In Search of the Talking Moose

Who is the Talking Moose? Where did he come from? How did he get here? What does he want from us? Is Steve Halls the only person to see a Talking Moose in the flesh? Why did Steve write the Talking Moose program? Why is Baseline publishing it? What is the Talking Moose philosophy? Why does the Talking Moose like Macintoshes? What does a Talking Moose eat? Is the Talking Moose connected to UFOs? Why does the Moose encourage the Apple-IBM alliance? Why are there so many questions in this introduction?

These questions and more we will try to answer tonight on... In Search of the Talking Moose.

IT ALL STARTED SO INNOCENTLY

Scientists are at a loss to explain the exact origins of the Talking Moose. In fact, only in the past few years have some members of the scientific community come to accept the Talking Moose as a reality. The meager data collected so far (a few bone fragments and a photograph) seems to indicate that there were once huge herds of fun loving carnivorous moose-shaped dinosaurs that roamed the earth. Named TyrannaMoosus Rex ("Thunder Moose King') by an obscure Canadian paleontologist and part time ski instructor, these dinosaurs were responsible for many of the practical jokes that were played on unsuspecting herbivores in the Jurassic era.

The links between the ancient moose-lizard and the modern day Talking Moose are tentative at best. For instance, the fact that dinosaurs are lizards and mooses are mammals. Still, some over educated archeologists suggest a practical joke with a meteor back fired on the thunder mooses, they foresaw the coming of the ice ages and disappeared into a large cave in New Jersey with a wake up call for the morning. If they did, then they have overslept.

LET MY MOOSES GO

The next suggestion of the Talking Moose comes from the burial chamber of an ancient Egyptian king, Ra-Moos-ese. Ra-Moos-ese was renowned for being the Pharaoh of Egypt during the time that minor prophet Mooses freed the mooses, buffalos, and assorted sacred cows.

Ra-Moos-ese's tomb was discovered by a curious Egyptian shepherd in 1920 when he noticed that a herd of elk would gather every November ? at an old watering hole. When the boy told the local authorities, they didn't believe him because elk are not native to Egypt. Finally, the young lad contacted the Canadian consulate in Cairo and they agreed to examine his claim.

The old watering hole turned out to be the partially destroyed burial crypt of the aforementioned Ra-Moos-ese. Over the door appeared the inscription, "Enter not here or thou shaft be followed by that which walks with four legs, says hello in the morning, says goodbye at night, and cracks jokes in the between." The courageous Egyptologists ignored it to their doom.

Inside the crypt, which was mostly filled with water, was the sarcophagus of Ra-Moos-ese as well as the mummified remains of his servants and advisors. Strangely enough, all of Ra-Moos-ese's retainers were animals of one kind or another. Unfortunately, what might have proven to be one of the most significant discoveries in this century was lost as quickly as it was found. The chambers began flooding with water and the Egyptologists were only able to escape with one fragment from the stone lid of a massive sarcophagus.

It is needless to explain the significance of the fragment, for the translation says enough:

...and the moose did grin, and the carp and the antelope and the fruit bats and the anchovies did feast upon (untranslatable - possibly an article of clothing or the name of a political candidate) by the great river...

...and the moose said: "One. Thou shaft say hello in the morning. Two. Thou shaft say goodbye in the evening. Three. Thou shaft crack jokes in the between." And the animals did look upon him, and they saw his bow tie was red, and the great king gurgled for a while and was glad.

Heady stuff indeed!

In a tragic side note, every grumpy member of the expedition died within a few years of each other under mysterious circumstances. The only clue to the unexplained deaths was a note one of the members of the expedition had scribbled shortly before he died. "Beware the Moose" was all it said.

A TALE OF TWO MOOSES

The next hint of the moose subculture comes from pre-revolutionary France. Apparently a minor nobleman in the Ministry of Information and Social Critique by the name of Jean Louis Moose took it upon himself to design monuments to his king. Sadly, Jean Louis was neither an enlightened nobleman nor a good designer, although he could dress well and was great with a snappy comeback. His one work, "L' Moose," was destroyed during the French revolution.

While the revolution was raging, neither Man nor moose of high birth was safe. When Jean Louis heard that a moose from the royal zoo was due to be executed for crimes against the people, he made a heroic decision; to have another one of those yummy eclairs. After the eclair, he decided to save the moose.

