Tom's Plan

"I ain't so sure this is gonna work," I told Tom as he loaded up the donut rail gun.

"It's always worked before," he reassured me.

I hate to be contrary, but I had to ask him, "Are you positive about that?"

"I sure am." He sounded pretty durned positive to me, but I come from a place where the closest you're gonna get to a straight answer is a shrug of the shoulders and a 'It could happen'.

"Let's just pretend I'm stupid here," I proposed. "Just explain this to me one more time."

"Fine," he sighed as he completed the loading. "We've loaded all your donuts with wadded up hundred dollar bills and set timers on them. When that dragon over there gets in range, you pelt him with your gun, the timers on all of the donuts explode inside the dragon and spray it with money. How much more simple could it be?"

"It's not really the mechanics of the plan I don't get. It's more the theory of it. I mean, I ain't never tried this or nothin and, well, you say 'shoot' and I'll shoot, but I don't understand how peltin a ghost dragon with hundred dollar bills is gonna do anything to it except let it buy a bunch of new stuff or go out for a fancy dinner."

"Look," he grabbed the bridge of his nose, "that dragon is made of ghosts, right?"

"Right."

"And those ghosts are angry, right?"

"I'd say so."

"And we're on a planet that is alien, yes?"

"Got that right."

"So, you'd say they're angry alien ghosts?"

"I would."

"And Thetans are also angry alien ghosts."

"That's what you said."

"There we have it," he announced triumphantly. "The way to get rid of Thetans, as we all know, is to throw money at them. The more money you get rid of, the less of a Thetan problem you have. It's all in the book!"

"Oh, well, if it's in the book then..." I was about to say somethin sarcastic, but I was quite rudely interrupted by the ghost dragon bearin down on us like a back of hammers with a V8 engine drivin it. Next thing I knew, alls I could hear was the woosh of the rail gun and the pop-popin of the donuts explodin mid dragon. Well, that and the unearthly, Lovecraftian roar of a thousand tortured souls. And let me tell ya, it wasn't the "Oh, hey, that hurts so much that I should quite what I'm doin right now and retire to a life where I ain't terrorizin people and possibly eatin them" kinda roar. It was more like a, "you're tryin to stop me, but it's pretty ineffective and just makin me madder, so now I'm gonna devour you and take a thousand years to digest you, most of which will be painful" kinda roar. Sure, when you read the description, they seem completely unlike each other, but when you're standin there hearin it, it's a pretty subtle difference.

There was quite a bit of debate, after we'd teleported of course, about what went wrong with the plan. Mr. Cruise was convinced that the donuts weren't explodin exactly inside the dragon. I fiddled with my controls a bit and showed him the playback of the video my suit's always takin. Right there, in full HD color, on a frame by frame basis, we saw the donuts explodin exactly as they was intended to.

"I just don't understand," Tom said, holdin his head.

"Well, Mr. Cruise, I hate to burst your bubble here," and I did, I really did, "but I don't think you can get rid of angry alien ghosts just by throwin money at the problem."

"That can't be true," he said as he sat heavily on the ground. "I've thrown millions, literally millions of dollars at the Thetans. They all assured me that it was helping. Oh my god!" He began to weep. "I've wasted my life! To think, I could have spent all those millions tryin to help the poor. I could have fed millions of starving people the world over!"

"Don't feel so bad, Mr. Cruise," I comforted him, "you still have millions and millions of dollars. Plus, you can help this world now."

He stood up. "You know, Pat, you're right! I'm going to stop wasting myself on this alien ghost thing. I'm going to start living a new life. Heck," he scuffed the dirt here, "I may even let my wife leave the house once in awhile.

"Gosh," he sighed, "it feels so good to be free of that. It was such a burden for me to know that, if I just spent a little more money, I might become really happy. I feel like a new man! I'm going to shape up from now on. I'm going to be better, I'm going to be nicer and, most importantly, I'm going to be..."

