Yes, Vreedeez and Howll live adjacent to the world's largest rubber band ball, which is still in progress, ceaselessly enlarged by the diligent ministrations of the Middle Eastern guy who owns the convenience store, who is in an intense and ruthless rivalry with some other rubber-band-balling Arab in town out to capture the Guinness Book world record.
During this afternoon, Chicken John is toiling on his obstinate Hollywood Squares prop gizmos, trying to get his truck packed, and to leave for L.A., seeing as how we're supposed to perform an entertaining show there on Friday night, and this monstrous set has to be built. I alone am able to grab some shut-eye before Chicken John and his cohorts Jeff and Chris finally pull up in the INSANELY OVERPACKED ancient 4 door pick-up, and cram in me and Hal. At the last minute I realize I might need a blanket, so without asking, I grab the ratty, tattered, stinking old woven blanket that Palmer had lying around. (After the blanket's subsequent DISAPPEARANCE, Vreedeez informs me that that ratty blanket was hand-made for him by his late grandmother and is a precious family heirloom.)