Under the cover of night Jean Louis made his way into the revolutionists' headquarters and free the moose! But when he broke one of his high heels during his escape (Did I mention he was disguised wearing a dress?) he was caught. Jean Louis was found guilty of aiding the enemy and was deported to the new French colony in Canada.

Jean Louis, a broken man, spent his last days wandering the cold Canadian countryside repenting his ways by protesting against the booming fur trade. His last words were, "L' oeuvre c'est rien - L' Moose c'est tout!" (The work is nothing the Moose is everything!)

THE MOOSES OF WRATH

Not until the late 1920's did the elements of the persuasive moose influence penetrate the United States of America. At that time the U.S. was in the grip of the Great Depression. Times were very tough on humans, let alone mooses.

In an attempt to revitalize the economy, the treasury department came up with a plan to adjust the monetary balance in a novel manner. They believed that the issue of a new $3 bill sporting the profile of a moose would allow the government to issue as much money as it needed to pay debts while never having to worry that anyone would actually spend it! The bills were almost ready to go into production when, at the last minute, a plan that curried more favor with the executive branch, the wildly popular $2 bill, was carried forward instead.

Scientists, whose job it is to be experts about these kinds of things, agree that the Talking Moose population must have undergone drastic reductions through the years. The great Talking Moose herds, which probably numbered in the thousands, had been reduced to a handful of active members. The only hope for the remaining mooses was gaining popular support and, hopefully, classification as an endangered species. Thus their plan was to find a home that would welcome the strange, the unique, and the spectacular. They headed for Hollywood, California.

YOU'LL NEVER SEE A MOOSE IN THIS TOWN AGAIN

The journey was long and difficult, and they did not arrive in Hollywood until the early 1960's. Luckily the mooses came at an auspicious time-talking animal productions were the rage. The Talking Mooses were immediately scooped up by the William Moosis Talent Agency and started acting in bit parts in such great films as Treasure of the Sierra Moose, Mr. Moose Goes to Washington, Mars Needs Mooses, and Dial `M' for Moose. But the mooses had their eyes set on greater things.

Rumors had been circulating that a major TV series was being planned featuring a talking, hoofed mammal. The best and the most humorous mooses, with highly polished antlers, attended the tryouts. After a day filled will hoof-biting tension, the results of the auditions were posted: the top contenders were the mooses and the horses.

The horses immediately recognized the threat posed by the fun-loving, gregarious mooses and hired the Wilbur and Ed Detective Agency to dig up some dirt on them. The detectives were brutally thorough in their investigation. They revealed to the Screen Animals Guild (SAG) that the mooses could not prove they were native U.S. citizens. The SAG had no choice but to bar the mooses from acting. Once again the mooses had to seek new tundra to roam.

Shortly after the moose herd left Hollywood, a mysterious fire broke out at MGM (Moose Golden Manor) Studios which destroyed the complete archives of moose films. Only a few publicity stills remained to testify to the mooses' dramatic contributions.

The Talking Moose herd was tired of the warm weather of the west coast so they struck out for the great white north-Canada! Most of the herd had never recovered from their journey to Hollywood, but they knew that there was a home for them somewhere. They traveled with heavy hearts but high spirits, making up new jokes, inventing puns, and designing nonsensical aphorisms. After entering Canada they continued to aim northward, thus passing from the ken of humankind. We would have never heard or seen the Talking Mooses again if it wasn't for one last contact...

LOVE'S LABOURS LOST & FOUND DEPT.

In 1984 a man by the name of Steve Halls bought his first Macintosh. Steve was a doctor in the wild and wooly frontier town of Saskatoon in the outlaw province of Saskatchewan. Steve practiced his craft well, using such primitive tools as duct tape and staples. But deep down in his heart, Steve wanted to be a programmer. Often as a child he had read the dime store comics about programmers, C-Man, Blaze Pascal-Programmer Extraordinaire, and the famous coding team Object X. Steve learned programming, and in '84 he began practicing in his spare time.

Steve also was courting the woman of his dreams, Jenny. She was an attractive, mysterious beauty that was the most precious jewel of her family. For Steve to win her hand in marriage he had to perform a great feat. Therefore Steve packed up his Macintosh and camping equipment and headed for the forbidding northern waste. He didn't have a clear idea of what he would do, but he felt that somewhere out in the snow his destiny or a severe case of frostbite was waiting.

