When we last left our dilapidated heroes, they were trapped by the Terrorists in Burlap (again, don't ask) in the fabled PlayArea 51 (PUM pum pummmmm!). Pops was just asked as to what his last request was. Pops was thinking and gathered Josh and his new found friend, Mark, the unusually large seven year old, for a plan.

Whisperwhisperwhisper (What? You think you're supposed to know what the plan is NOW?! WHATEVER!!!). Five minutes pass and Josh and Mark listen intently, getting their roles down. The man comes back and asks me if I have any last requests. I say, " YEAH! Mamma said KNOCK YOU OUT! " and I punch him in the stomach (more corn please). The man doubles over and the boys follow through with running and tackling him to the ground, beating him upside the head with the "Terzan" clubs that was given to them to play with. Made of steel, now isn't that just the safest toy to give a kid?

I get up and bolt out the door, and the boys follow suit with their water guns in hand. Nobody's on to us yet so we run across the warehouse and get spotted JUST as we were heading out the door. I hear, " THTOP THEM!!" and me and the boys start booking like a fat girl at a new all you can eat buffet. We run down the three miles of corridor (seems like forever and a day) while several TIB soldiers follow us on foot, yelling into their walkie talkies about capturing us. Oh, how they fantasize, eh? We reach the exit (which is clearly marked. I never knew these guys followed building regulations) and start to climb up the ladder and out of the manhole. Josh and Mark go first, I go last with the soldiers close on our tails. As I'm about to get out of the manhole (why does that sound so raunchy?), one of the soldiers grab my foot. I kick him in the nose, because, y'know, I'm cool like that and he screams "HEY! I just got that done!" Josh, Mark and I book on out of the tunnel and go towards the fighter jet. Josh screams, " GACK! Dad, what did you do?" I respond, " Don't worry son, trees regrow." "NO dad, the plane!" Just what I need right now, a picky son about a plane. I tell him there are important things to worry about and if we don't hop in, we're toast.

Gunshots echo and we all hop in. Josh has to sit on Unusually Large Mark's lap in the navigator's seat and I hop pilot this time. It's my turn. We take off in a hurry with gunshots barely missing our plane. Aren't all bad guys just terrible shots?

We travel a few hundred miles and Josh asks through the com, " Hey dad, what next? " " I don't know son. How about dinner?" I reply, wondering what in tarnation are we going to do with Mark?

Tune in next time for: "Why does he walk so funny?" or "It's not what he looks like, it's what he's eating."