"Sorry about that, Don Juan", he calmly said as he lit a cigarette. "Now, where was I? Ah yes. I've been wondering what you've heard about hair weaves.

Don Juan's chiseled features pulled back into a hideous grimace. "Shmelmo, NO. Haven't you heard about what happened to my last lover? I lost her to a hair weave. The symptoms were awful..." Don's eyes glazed over as he began telling the tale. 44

"Her Name was Maquil. She called herself Lil. But everyone knew her as Nancy. She went bald from...from...bad...breast implants (that actually happens, folks). So she got a hair weave...but...but...she thought it was just a replacement for the bad breast implant and she had a surgeon implant it in her chest. A loose hair made it's way into her aorta and....well, she died."

Shmelmo looked shocked, and a bit aroused.

"Promise me," continued Don Jaun, "promise me you will never get a hair weave."

Shmelmo mulled this over. He finally spoke. "Only if you tell me one thing. I must know 45 if my four foot penis makes me look fat." He gave Don Juan an incredibly ernest look as he turned from side to side, modeling his strange new body. Unfortunately, as he was aroused from hearing the tale of implant horror, this caused him to fall over and into a vat of Rogaine. The gigantic man-sized thing caused his tiny, one foot tall body to sink to the bottom. He struggled through the solution until his hand encountered a magic wand. Raising it as high as he could he 46 cried 'Moon Princess Halation, Growth!' instantaneously, he became totally and utterly naked. Don Juan perked up. Spinning at about 300rpm in a sparkly pink cloud, he momentarily sprouted wings, and ribbons. His Mightytool, now completly covered in bouncy black pubes [thanks to the rogaine], swung heartily around with him, and coincidentally clipped Don Juan, who had leaned in too close trying to figure out what the ribbons were for, in his right temple. Don was out cold. After the pink cloud had cleared (which, oddly enough, had the distinct odor of cat litter and butterscotch) Schmelmo, now very disoriented, not to mention dizzy, was free to strut about in his brand new [frighteningly short] skirt and white spandex leotard. He tried to take a step, but this proved difficult, as he was also now modeling knee-high red plastic pumps. He stumbled, fell, then vomitted. 'Aye, aye!' he thought to himself, 'what a fate!' look at me, with the most powerful wang ever, but totally devoid of any chance at scoring! 'I can only hope,' he thought, reaching up to stroke his still naked scalp 'that someday the gods will bless me with --' but he immediately lost all abitlity to do anything except make extermely high-pitched noises normally attributed only to bats, dolphins, and sperm whales. Why? you ask? because on top of his head, there had sprouted two large, silky odangoes -- pigtails the color of 47 bright neon pink with algae-green streaks combined with dust-grey. Therefore, it is only natural that he screamed like a rabbit's death scream(if you have never heard it before, do not attempt to, for you would think a child's been killed). The hair was not only an unsightly color, but also kinky and misshapen as only a changeling's can be. He stopped screaming for a second, and started sobbing like 48 a little child. " I ALWAYS WANTED PINK HAIR!!!"

Why couldn't he be the one to have pink hair - he was destined never to have pink hair in his whole life. 49

Schmelmo, now very confused about whether or not he actually did have pink hair, and mad that the storyline had gone nowhere for a month, raised his gaze to the heavens, crying "Why the fuck can't anyone here READ!" Surprisingly enough, someone answered him.

"My son, they are only the lowest form of human life possible. They are the Web-Surfers, plagued with the knowledge that they must never score, and never have anything much resembling a social life. Thus, they take great joy in tormenting you -- someone they can bend to their whim and will." Shmelmo, having the attention span of a goat, and the iq of a radish, did not understand. The BIG, LOUD VOICE sighed. "Okay. Being that the plot has all but been interned, and because you are the most entertaining Mexican since that cute little Taco Bell dog, I will give you a secong chance at redemption from your former perpetual state of baldness." Right before Shmelmo's eyes, a large chasm opened.

"Shit! You want me to kill myself? No way! I'll dye my pink hair! Screw this!" The BIG, LOUD VOICE was tired of messing around, though, and sent down its BIG, STRONG ARM, which promptly shoved Shmelmo into the pit, which just happened to be a very special PIT OF WARPED TIME. Shmelmo was headed BACK IN TIME. "Well, it may be a stupid plot convenience," he sighed, but at least i'm doing something." Then he passed out. When he awoke, he was 50 alone in his bed, drenched in sweat. "That's the last time I ever take a small pill from a tirón with a Smurf on it" he thought to himself. Rolling over, Shmelmo realized that it had all been a drug-induced nightmare. Don Juan, the taco bell dog, the weave, the time warp...all were a dream and happily all were beginning to fade fast (you try tying all the other stuff together in any other way!). As most men do when first waking up, Shmelmo felt the need to relieve himself. Walking to the doorway to his bathroom, poor Shmelmo was stopped by the massive sombrero STILL on his head. "Oh my God! I still need a new hat!" Gathering his wits, Shmelmo dug in his pockets trying to find his wallet. Following the long shiny metal chain to the treasure buried in his size 40 khaki's on his size 32 frame, Shmelmo luckily still had his $2.74. It was a new day for Shmelmo, and he was determined to find a new hat. Not wanting to waste time with a shower, our hero splashed what seemed like half a bottle of Cool Water cologne on his body that he had gotten from the caliente madre he used to bang. Again kicking through some Teen Magazines on the way out of his casa, Shmelmo climbed into his Yugo. With the warm California sun beaming on his brown face, Shmelmo made a simple promise to himself. "Hoy, esperanzadamente acabaré mi búsqueda, o moriré el intentar!" 51

Shmelmo came awake from a confused dream which seemed to consist of a single image: that of the Hatter in the Tarot deck from which the man in black had dealt (or purported to deal) Shmelmo's own moaning future.

"Eets brown, senior," the man in black was saying, "and eet eez juzz the right size. Zee boy Jake..." 52 he left even more confused. he had wondered why the green shirt he was wearing had suddenly turned orange. he didn't give it much thought once he'd remembered that he was on a quest. 53