Steve traveled over glaciers. Steve forded freezing rivers. Steve climbed a mountain once, and his Mac experienced dangerous power surges from the Aurora Borealis!

One day he came upon a large ice cave in a glacier. The cave looked like a typical home that a solitary moose would live in, if you ignored the TV, stereo, VCR, and refrigerator stocked with beer. In the center of the cave was a moose looking very mournful. Steve was impressed and a bit curious. He began examining the moose with his medically trained eyes.

Once the moose understood what Steve was doing he cooperated. The moose used his hoof to point to his mouth and made a hideous sound similar to Ethel Merman underwater. "Aha!" Steve exclaimed. "You have a frog in your throat!" The moose nodded enthusiastically.

With a skill that would make strong surgeons cry and weak orthodontists faint, Steve removed the offending frog from the moose's throat. The moose pranced for joy and opened his mouth, said "Good day, eh?" and told a joke! Steve was stunned! Then the moose told another joke. Steve began to giggle. The moose told another and another. Steve was rolling on the floor. The frog put on a fur coat and left for Florida in a huff:

The moose told jokes for three straight days. Then he introduced himself. Steve had met a Talking Moose!

The Moose was eternally grateful for Steve's assistance. Apparently the Moose had been banished from his herd because he couldn't tell any jokes. Now that he was freed of his affliction he could return to the herd and claim his rightful hereditary title as JokeMaster! But before he would return, he said, he would perform a favor for Steve.

Steve was at a loss for what kind of favor a Talking Moose could perform for him. He explained to the Moose about Jenny, his heroic quest, and his love of Macintosh programming. The Moose was very interested in the Macintosh. "I sure hope it isn't like an IBM. My father tried telling some jokes to an IBM executive in Scranton, PA. That was a real mistake."

Steve carefully removed the Macintosh from the special cold-weather case and plugged it into the cave socket next to the lava lamp. Steve attempted to show the Moose how user-friendly Macintoshes were. The Moose was not moved. "If it was real friendly it would tell jokes like me," he said. "Well, it hasn't been around long enough to get that sophisticated," Steve explained. "Too bad, a computer that could tell a good joke would make the world a nicer place," the Moose mused.

That night while Steve was warmly wrapped in his sleeping bag he had a dream. In the dream Jenny was at his side while they watched a parade in front of their log cabin. The parade was composed of humans and Talking Mooses walking hand in hoof, the line stretching into infinity. Dramatically, like in some Cecil B. DeMille film, the visage of the great Woz appeared over the parade. He fixed his eyes upon Steve and said, "Write a program! Change the world!" Steve felt himself filled with the power of creativity. "Yes, I can do it!" he cried. "I can change the world!"

In the morning he told the Moose how he wanted to give the gift of humor to the Macintosh. He said he wanted to learn the craft of puns, jokes, and off=color comments. The Moose said he would gladly contribute all his resources to such a noble project as long as it wasn't potentially fatal or possibly irritating. But Steve required more tools than those he had taken with him, so they set out to journey back to Steve's home.

They arrived in Saskatoon and immediately began work in Steve's basement laboratory (pronounced la-BORE-a-TOR-ee). Steve's tactic was to create a physical representation of the Moose that would appear on the Mac screen. Working on the moose face and the vocal inflections was the easy part. However, every time he tried to make the moose (on the Mac) tell a good joke, it fell flat.

In the weeks that followed Steve heard the (real) Moose say, "That's not funny," more times than he could count.

Steve began to get more and more desperate. His time was running out. He began to try more and more risky programming techniques. "Power. I need more power," he would mutter to himself. He installed a lightning rod on the roof of his home and connected it to a huge capacitor. He wired a colander to the head of the Moose, ran the wires through a fax machine, and terminated the phone line to the SCSI port of his Mac. That night there was terrific lightning storm.

The air crackled with unseen energies. There was a smell of ozone. "Now I must reverse the polarity," Steve chortled. He threw home a massive switch. Then...

When Steve regained consciousness he found his laboratory in shambles. There was no sign of the Moose. He hung his head in defeat. Then in that darkest hour a voice came from his Mac, "Can I use your car? I need some antler polish." There on his Mac was a funny Talking Moose! "He lives, yes, yes, he lives!" he cried.

