Indeed we are not Robbers!

And so we searched for the fabled squat of TNO in the little known City of Zeist. Lush and Posh, Zeist rests on the outskirts of Utrecht, which is also somewhat lush and posh but is no't currently keeping up with the Jonezeists. Kayne upon his tall bike, I with two destined-to-be-tall-bike frames held upon my shoulder, we didst jump the fence at TNO believing we hadst arrived.

We were immediately puzzled. What squat dares trim their hedges? we quandried. Within minutes not more than five, we realized our folly and returned across the fence to be greeted by the local Politie (Dutch for Bobby which is English for Copper, which is an Americanism for Garda, which is Irish for Police Officer which is too long, obviously to say with any regularity, though I do feel regular every time I say it).

I immediately apologized and said we were but stupid folk, confused by the sign in the front that read TNO. Apparently we had been trespassing at an Animal Testing facility, not the squat also known as TNO.

Well, the police asked to check our bags and commented on the great deal of dental floss we seem to be carrying. "That's an American thing, isn't it, floss?"

"I suppose, good Sir," I replied.

They realized that we had led ourselves astray and thence directed us to the actual TNO by way of spelling out words we were not apt to pronounce with any clarity, or decipher, good sir by listening to them in their phonology.

Again, we became lost, and sadly returned to the Villa to each spoons of chocolate and peanut butter and feel sorry for ourselves.

HOWEVER!

The next morn, I walked to the squat TNO, which happens to be not more than 5 minutes by boot from where we have been sleeping. Imagine that. The former animal testing facility is nestled in the midst of an evergreen forest, and I, with my two frames, didst traverse to there, where I met the fabled TB.

Not tuburculosis, though the austerity of such an artist as he, would make any conservative person's lungs bleed, without doubt. At the doorway to his fabled abode, I called "hello?" I hear in answer "hello?" Again, I called, and again, one answered. "I can't see you." He finally said.

I entered the house where I had been greeted by friendly dogs, onto the wooden floor and turned to see the glass door to TB's bathroom. He was in the bath reading an issue of Mad Scientist Monthly! Who, dearest Reader, has a glass door to their bathroom, save one who spends quite a deal of time in the bathtub reading Mad Scientist Monthly!

Well, I explained my plight, that I had foundst two bicycle skeletons and I wished to inquire of his alchemical skills in binding them together.

"Come back at 8 in the Eve," he said "and bringst everything you will need."

Kayne and I returned as the sun was dipping below the trees. On the walk there, we passed a children's summer training facility where lads and lasses and combinations of thereof werest cheering recklessly at the sight of our bike of abnormally high stature, brought as an example to TB. When we arrived at TNO, our host greeted us and showed us his pulse flamethrower. Then he showed us another flamethrower patterned after the cannons the Germans used to bomb England in WWII. He then took us to his workshop where, by magic, tools and artistry, he didst combine my two bicycle skeletons into one.

AND SO BEGINS, REQUIEM TO A DETHASAUR (dethasaurus death II)




I wish we had a camera. Fuck you amsterdam for stealing it from us. And my bike tools.