And that's when the dragon ate him. One moment he was there, and the next there was this white streak, like I'd been slapped across the eyes by glowing cotton, and then he wasn't here any more. It's a shame, that, because he sounded like he'd really turned a corner. I don't know how to break the news to his wife. But I'm sure when she hears it, she's gonna need herself some consolin. She may need a strong shoulder to lean on and maybe even a beard to cry into. Then, to recover, she's gonna need a lot of love. A lot of sweet, sweet O'Neil love.

Course, all that was gonna have to wait until after I got rid of the dragon.

Tom and the Dragon

Once Mr. Cruise announced he was ready to go, it was a pretty easy thing to grab him and teleport back to meth world. The second his feet touched the ground, his eyes got real big, like a fly that was strainin real hard to see in the dark.

Then he started mutterin somethin like, "This is, like, pheeeeeew. Woah. I mean, it's, whoop whoop!" This last came out soundin like a crane was matin with a siren, fixin to have itself a couple little babies with long necks and rotatin heads. Honestly, I wasn't even real sure what he said was English, or any language for that matter. For a minute there, I thought I'd broke him. I figured I better cover my bases, so I started comin up with my excuse for what to tell his wife. I settled on tellin her that, when he was runnin in slow motion in the rain, I saw him slip and go over on his head. He got up and kept runnin, so I didn't think nothin of it, but, gee, Mrs. Cruise, it ain't like I'm a doctor who can diagnose a concussion super quick...I'll just be goin then.

But before I could think about makin my grand exit, which was gonna involve smoke bombs and flash pots and a daring helicopter rescue, Mr. Cruise started rootin around in his bag like he was a fat kid and the last slice of cake on earth was in the bottom, mutterin to himself the whole time. He got himself almost halfway into the bag, and I was thinkin he was about to crawl in there and set up camp when he pulled his hand out triumphantly and yelled, "Here it is!"

He held up that grey machine I saw earlier with the two paddles attached and handed it to me. "Here, hold this," he said.

I grabbed ahold of the machine, letting the paddles dangle down. I wasn't quite sure what the thing was. It had a couple switches and knobs, along with one big gauge in the middle. It looked like somethin you'd use in a mechanic's shop to test alternator charge or somethin similar, but I couldn't see any clips on it anywhere.

"No, not like that," he yelled. "Grab the handles."

He took the box away from me and stuck the paddles into my hand. "Yeah, like that," he nodded. Then he started playin with all them knobs and switches; a turn here, a flip there. You ever see that old Frankenstein movie? The one in black and white where the old doctor guy is about to bring his offense to nature back from the cold, dark hand of death? And he's runnin around turnin stuff here and flippin stuff there and yellin at that poor hunchback for bein scared of lightnin that's shootin out all over everywhere. It was a lot like that, except there weren't no hunchback. I mean, sure I may not have the best posture sometimes, but I ain't about to take a job ringin a bell and yellin "Salvation!"

I didn't know what all this twiddlin was doin, and I kept glancin nervously at the sky. I didn't see that ghost dragon nowhere, but, bein both a ghost and a dragon, I assume it was downright mobile, so it could really have shown up any time. I don't wanna sound like I was thinkin Tom Cruise, of all people, would exaggerate his ability to fight angry alien ghosts, but I was hopin he'd get to it before that dragon got back and made us all shuffle of this mortal coil, if you know what I'm gettin at. Thus far, though, it seemed like his entire ghost fightin thing consisted of twistin knobs, noddin slowly and sayin hmmm about a dozen times.

"Ok," he mumbled, as I saw the form of the ghost dragon rise above the horizon. "I think I see what your problem is."

"Is that so?" I asked, wonderin how he saw the problem when the problem was comin up fast behind him.

"It sure is. You see, your thetan levels are far too high."

"Thetans?" I wasn't seein this connection.

"Yeah, the angry alien ghosts!" He explained it like I was in kindergarten again. "They got trapped in a volcano when they were frozen and now they're angry and getting inside of you and making you sad. Don't you know anything about Scientology?!"

"I guess not as much as I shoul."

"Darn straight! Let me ask you, Pat, do you ever feel nervous?"

"Well, sure," I told him. "I'm feelin pretty nervous right now on account of..."

"Thetans!" he interrupted.