Like any good programmer, Steve backed up his drives.

Things moved pretty quickly after this point. Jenny and her family saw the great work Steve had done and they were finally married. The Moose wasn't dead or zapped into the Mac. He had decided to go home because Steve was taking things a bit too seriously. Steve got a postcard from the Moose explaining the disappearance. The Moose was happily back with his herd and waiting for royalty checks.

Aside from the odd Christmas card, Steve had little contact with the Moose for the next several years.

A Moose of a Different Color

One night in late 1989, however, Steve was awakened by an urgent telephone call from Georgia. "We need color!" the Moose's voice roared at him from the receiver. Steve began to wonder if someone had spiked the Moose's trough, but he listened politely as the explanation continued.

It seems that the Moose had gone to Atlanta to interview for a CMN (Cable Moose Network) anchor position. There he overheard that Red Burner had mysteriously acquired a print of The Moose-bow Incident, a film presumed destroyed in the Great Fire of '66. Further investigations by the Moose had revealed that the film had been colorized and was slated for world-wide distribution in the spring. Fearful of what that kind of competition might do to his commercial viability, the Moose had hatched his clever plan to go color on the Macintosh!

Becoming instantly infected by the Moose's visionary plan, Steve cranked up his new Macintosh IIcx the instant he hung up the phone. By breakfast time, he had the rough workings of a color moose on his screen, and within three weeks the transformation was complete! (NOTE: Sadly, The Moose-bow Incident was never re-released. It seems that Burner's new girlfriend thought the film was a cheap rip-off of some old movie her father had been in.)

IT'S A WONDERFUL MOOSE

Within a matter of weeks, a team of U.S. banking regulators arrived at the Moose's penthouse, flinging tear gas canisters and congressional aids through the windows and ripping the door from its hinges. They stormed the building in exemplary G-man fashion and fired a few rounds over the Moose's head for good measure. The senior regulator, brandishing a length of rubber hose, began barking questions about the Moose's financial dealings and his relationship with a guy named Louie. When the Moose pointed out that U.S. agents really didn't have any jurisdiction in Canada anyway and asked for their names, the men exchanged sheepish glances and then ran from the room.

The Moose was no fool, and he quickly put two and two together. Leaving his penthouse with his bank shares in hoof, the Moose caught a train for the States so he could get the real story about the condition of his investment. As luck would have it, he arrived just in time for a federally mandated auction of the small Savings and Loan's assets. The Moose trotted right up to the senior regulator (who had prudently ditched the hose) and demanded his money. The regulator, sweating profusely at the sight of the Moose, explained that the Savings and Loan didn't have any money, but that the Moose could bid for an equivalent share of the assets if he would promise to keep quiet about the little incident in Saskatchewan. The Moose agreed and took up his position at the rear of the auction floor.

CARNIVAL KNOWLEDGE

Item after item was sold at the strike of a gavel-paintings by Dali and Picasso, handwritten memoirs of Abraham Lincoln, a set of six Elvis jumpsuits from the Las Vegas years-but someone would always outbid the best offer the Moose could make. It almost broke the Moose's heart when the next to last item, a pair of copper-plated cufflinks that had belonged to Rip Taylor's paternal grandmother, sold for a mere fifty dollars more than he could bid. The only item remaining was the title to some dilapidated old traveling carnival, and the Moose knew that even it was out of his price range. His head falling in utter defeat, the Moose began sobbing deep, mournful sobs while huge tears streamed down his snout. People nearby started shying away from him because they thought he was drooling.

And then a miraculous thing happened. The crowd somehow sensed the Moose's anguish (if you've ever been around a moose having a nervous breakdown, you'll understand why), and momentarily forgot about the auction. When the Moose realized that no one was bidding, he sniffled twice, raised his head, and looked around the room. Every eye was on him. Then the Moose rallied his courage and went for broke, bidding everything in one fell swoop! "Two hundred and seventy dollars, Canadian!" he cried out with his antlers held majestically and a mystic gleam of hope in his eye!

Needless to say, the Moose's bid was never bested. There are some who claim that no auction-goer could bear the thought of robbing this proud animal of his tiny victory. Others suggest that bidders were hampered by trying to make adjustments for the currency exchange rate. And there are those who are pretty sure that if anyone had been able to stop giggling long enough, it would have been a different story entirely.

