"Darn those people! The nerve of them even thinking of kidnapping little ol' me. Well, we'll thwart them, right Mr. Spitz? Once the Inka gets here, we'll be looong gone!" The puppet looked like it would have rather have been safely esconsed on her bed back in the Comfy Cottage, but it had little choice in the matter-- its mistress was steamed, and when Kyer was steamed Logic went screaming out the window. Not that there was much there to begin with.

Entering by the main doors of the CBC Radio Station and noting that the place looked deserted, Kyer made her way to the broadcasting booth, set down Mr. Spitz on the console, and began rummaging thru her backpack for the food she had planned as her in-flight meal. Even in a hair-brained state she still had the sense to booby-trap the place should she be interrupted by night security..

"Now... lessee... how do you turn this stuff on?" As fortune would have it, she hit the right switch on the first try. Across Toronto, dozens of citizens who had neglected to turn off their CBC-set radios looked up in surprise as they heard: "Ooooo--- Looky at all the winky-blinkies!"

Making herself as comfortable as she could, Kyer gave a discreet little cough and began talking into the microphone. "Gee... I hope this is working, Mr. Spitz....

"Hello? Inka? It's Kyer up In the Great White You Know Where. If you wouldn't mind--- COME AND GET ME ASAP!! Thanks much."

Kyer released a sigh of satisfaction and smiled at Mr. Spitz. Now that her distress call had been sent out, she could relax. All she had to do was wait for her Peruvian friend to get her the heck out of Canada...

Waiting was boring.

"You know, Mr. Spitz... " Kyer's brown eyes started to gleam with mischief, "I don't think anyone would mind if we played radio talk host for a while, do you? I know! Let's pretend we bought out CERK! I'll just switch off the signal power first." She hit a switch with a flourish. Unfortunately, this time it was *not* the *right* switch.

"Hi, all! Bet you tuned in to listen to that bug, didn't you? Well, the Nightcrawler's been temporarily SQUISHED! And until he can pull himself back into shape, *We're* going to be reading to you from that immortal tale: 'Is Your Mama A Llama?' Aren't we, Mr. Spitz? But first a word from our sponsors...
Did a moth infestation ruin your toga supply? Are you fresh out of pink bunnies? Did that big Drool Bucket Sale at the local store end before you could get there? Then head on over to Crazy Cal's All-Nite Swap Meet! There you'll find..."

Back at the Comfy Cottage, Kyer's faction mates heard a yelp of surprised anguish. Seconds later, Margie came tearing down the stairs, flew to the radio and switched it on so the others could hear the broadcast.

"She's gone nuts!" Margie exclaimed. "We've got to do something before *they* kill her!"
"Which *they*?" Anjali wanted to know.
"Take your pick! Enforcers, NA, LaCroix, Cousins! If we don't get to her first--- we're gonna have another spare bedroom on our hands!"
Morgaine impulsively yelled out: "Dibs! Er... I mean..." she stuttered as the others glared at her.

Thirty seconds later, J.L., Morgaine, and Margie were in Lisa's car, with J.L. driving, heading for the radio station at breakneck speed. As they sped down the freeways, Morgaine turned on the radio and found the CBC station. They heard Kyer's voice reading a sweet story about a lost baby llama that was asking various animals if they were his Mama.

"That sounds okay," thought Margie, "maybe there won't be any more...."

They heard Kyer's voice, saying, "Well... then the little baby Llama went to bug its next victim with its insidious questions, didn't it, Mr. Spitz? Of course, the little creature could have had much worse problems than an identity crisis. It could have been looking for its Pappa and have that being turn out to be a real wacko, buzz-cutted Llama dude with major ego and possessiveness problems.."

All three riders in the car groaned in unison.

Meanwhile, back at the Comfy Cottage, Lisa, the lone Nunkies Addict among the Cousins of the Knight, had her calculator out and was trying to figure out how much grout duty at the Shrine she'd be assigned during the next year, as a result of Kyer's broadcast. Anjali was trying to comfort her.

At the radio station, Kyer was just about through with her dramatic reading (with Mr. Spitz's help) of 'Is Your Mama A Llama?' (set to the background music of a 'Fun In The Sun!' cd) when she heard loud angry-sounding noises coming closer.

"Uh.. oh." She looked at the console in front of her. "Mr. Spitz... you don't think we might have left something *important* on, do you?"

The barricaded doors lasted all of three seconds as a sampling of the station's night security people came barging in. They immediately began slipping on the assortment of banana peel and banana mash 'booby traps' Kyer had discar...er.. *set*.

"Is something wrong?" Kyer asked as they struggled to right themselves on the treacherous floor.

One of the guards snarled at her, momemtarily exposing glistening fangs and reddish eyes before flying forward--- only to be brought up short by a stinging cloud from a can of 'Raid Nightcrawler Spray that Kyer kept on hand just in case she ever ran into trouble with a certain ancient bloodsucker.

Vampires!

The poor man struggled to breathe in just one gulp of fresh air. Here he'd been on his way to his son's Monster Party Sleep Over, when his alarm beeper had gone off. The special contact lenses and fangs had cost a small fortune and he was not about to waste any more time than he had to collaring this obvious lunatic. Not only that-- but that damn spray was taking off the paint from his costume!

"I think we've been fired, Mr. Spitz." Kyer wisely deduced. "Suppose we'll have to kiss off that letter of reference."

That's not all you'll be kissing off you dement--" the young guard snarled, reaching for her.

Hastily searching one handed into her pouch, Kyer pulled out the sacred image of Inti, the Incan Sun God cast on a gold-painted medallion. (Made in Taiwan) The make-believe vampire recoiled back. Whether because of the holy image or because of the cheap knock-off work was hard to say. Or maybe it was because the thing had managed to severely collide with the man's head?

Deciding that *yesterday* would have been a good time to leave Toronto, Canada, and-- heck!-- maybe all of North America, she grabbed for Mr. Spitz and her backpack before *purposely* (ahem) stepping on one of the banana peels which sent her hurtling towards the main doors--

"Ya know... maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Mr. Spitz?"