"Actually," I corrected him, "I was gonna say, 'on account of the big dragon comin to make us dead.' But, hey, you got your thing, I got mine."

"The dra..wha?" He turned and looked over his shoulder.

I dunno how most people would react when they turned around to see a pure white dragon what looked like it was lit from the inside by the anger of a million tortured souls and said dragon was snakin its way up on them like a bus made out of jello, and not the kind of jello filled with pineapple and bananas, either, but the kind that's filled with sadness. You know, the sugar free kind.

On the other hand, I do know how Tom Cruise reacts in that situation. He tends to jump backwards, spread his arms out wide and yell, "WHOA! WHOA!" Then he turns to someone standin there (in this case, it just happened to be me), stare at them wild-eyed and yell, "WHAT IN CRIMENY IS THAT?!?!"

To which I responded, "That's the dragon I been tellin you about. You know, the one made of angry alien ghosts. You may want to grab onto me." I said this last part because the dragon was now mere feet away, comin up on us like a roaring subway train. I could see down its maw, making out the elongated, screaming faces of the souls which made it up. Also, I could see it had chili for dinner.

Tom did as I suggested and grabbed the arm of my exo-suit and I teleported us a few miles away, figurin that would give us a bit of time.

As soon as we were in our new position, Mr. Cruise bent over and threw up. He also had chili for lunch. "Ok," Tom panted, wiping his mouth, "ok. Get ahold of yourself, Tommy boy. You can do this. You can do this."

I scanned the sky while he pulled himself together. "Ok," he said, sitting up. "I'm ok. We need a plan."

"We sure do!" I agreed, seeing the light from the dragon begin to ripple again on the horizon.

"Is that a rail gun you've got mounted to your suit?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "it sure is. It only shoots donuts, though."

"Regular or filled?" He asked, becoming animated again.

"Filled," I said, "some with poison and others with strawberry and some with I don't really know what. I just put the thing on."

"That's fine," he was practically jumping by this time. "That's exactly what we need."

He went diggin in his bag again. "I'm going to need your help preparing this."

Tom's House

I imagine most people, when faced with a stranger in their house, is likely to panic. I ain't never really had that happen to me, but there've been a couple times Douggy was in the dog house with his ol' lady and was sleepin on my couch where I heard him snorin in the middle of the night and darn near shot him. I ain't proud of it, but you get used to livin by yourself after awhile and, when you get to my age, you're likely to wake up confused every once in awhile, maybe thinkin you're back in that hotel in San Fran on that wonderful night in '69, with Becky Clodderingly still curled up next to you and a motorcycle rally goin on outside. But then, you get mighty disappointed to find out that you've really just got Albert next to ya and Douggy snorin loud enough that Helen Keller would complain in the next room. So I could understand a little panic upon discoverin there's a man in a giant spider silk suit that has suddenly appeared in the middle of your room.

But not that Tom Cruise, boy. That man is a class act all the way. He acted like he seen that sorta thing happen every day. Just sat back on his giant white couch in the shape of a snake eating a polar bear, greeted me and then asked if I preferred coffee or tea, just as casual as you like. It wasn't until after we'd had some refreshment that he asked me who I was and what I was doing in his livin room. It was downright Homeric, if you ask me.

I explained the situation to him, as best as I could without understanding the real nature of the dragon. I guess it didn't matter too much to him where the dragon came from or what kind of crazy dark magic it was a product of. The only thing he really seemed to focus on was the fact that there was angry alien ghosts attackin a bunch of people and makin em all crazy and whatnot. In fact, he got so excited about that part that he got to jumpin up and down on his couch and whoopin it up like he had ants in his pants and was pretty durned delighted about it.

He agreed to go with me back to the meth world but said he needed to get ready first. He ran around the living room grabbing things and shovin em into a satchel. I ain't sure I saw everything he was plannin on bringin with him, but I saw him grab a machine of some sort with paddles connected to it, a wad of cash and a book by some old sci-fi author. I didn't get a good look at the book, but I know it wasn't Asimov and, when it comes to sci-fi, if it ain't Asimov, I just ain't interested.