Regardless of the reason, the Moose had become the proud owner of the Ding-a-ling Brothers, Barnyard and Baling Wire Traveling Carnival. He got himself a spiffy red coat and a ringmaster's top hat, and he quickly joined his new employees out on the road near Phoenix. He has been traveling with them ever since. Perhaps they have even visited your town.

But if you are not among the privileged few who have seen them in person, do not despair! For now, through the miracle of Macintosh, everyone can experience . . .

THE TALKING MOOSE'S CARTOON CARNIVAL
"The Greatest Show Possible Without Costly Trademark Infringements"

Bates the Mouse

Bates is a Northwestern sort of mouse, born into a prominent family of mice in the hotel and lodging industry. His father wanted Bates to become a lawyer, but Bates couldn't think of anything worse than making people's lives miserable for money.

Bates wanted to explore the emerging home computer technology and find a way to make zillions of dollars off of computer nerds. He and a few friends designed a programming language for the new machines and did very well. They also designed an operating system (Dyslexic Operating System) which did in fact make people's lives miserable, but that's another story. Remember, in the computer industry, you don't always have to be good, you just have to be first.

Bates continues to explore the best new technologies, like using a hunk of cheese as an input device, storing massive amounts on information on jelly doughnuts, and creating bread crumb packing algorithms. He now also owns a large part of the software industry, and derives great pleasure in finding creative ways to make people sue him. Most of his sales revenues still come from sales of the I've Been Mislead computer operating system, his shiniest star.

Bates has had some success working with Macs, but tends to stay away from them after he was accidentally grabbed by a user and violently shoved around a desk.

Bates joined the carnival in a fit of depression, immediately after being denied a spot on People magazine's most-eligible bachelors list.

Herb the Corporate Jester

Herb was an accountant for a major software and hardware distributor. He entertains the executives of this deep and wide channel by making software publishers do daring acrobatic feats before he will pay them: jumping through hoops, bending over backwards, foraging for "lost" invoices, etc. Herb's carnival act lasts longer than any of the others, since it takes Herb at least ninety days and eight memos to do anything. Herb is a highly intelligent performer, even though he's never quite mastered the skills of returning phone calls or counting to thirty. He is, however, a world-class fax operator and a virtuoso of voice mail. He is also very proficient at forcing deductions, rotating stocks, "misplacing" invoices, an d juggling payment schedules.

If you've never seen Herb in action, boy are you in for a treat! His act is unbelievable, although it does get a bit monotonous after a while.

Herb became the carnival's accountant when the corporate giant he works for briefly acquired it as a place to send employees for disciplinary action. While Herb has stayed on part-time as a result of his own performing talents, use of the word "Siberia" may send him into brief fits of insanity or praise of Democratic party policies.

Mac the Bomb

Mac was a high ranking engineer at a top-secret research lab (codename: Sangria) somewhere in the American west. He made a very comfortable salary and even supplemented it by selling hammers to the government for outrageous sums of money. His primary duties, however, were to design ways of disrupting enemy computer missile tracking systems.

Mac was working on a revolutionary brain-wave input interface that would allow remote access and disruption of computers thousands of miles away, yet be untraceable to the enemy. Once the project made it to the beta stage, Mac decided to test the interface himself. He connected the electrodes to his temples, synchronized his breathing, and started the application. Having successfully performed several tests, Mac was about to disconnect himself when a lightning bolt struck the building and caused a massive power surge that radically changed Mac's molecular structure and sucked him inside the computer. Once there, he quickly became trapped within a system error alert dialog. Unfortunately, Mac has no idea that any of this happened. He continues to do his job, hitching a ride on a passing virus now and then to find more and more computers to sabotage.

Mac was never actually a member of the carnival, but he snuck into the code of this product somewhere during a beta test, and we couldn't get rid of him. We don't believe that there is any way to get Mac out, short of letting lightning strike your computer.

