into the mantle piece. "Doggone it," I exclaimed loudly, while trying to find my glasses which had been knocked off in the scuffle. I found the glasses and apologized to the cat, but not before sneezing from all the ash in the fireplace. I ran out the door, hopped on my scooter and began the high-speed chase after Georgie. As joggers were passing me on the street, I happened to look at my neighbor's house and noticed that his Ducati was missing and his driveway peppered with llama prints; when the realization of what just took place here dawned on me, I began to curse the day I taught Georgie to ride. My neighbor, whose concrete was freshly poured, cursed too. If only Georgie had paid attention to all those CHiPs episodes like I had, this all woudn't be happening! So, I put switched my scooter into turbo and...whoa, this is fast! As I sped along, I began to hear the faint rumble of the Ducati. I couldn't believe it, but Georgie had circled the globe and was only a quarter mile behind me and gaining fast. I did a one eighty and stopped Georgie in his tracks. Or-- should I say-- his tracks stopped on me. I found myself laying on the road, with only enough energy to say "help, I have fallen and I can't reach my tea!"

Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw my old friend from grade school walking by. "What happened here?" she exclaimed, "You look like you've been run over by a llama." She reached out her hand and helped peel my pitiful self off the concrete street. As I dusted the concrete chunks off my now much flatter stomach, I explained the story behind the madness.

"It all started," I said, "when I was sentenced to write a novel. . . "The prospect of such an endeavor made my palms sweat, my left eye twitch and my feet stink. Then I noticed, she was falling asleep standing up; how rude!! However, after I thought about what I had said, I realized I would have fallen asleep too. So I changed the subject in hopes of reviving her, "Did you see where my Llama went?"... no luck. Yet, she was eager for an adventure, so I asked her to join me in the hunt. Then I realized that it’s usually not a good idea to awaken someone while they are sleepwalking, so I forged on ahead without her and continued pursuing my elusive llama.

I started by asking myself where would I go if I were a llama-- probably somewhere with a double L, so I could fit in. That dastardly Llama has probably gone to Illinois to cheer for his beloved Cubs! But wait, there he is in the line to get on the Greyhound headed for Illinois. So I thought, "Oh well, I guess Lloyd Center it is". Sprinting as quietly as I could I reached Georgie in no time, had a rope around his neck, and was on my way to the mall, llama-back style.

"Oh dear," I mused, "How am I ever going to get this novel written with all these interruptions?" Then I did what all good writers do: I went out and bought myself a mini tape recorder. "Does this thing work?" I asked the mini-corder. When I played back the message, all I heard was " Does this thing work?.... this message will self destruct in 5 seconds . " As I began to panic, I noticed that I was holding down a button that makes certain sayings like that because when I pushed it again it said, "Whatzzzzuuupp!" Realizing that I had gotten off track again, I pushed the record button and said, "It was a dark and stormy night . . . My second cousin Betty had dropped by for an unexpected visit and asked if I would like to have one of her new baby llamas as a companion for Buttercup, my cat. Lightning flashed at just the right time to reveal the cutest llama you ever saw tied up to the fence in my yard. Unfortunately, that lightning bolt struck the nearby tree and split it in two, so the cute llama ran in terror and consequently asphyxiated itself.

Luckily, Cousin Betty had a twin (llama, that is). The twin llama Ralf was not as cute, but had an adorably quaint senseless look to him. Then, remarkably, this llama started to sing. "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands. If you're happy and you know it clap your hands. . . " It was at this point that I started wondering if Llamas thought in their own minds that they had "hands" and "feet" and that humans have "hoofs".

I pressed the stop button on the recorder and hopped off Georgie because we'd finally reached the mall. Unfortunately, we were met my security and escorted off the premises because there was another shooting, so we decided to go to Tony Roma’s instead and order some llama-back ribs. When I first placed my order, Georgie was furious-- he thought I was ordering a llama back-- but I quickly explained that these were moocow ribs. It was there and then when all the jokes about buffalo wings tasting like chicken sank in the laughter from Georgie was uncontrollable.

45 minutes later, the waiter came back with my salad and said my ribs would take another 30 minutes; my laughter quickly faded away. I stared at the waiter. Why was he smiling like that? I was so hungry my stomach was beginning to sound like an ochestra. And then, as if from the great beyond, I heard someone calling my name while the orchestra played, telling me that it’s time to wake up. What is it I'm supposed to wake up to? It was then that I recognized the voice, the voice... of Tom Jones. I said, "Tom, how are you; its been a long time." "Are you related to 'Will' Jones?" I said.

"Why yes," he responded, "How did you know?"

Just then, somewhere in the distance, a coyote began to howl a mournful tune as the wind rustled through the leaves, scaring the pants off of poor Georgie. I began to wonder at the thought that Tony Roma, of all places, is the meeting place of Tom Jones, llamas and coyotes. Tom Jones, llamas and coyotes oh my, Tom Jones, llamas and coyotes!

Then finally my food came and Tom Jones said, "Wheres my food; don't you understand that because I'm your guest you should treat me (I was confused)." In my confusion, Georgie and I ran out the door, leaving poor Tom looking bewildered and forlorn. When he asked me where I was going the waiter said, "He'll Have to Go because It's Four in the Morning."

As I ran down the street, with Georgie at my side I thought, "now where should I go -- catch the bus to Chicago, fly to Hawaii, or just go home?" Fortunately, my favorite TV show was scheduled to be on in an half-hour, so I hailed a cab, hustled Georgie and myself inside, and headed for home. I figured that I'd take advantage of the ride, so I took out my tape recorder and pushed Play-- back to Ralf and his song. It was then that I noticed a concerned look on George's face, as if he had something to say. "Hey, Georgie are you wanting to say something?"

"I don't know how to clap my hands," he said. I sat with a furrowed brow for over five minutes trying to figure out a kind way to break it to Georgie that he didn't actually have hands. And then it hit me: I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance by switching to Geico. Georgie knocked me in the noggin with his non-hand.

It was then I realized that I was having another 'Teletubbies' moment. It's the huffs, "you have huffs and you can't clap your huffs no- duuuh" I said to Georgie. "Again! Again!" replied Georgie. Just then a helicopter landed in the street in front of us. As soon as the landing rails touched the pavement, I saw the nearby meter maid rush over and issue a parking citation to the helicopter pilot who, upon seeing the ticket, muttered a few choice words in French, hopped back in the chopper, and took off never to be seen again. Thus distracted, Georgie reached over and started pushing my buttons-- er, the recorder buttons-- and repeated, "Again! Again!"