Once he had that bag packed, I thought he was right ready to go, and started to get up, but he waved me back down sayin he had "just one more small thing to do." Then he walked over to this control panel in the wall, hit a couple buttons and went out the back yard to this runnin track he had there. As I watched, it started rainin back there. At first, I was thinkin Tom Cruise was magic and had control over the elements, which wouldn't surprise me none. Ain't no one can look like him and divorce a woman as hot as Nichole Kidmann unless there's some sorta black magic involved. But, upon further inspection, it turned out that he just had some sprinklers installed on his roof that would spray water over the track while he ran around it.

I musta been standin there, just watchin him run in the rain, for about five minutes when his wife walked in.

"Is he running in the rain again?" she asked, exasperated.

"It would appear so, ma'am," I confirmed. "But I can't make hide nor hair of it. What's he doin that for."

She shrugged. "Damned if I know. But he always runs in the rain before doing something important."

She turned to go. "Ma'am," I said. "I sure did like them movies and shows you did."

"Thanks," she said.

I went on, "You ain't done that many since you been with this guy..."

"That's true," she said. "Sometimes, I wish I still did. But something's stopping me."

"Oh yeah? And what might that be?"

She shrugged again. "Dunno. Maybe it's black magic." And then she wandered into another room.

Right after that, Tom came in and toweled off. "All right," he said, vigorously drying his hair, "let's do something about this ghost dragon of yours."

Ghost Dragons Are No Fun

I know I spend a good deal of time tellin y'all about what I don't know. And it ain't just false modesty or nothin like that. What can I say? I'm just plum ignint. At least when I report the sciency stuff that's goin on, I get to use the words of the Squimonk, who seem a lot less ignint than me. Either that, or their masters of BS. I vote it's a little of both.

I'm just tellin y'all this so that it don't come as a shock to you when I tell you, in all honesty, if I were to put together a list of all the things I didn't know nothin about, I'm pretty sure magic would be right near the top. It wouldn't be at the top; women always have and always will have that space atop every man's list. I ain't even sure what would be in the top ten, but I'm pretty certain magic wouldn't be in there. I think it'd be somewhere in the teens, in that gray area of things where I know they seem to exist and some people think they're real, but they could be completely made up and fake; like consciousness or pro wrasslin.

I seen magicians on the teevee and stuff like that. I one time saw a guy make the entire Statue of Liberty disappear. That's back when magicians was concerned with doin big, showy illusions. It ain't like the magic special of today. Really, if bein cold for two weeks was magic, everyone in Iowa shoulda gotten their memberships to the magician's club a few decades ago.

But that ain't really here or there. Point is, I ain't know nothin about no magic. So, when I see a dragon made of angry ghosts burst out of the sky of an alien planet, I don't form me a plan right away. All I can say, and this is universal for all Pats, mind, is, "This ain't gonna be good." I know it's universal for all Pats because I heard us all say it at once.

And you know, as much as it feels good to be right about somethin, no matter how small, every once in awhile, it feels a lot less good when what you're right about turns out to be a ghost dragon swoopin out of the sky, scoopin you up in its maw, which is full of the screams of the torture souls which comprise this unearthly creature, and poop you out into a free fall where you ain't got nothin but your super hardened exosuit and your ability to teleport to save you. The most important question, when you find yourself in a situation like that, isn't "Oh dear lord, what's happening?" Nor is it, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! What do I do?" Nah, the most important question, when you get over your panic, is where to teleport to.

It wasn't the right time for a vacation, and the unicorns was still a little sore at the damage I'd done to their hotel, so Maui was out. I wasn't quite ready to go home yet, and I didn't want to risk materializing in the middle of the shop and risking destroying all my precious, precious donuts, not to mention the possibility of squishing Jared when I landed.

As I fell, I tried going over my options. Here I was, falling towards a foreign world, being attacked by angry ghosts. Hmmm, angry alien ghosts. Who knows how to get rid of angry alien ghosts?

And that's how I found myself in Tom Cruise' house.