Marvello the Magician

Marvello is one of the most mysterious members of the Cartoon Carnival. He simply appeared one afternoon in a tremendous puff of blue (and probably carcinogenic) smoke, and he refuses to this day to say where he came from. In spite of that, there is a growing belief that his resemblance to the face on one of those flyers at the Post Office is more than mere coincidence. The poster is of a man sought in connection with a number of damsels who were lashed to railroad tracks in the paths of oncoming trains. Fortunately, all of them were rescued at the last minute by an unidentified Canadian mounted policeman (particularly puzzling since most of the incidents occurred in Ft. Lauderdale). Marvello categorically denies any knowledge of such events.

Among the feats that Marvello holds to his credit are: his death defying escape from Chinese finger-cuffs while standing neck deep in a tank of Jell-0, passing mysteriously through the Berlin Wall in mid1990 (after four failed attempts since the late 60's), and miraculously vanishing the statue of Lenin from Red Square. Marvello insists that many of today's top magicians have stolen portions of his act in order to secure their own fame and fortune, but that doesn't stop him from having a following of his own. One fan, after a recent performance, was heard to say in a zombie-like drone, "I loved it. It was much better than Cats. I'm going to see it again and again."

Maj. Tom Beaver, Retired

Tom is one of the Talking Moose's oldest friends, since he was born in a river near the Moose's home town. Tom had a peaceful life, which would have been enough for most beavers. Tom, however, knew that he wanted more out of life than a split-level dam and a gourmet bark collection. Tom had always dreamed of reaching the stars, so with a few helpful prods from some familiar antlers, he began training. Most of the locals thought that he had last his mind-after all, a beaver in a jogging suit is a pretty bizarre sight. Most of the other locals were content to sit and sun themselves (except for those four young turtles who had delusions of grandeur-but that's another story). Tom refused to be discouraged by all of the short sighted animals around him and continued to train.

His humble beginnings seem very far away now, since Tom was eventually given the highest ranking position in the Canadian Space Program. Tom was instrumental in forming the Dam in Space, and was the first to discover the maneuvering advantages of a beaver's tail in zero G.

Tom joined the carnival after the Moose's acquisition of it, trying to escape from growing speculation that he had illegally sampled portions of his life from a popular rock song.

P.T. Penguin

P.T. is a distant member of an unnamed Sicilian Penguin family, the one that controls most of the gambling and protection industries at the South Pole. P.T. worked his way up through the ranks of the family, watching his back and keeping track of people who owed him favors. He now has control of several large icebergs and is one of the most powerful members of the family. He hastens to mention that no connection has ever been made between him and the Thanksgiving Day walrus massacre of several years ago. P.T. came to Baseline insisting he should have a piece of the Carnival. He says that he is a business man, and the Cartoon Carnival is just his way of branching out into the "entertainment industry." Who were we to refuse? The last thing we wanted was to wake up with a moose head in our beds.

Puck the Bardic Dragon

Dragons still exist-or at least one of them still does. Prior to about fifty years ago dragons were actually plentiful, albeit difficult to locate. Many of them inhabited the Black Forest in Germany, and there were still a good number in Great Britain.

Puck lived in London, sticking mostly to the back alleys and sewers to keep from being harassed by tourists and Frenchmen. He was a fun loving dragon who was proficient at darts and was not above having a pint or two if the pub suited him. He occasionally made excursions into the countryside to visit friends and relatives, but Puck was mostly a city dragon.,

Then it happened - World War II began. Puck, being the patriotic mate that he is, volunteered for the RAF, who didn't quite know what to make of him. Puck was refused by every branch of the service and eventually came to the realization that he could not serve his country in combat. In frustration Puck went to see Winston Churchill to ask how he could best serve England. Churchill noticed that Puck was quick of wit and very eloquent, so he offered Puck a job as a speech writer. Puck accepted, and spent the remainder of the war writing speeches and reading philosophy. Unfortunately, the war caused the untimely demise of all of the other dragons in the world (at least all of the ones we know about), and now Puck is the last dragon in existence.

Puck joined the carnival in the late 70's. He had been forced to leave his new home near Loch Ness by a number of submarine-equipped Peeping Toms who wouldn't let him bathe in private.

Spiffo the Clown

Where did Spiffo come from? We grew him in a dish. You see, we've got this little refrigerator in our break room, and one day we noticed this thing growing in a bowl of taco salad covered with plastic wrap. It started out as either cream cheese or guacamole, we're not sure which. It didn't really look like anything specific, but it looked like it had promise if we left it in there.

