Gong Swimmin'

SCUL, pondering the complexities of elevated atmospheric red-
lettered
three digit temperatures, decided to fight the heat with heavy
nebula
immersion in a secret location.

This quest for H2O started with a game - how long would Special
Guest
(The Mighty) Isis ride with SCUL before banging the GONG OF
DISAPPEARANCE?

Off we went, and - GONG! - and off we went, again, in search of ice
cream molecules in the heart of the 'Ville on the way to the
mysteries
of the deep woods & water of the suburbs.

- Deathtrap did not attend,
so SOMEBODY had to ride Moneypenny,
(i know, RIGHT?)

Twisting and turning through the mountains of Medford, SCUL picked
up
a hearty floatie surfer named JAWS, whose enthusiasm for the unknown
impressed us all.

We approached the hidden entrance with SILENT RUNNING & lights out.
Brave pilots pushed the fleet through the forest towards our night's
goal… a dunk in a lake.

Did we get caught by the Anti-Dunk Night Patrol?

- No.

Did the locals across the lake get flashlighted and escorted back to
the tarmac of civilization?

- Yes.

We PROFESSIONAL dunkers don't get caught, and earn Medals of Naked
to
boot, but we played it safe and hit the road.

Homeward bound, we hit a meteor shower of ice cream & pie and then
it
was off to the downtown DERBY!
More floaties joined and watched our playground dance with death as
we crashed and ribbon-yanked until the last pilot was left
standing...
(WHY is it always NOSEPICKER?!?!)

Then the late-night re-entry to SCUL's home-base, gliding in on a
cloud of FUNK.

- Good night.

Things we learned:

 The North Point playground fountains don't work no more

 Don't steal Wombat's headband even if you are stealthy
like
ten ninjas