Explosive

Boy howdy, but fightin these ninjas ain't no stroll in the park. Like most red-blooded American boys, I used to gather around the teevee of a Sunday night and watch the MATV (that's Martial Arts TeeVee) Ninja Movie of the Week. I even had me an official Ninja Fighter Code Ring which, even though it seems kinda laughable now, I got after savin up 50 boxtops from eatin my Anti-Ninja Ohs. I didn't even like them things, but my ma whipped me with a switch when she caught me feedin them to the dog. My thinkin went along the lines of "if it looks like dog food and it smells like dog food, then it must be allright to feed to the dog", but my mother disagreed with that, thinkin more along the lines of "if it looks like dog food and it smells like dog food, but costs a dollar a box, it must be for my son to eat if he knows what's good for him." I tell ya, I learned right quick what was good for me.

Course, my cereal preferences ain't neither here nor there when it comes to fightin these here ninjas. The point is that, despite my growin up surrounded by a buncha ninja related stuff, I had this whole big romantic notion that, when you fought ninjas, they'd just stand in a line and take slow, easily dodgable punches at you. The reality ain't nothin like that, though. First, they will all attack you at once. They got no sportsmanship whatsoever. Second, their punches are wicked fast, and usually aimed directly at areas that you need to see or breathe or reproduce. I tell ya, if it weren't for my exo-suit, I woulda ended the fight lookin like a burlap sack full of puppies and strawberry jelly that's been thrown from the Empire State Building.

Instead, I ended the first part of the operation in relatively good shape. I was sorer than a pig taken outta the mud, but I figured I could slap some Hotty Ice on myself later on and then relax for the weekend. For the time being, however, I just had to push on through the pain and take out the upper echelons which was hidin under the biggest volcano on the planet.

The whole thing was supposed to be a bit like a rabbit hunt. The Magma giants was to sink into the volcano, raisin the temperature to the point that the Ikea base inside would melt, flushin out all the remainin ninjas. We Pats would just wait outside and pepper the ninjas with our donut rail guns as they came out. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy, right?

You know how these things go, though. The Magma giants sank into the center of the volcano and a couple of ninjas came runnin out, so there I was thinkin that, just this once, everything's gonna go accordin to plan. But then, there was a howl like it's the mornin after the Fenris wolf swallows the sun and now he realizes he's gonna have to do the other half that comes with eatin, and the entire volcano shattered in a sea of sparks like the Death Star goin up (in the original endin, not that washed out "let's add a ring of blue fire for no reason" endin).

The next thing I knew, I was layin on my back, watchin a sky full of tormented spirits churn to life, the mouths of the spirits distendin in a wail of infinite torment as they zoomed in and out of the black soot covering the sky. They began to turn in a circle; slowly at first, but faster and faster as the spiral of sufferin spirits began to collapse on itself. That circle got smaller and smaller, suckin up all them spirits into a point no bigger than the tip of a freshly sharpened pencil. For a fraction of a second, it hung in the sky like the North Star leadin the three wise men through the desert.

Then it exploded.

I may be a gentleman of a certain age, but I wasn't present at the big bang, so it ain't like I'm speakin from experience, but I imagine it was somethin a lot like when this little point of light blew out. Us Pats were scattered willy nilly like confetti at a windy Times Square New Years. And it was loud enough that it drove me past deaf and into the negative hearing range, where you can hear everything, but it's all backwards and you start to forget stuff you've heard in the past.

I think that's prolly why I didn't recognize the call of the ghost dragon when I heard it.

How to Fight Ninjas

Here's the thing about big plans, especially big plans created by a bunch of copies of yourself and some uppity mutants, they don't always go as you'd expect. I ain't tryin to say you shouldn't be makin big plans or nothin, only that you need to have all the information for jumpin willy nilly around the universe and tryin to punch giant ninja-bots in their faces while tryin not to get killed. I guess I got through it allright. I didn't lose an eye or nothin, so accordin to my ma, it was still fun n' games. It didn't seem like fun at the time, but I been told that we'll all look back fondly on this day. I ain't sure I buy it, but I nodded and smiled anyway.