After a couple of weeks the fuzzy stuff started growing hair. Then it started bubbling-really bright blue and red bubbles-and the bubbles started twisting themselves into little balloon dog sculptures. We don't know how it happened, but the thing in our refrigerator came to life. Maybe life can start in Tupperware, or maybe the fact that our offices are located next to a doctor that specializes in recombinant DNA and nuclear medicine had something to do with it; we don't know. What we do know is that it kept growing until it became a full size clown who's long on talk and short on brain cells. We're worried maybe the same thing is happening in other refrigerators. Let's face it-a world filled with moron clowns is a scary thought. So open your refrigerator and throw out any of that food left over from the Nixon years. If you don't, your house could be waist deep in balloon animals before you know it.

Our friend Spiffo was first shipped off to join the carnival when we began to hear rumors that the county health inspector wanted to search our premises.

Stinko the Evil Clown

Stinko was born Francis Brown in a sleepy little town in Iowa. He had a happy and fulfilling childhood, grew up and became a moderately successful storm door salesman. He was a member in good standing with the local Elk's (gasp) Lodge, and all in all led a pretty humdrum life- that is, until the notorious "Birthday Clown Incident," an event that will live in infamy buried deep in the annals of Elk Lodge history.

It seems that the Elk Lodge has a cultural exchange program with several Elk Lodges in other countries. American Elk Lodge members trade places with their foreign counterparts and entertain at their adopted Lodges favorite charity event. Francis Brown, being the good Lodge brother that he was, volunteered his services for the "You-Give-an-Elk-You-Get-an-Elk" cultural exchange, as the program was known. That, my friends, is how Francis found himself dressed as a birthday party clown, juggling and blowing up balloons at the first annual "Children of Chernobyl Christmas Gala." Upon arriving at the show site in Mother Russia, needless to say, the festivities were cut just a bit short by the impending threat of nuclear meltdown. In his haste to reach the evacuation bus our hero fell, tearing a gaping hole in his yellow suit. Within minutes the transformation was complete from mild-mannered storm door salesman to an evil clown with a permanent bad attitude.

Stinko joined the carnival after losing his job and being blackballed by the Elks for making bomb threats to the Rotary Club and pummeling Junior Leaguers with ball peen hammers. His latest evil plan is to produce a two hour "infomercial" that will extol the virtues of dangerously constructed vacuum cleaner attachments for polishing bald heads.

Sudsbury the Camel

Living in the desert is tough, even for a worldly camel who is good at being politically correct. After fleeing the Middle East for Paris during the recent military activity in Iraq, Sudsbury moved to Egypt and took asylum. Taking up permanent residence in the Valley of the Kings (not to be confused with Elvis's Graceland), Sudsbury undertook the task of bettering himself mentally and physically in an effort to go out for the 1992 Olympic team.

Sudsbury began to work out three times a day: push-ups, sit-ups, jogging, weight lifting, the whole bit. Sudsbury even gave up cigarettes, highly irritating other members of his family who have long held employment with a prominent American tobacco company. Unfortunately, Sudsbury trained for the Olympics without choosing a country to represent, so his talents were never called upon. Still, his training did not go to waist, his muscular physique helped attract suitable companionship, as well as the typical horde of ne'er-do-wells that come from the wrong side of the sand dune.

Sudsbury still makes occasional trips to Paris, where he owns a sidewalk cafe and a studio apartment. His paintings are fetching a high price from near-sighted tourists who are especially impressed with his dexterity with a brush and the prominent "Product of Franc" decals. His limited print series, Moon Over Four Humps and Dromedary Romance have done exceptionally well in the States, and he has discovered in himself a very unique artistic style, the "Hump Sworl."

Sudsbury was initially hired for the carnival to serve as the Moose's stunt double, but he has since become a star in his own right. He is the only member of his species to perfect a high dive into a mug of beer. Many 900-number psychics view Sudsbury's name as clear evidence that he was pre-destined for this accomplishment.

For Further Study

If you have enjoyed reading this story, we have a list of other materials that you may enjoy as well. Check your local library, bookseller, record store, or late-night cable television channel for these selections.

