“Let me out of here,” he cried in his high, wispy voice. “I’m Gregg Oden! I drink… I drink Baileys from a shoe.”
“Not until you choose a side,” a gun toting Rocky persists. He didn’t have the heart to shoot Greg Ogden on the spot several days back so he just bought a small freebie jail to hold him in. Then *this* happened shortly afterwards — red to green again. Inexplicable.
Rocky stared west from whence he came. “What else might come through that cursed sand castle portal over on the volcano island?” he asked himself.
“You don’t understand little raccoon man. I haven’t painted a watercolor of myself or Baileys in a week. I’m dying for lack of art. Gregg Oden needs art to live,” he insisted.
“Shut up with your yammering,” Rocky voiced, tired of hearing the poor pitiful creature rant on and on about basically nothing. “I need to think. We’ve been on this perch long enough. There’s a war going on!”
“I know Alex,” Gregg Oden then said more mysteriously after a pause. “And Albert. They could help you with your little war. Could help one side or the other win. I hide them in a special place.” He looked down at his tutu, then back up. “I can help you out raccoon man… if you help me out.”
Just then, Rocky spots a ship passing in front of the Zebrasil-Ichelus island. He employs remote viewing, sees the flag, and decides to go after it.
Lucky for Rocky, because he was about to be manjinaed by Gregg Oden just like poor Terry and others before him.