Let me tell ya, fightin a whole planet full of ninjas while tryin not to harm their meth zombie army just ain't an easy job. While I was out there, punchin ninja robots, tearin out robot innards, zappin here and there, takin the occasional vacation and tryin not to get my own head torn off in the process, I was thinkin that I coulda used some ninja fightin advice before I got all wrapped up in this. That got me wonderin why I had to take all them classes in school about math and biology and whatever, but I never got a useful class like "How to Fight Ninjas" or "How to Pilot an Exoskeleton" or "Astrophysics". It just don't seem right.

So here's the thing. I know my name's in the title of this here blog and my ugly mug's all over the front page and I am the main character of this story and it all seems to be about me, but for today, I'm gonna give somethin back. I know when celebrities say that sorta thing, it usually means they're gonna donate a fiver to the local soup shelter or adopt a kid from some far away place. We all know that ain't really givin most of us anything useful. But Pat wouldn't play games like that. No way. Your ol' pal Pat O'Neil is gonna give you some advice for fightin ninjas that you can use if you're ever in this situation. You can thank me when this saves your butt from the robot ninjas.

First, don't aim for the head. I know, I know. I said I was gonna punch some ninjas right in their stupid ninja faces, but it turns out I was wrong. You see, the ninjas, despite bein evil, ain't dumb. They know that an enemy's first thought is gonna be to punch for the face, so they don't put nothin important in the head area. In fact, they don't make the head themselves at all. They outsource the whole head producin industry to China. It saves them money and it has the added benefit that the heads are filled with and entirely made out of deadly, deadly poison.

Second, if you do happen to punch for the face and it caves in, covering you with deadly, deadly poison, don't panic. Most importantly, don't start flailin your exosuit's hand, which is still connected to the ninja head, all over the place yellin "Get it off me!" This is because, in your flailin, you may just shoot that head straight off your arm, right through the ninja robot (which ain't so bad), and into a whole crowd of meth zombies watchin robot bears fightin real bears. Let me tell ya, strictly as a side note, them meth zombies love their "robobear vs. real bear" matches. They love them so much that, if they are interrupted, they will become real angry, jump into all manner of '70s muscle cars, crank up the Skynard, and come chasin after you like there's no tomorrow.

Third, if you're ever bein chased by a group of meth zombies in muscle cars, watch out for collapsed ninja bodies. They are likely to be right behind you and you can trip on them when you turn to run.

Fourth, if you're fallin after trippin on a collapsed robo-ninja, whatever you do, don't think about unicorns. I cannot stress this enough. Unicorns become angry when you pop into the lobby of their Maui hotel in an exosuit and you put cracks in the foyer. They will make you fix the whole building before you are allowed to return to the fight.

When you are allowed back to the fight, after fixin the hotel and doin some other odd jobs around the hotel grounds because you feel bad, make sure you start aimin for the ninja torsos. If you swing right and you're angry enough, you can punch clean through a robo ninja, disabling it in one shot.

Finally, try to disable the roboninjas in a line, instead of in a circle. Sure, it looks pretty tough to be surrounded by a wall of your defeated enemies, but it's kind of a pain climbing up out of that ring when it's piled over your head. And don't even think about pushing it over. Them robots is heavier than a hippo eating bricks. I swear, they must make them things out of pure iron or somethin.

So, now you know some of the do's and do not's of fightin robot ninjas. You just keep this all in mind if you're ever in this situation. And, when you're done, sit back, relax and have yourself a cup of coffee and a donut. Oh, and brace yourself to join up with the other exo-skeletal-Pats to fight the final holdouts.

The plan

I ain't sayin y'all are ever gonna do this, but if you was ever plannin on invadin a planet where everyone's hopped up on free meth that's bein handed out like it was whacky candy from giant robot ninjas piloted by, I assume, smaller, non-robotic ninjas inside, then you could do worse than have a bajilllion copies of yourself and your friends.

"But wait," you may be sayin, "even if I did have all them copies, how would I be able to defeat giant robot ninjas? I am, after all, just one, small, fragile being in this giant universe and I think my whole role in fighting a giant ninja robot would be to end up as goo between the toe slit in the robot's ninja shoe."