Books - The Art of the Chocolate Moose; How to Make Mooscatel Wine in Your Own Home; Ivan Mooseky: An Inside Trader Has a Bad Day; Think and Grow Antlers (by Napoleon Moose); Moosionary Missions of South America; Mooshevik Revolution and the Rise of the Moosing Class; A Study of Mooslem Terrorists; Moostery Thriller Serials of the 40s; The Apollo Moose Shots of the 60s; The Three Moosecateers; Three Blind Moose; Of Moose and Men; Vidal Moossoon: My Life with Fur; The Rise and Fall of Benito Mooselini; The Second Coming of the Moosiah; Silence of the Mooses; A Tale of Two Mooses.

Magazines - U.S. Moose and World Report; MooseWEEK; MooseUser; MooseWorld; CD & Audio Moose Review; Astounding Moose Tales.

Television - I Love Moosey; Moosus Welby, M.D.; M*0*O*S*E; Moosion Impossible; The Mickey Moose Club; Moose Trek; Moose Trek-The Next Herd; Moose of Omaha's Wild Kingdom; Hill Street Moose; Moosterpiece Theater; Monster Rogers Neighborhood; Moose, She Wrote; The NBC Nightly Moose; One Moose to Live; The M-Team.

Moosic - Complete Works of Wolfgang Amadeus Moosart; Magical Moostery Tour; Blues Recordings of Moosey Waters; Moose River; The Marches of John Phillip Moosa; Recordings of Guns 'N' Mooses; Dark Side of the Moose; Moose-light Sonata; Recordings of the Moosey Blues; MTV (Moosic Television); Prince's Under the Cherry Moose.

Coming for Christmas 1992

Why does this man want the Talking Moose to do stupid tricks? And what is he willing to do to get them?

Why did this nice lady and her evil lawyer threaten to sue the Moose and what did the Moose do to her?

Why are the grumpy people at DimBulb Technologies so grumpy over the Moose?

What was the Moose doing on stage in San Francisco with an electric guitar?

What did the Moose tell Mac the Knife in the confession booth?

Answers to these questions and more in: Talking Moose 5.0 - Revenge of the Moosi

So why did that nice lady threaten to sue Baseline Publishing? Well, the fault primarily rests on the shoulders of a man named Steve Gurton, who was once the unfortunate soul who had to wear the Talking Moose suit at the MacWorld Expositions for Baseline.

Steve's would walk around in the suit, sweating profusely, doling out company freebies and literature. One time he was passing out Moose-alas, small fuzzy moose heads with adhesive backing, when he encountered a young lady by the name of Binky Melnik. Binky was a Macintosh evangelist, raconteur, and consultant famed in the community for her fiery wit, shocking attire, and bright hair color. She asked for a Moose-ala and Steve gave her one... right above the hemline of her extremely low cut blouse.

Later, when Binky tried to remove the Moose-ala, the adhesive had gripped her skin so tightly that it left a bruise - right where everybody would see it. Angry and hurt, Binky threatened to sue Baseline Publishing. One of her friends, the formidable law professor Loftus Becker, offered to help.

Despite the smirks on everyone's faces, when I returned to Memphis I decided it would be best if I issued an official apology.

An Official Apology from Baseline Publishing to Binky Melnik

Dearest Binky:

I wish to humbly apologize for any perceived distress caused by the Talking Moose due to the strategic placement of a free fuzzy Moose-ala upon your person, especially in the upper chest area, during the Boston MacWorld expo, or any night or morning in that time frame.

While Baseline Publishing does it's best to encompass (mostly) tasteful humor in our productions and promotions, it was never our intention, at least consciously, to cause any harm or embarrassment to the atendees of the show. Our desire was to provide fun give always to the attendees without leading to entangled relationships we would feel embarrassed about in the morning.

As Baseline penetrates deeper and deeper into the fertile Macintosh marketplace, the chances that such strained relationships can lead to violent shuddering climaxes will grow. Right now I wish to grip this problem firmly in hand and prevent it from degenerating into uncontrolled groaning and screaming.

Binky, I am truly sorry about this unfortunate circumstance. If I could kiss it and make it better, I would gladly do so. And afterwards we could smoke a cigarette and talk about old times.

As Ever,
I Remain,
Your Humble Servant,

Matthew Lewis Carroll Smith
President, Baseline Publishing, Inc.

P.S. Please don't sick Lofty on me.

The apology must have worked, because I was never served with a subpoena. (You know you lead an interesting life when you can say that about several stories.)