At least, you'd be sayin that if you was me. Of course, if you was me, then you would know all about what I'm fixin to say here, and it would ruin all the fun of readin this in the first place. Also, you would be have really bad heartburn most of the time and you would think that you should go see the doctor about it and, well, you would if this whole ninja fightin job came with insurance, but it don't and you really ain't got the time to head down to the free clinic because, again, the whole fightin ninjas thing. So, let's just go ahead and say you ain't me for the sake of argument and I'll go ahead and explain you a thing or two about the invasion of planet meth.

First of all, you was right before. If a human was to fight a giant robot ninja, it prolly wouldn't go too well for that human. To remedy this situation, you might need you an exoskeleton or three. Or maybe you need one for each Pat in the army.

"But, hold on a minute," you're sayin now, "if you was to be trapped in a robot exoskeleton, how would you be able to use your teleportation thing you been harpin on all this time. And, while we're on the subject, can you teleport anymore after drinkin that green skull drink those ninjas fed you in Maui. Also, why the heck didn't they just poison you? I mean, they are ninjas, after all, it ain't like they're known for bein nice."

And my response is, first, don't get your panties all wadded into a bunch. That ain't got a lot to do with ninjas, but I find it's usually good advice for the prevention of discomfort, both now, when you gotta be sittin there and readin, and later, when you're doin your laundry. Second, calm down. We'll take these questions in order. The exoskeletons have been carefully and painstakingly crafted by the Squimonk out of moon spider webbing that is kept rigid by running a little bit of current through it. That current also has the benefit of giving us a super charged punch. Next, the Squimonk were nice enough to give me an anti-anti-teleporting-serum serum. And last, I don't have a clue why they didn't just poison me and I don't much appreciate you bringing up my potential imminent demise and reminding me that death is a shadowy figure constantly looming over our shoulders and driving us near to madness in the deep of the night when we got nothin but our regrets to keep us company until the birds start singin again in the dawn, Mister or Missus Macabre.

Now, at this point, you may be thinkin that your ol' pal Pat's got himself enough to just blip on down to the planet, plant his exoskeletal fist in a couple ninja faces, dust off his hands and call it a day. But you would be wrong. We ain't just tryin to defeat the ninjas, we're tryin to wipe them off the planet so our fleet of drug counselors can swoop down and start the rehabilitation process. And them ninjas have had themselves a goodly number of years to dig into their positions and so we gotta plan for the unexpected. So we also need us a whole mess of them Magma Giants to hit the planet with us and sling fire wherever they're needed. We especially need them to hit up all the volcanoes on the planet to take out any bases that might have been place there. We want, according to the Magma Giants, all their base to are belong to us, whatever the heck that's supposed to mean.

Finally, we gotta remember the most important thing about fightin Clan Platypus. They're friggin ninjas! They've had themselves all sortsa trainin in jumpin around and punchin and throwin things and whackin people and things with sticks. Me, I got into a fight once in eighth grade and fought some robot ninjas that Lindbergh sent after me earlier this year. I ain't sayin I can't handle it or nothin, I'm just sayin it's gotta be accounted for. And the best way to make up for a lack of martial arts training, in my opinion, is overwhelming firepower. In this case, it is provided by a donut rail gun mounted over each shoulder of the exoskeleton.

This fine piece of equipment had been adapted by the Squimonk from the ten different worlds on which we Pats had to recover the slugs from the 99 cent store. They took the original donut gun model and modernized it, addin all sortsa doohickies and geegaws and sciency stuff to it. Then, they made themselves a whole mess of donuts that they made superhard by keepin them out in the cold, lonely darkness of space for a couple months. When fired from the donut rail gin, which uses some sorta magnet technology, they can be fired at three times the speed of sound and can tear right through a robot ninja like a stick of butter bein hit by a speeding sun.

All of this was bein explained to me in a bit of a hurry, so forgive me if I've forgotten anything here. The long and short is, I found myself strapped into a suit of body armor and sweatin like a fat man at the summer cake giveaway as I was showed a map of where exactly I was supposed to land and punch a ninja right in his roboty face before he knew what was happenin. It was right amazing how coordinated it all was, but I didn't have much time to consider it because, right as I was thinkin about it, the countdown hit the bottom.

3...2...1...I jumped.