Invasion Of The Jerks From Wullerton Spit!

by Steve61

Jerry and George are lost in Saskatchewan, until they find themselves in Dog River, only to be suspected of being a couple of guys from infamous rival town of Wullerton.

"Geez, it's flat!" George commented. "Flat, flat, flat. Flattest flat that I've ever been flattered by! Yes, sir, flat as a pancake! Flat as my-"

"- your ex-girlfriend Emily Hooley?"

George's ramblings were cut off by Jerry with a quick joke and a big-toothed grin. He was about to rebuttal, when an image of 19-year-old Emily Hooley entered his mind, and the painfully under developed bosom area of his college sweetheart from many years ago. He shrugged and mumbled, "Yea. Except that Emily was always feeding me, ready to offer me a soda or a sandwich, but this place...geez!"

Jerry nodded in silence behind his sunglasses as he drove their rental car across the plains of Saskatchewan, Canada, en route for a gig in the city of Regina. The highways were easily driven and the sun was shining through clean, crisp blue skies, unhindered by New York City-type office towers, buses, taxis, and construction equipment that forced detours, as well, as, unfortunately, anywhere to eat. They'd driven for miles...or rather, kilometers according to the Canadian car's odometer, with nothing in sight. He even poured on the speed, 10 to 15 clicks over the speed limit because the highway was so flat that he could have seen a cop car from 10 miles...kilometers...away! He'd taken George on a bit of a road trip, bringing his unemployed best friend by plane to Saskatoon for his first gig, then rented a car for the next set of shows at a comedy club in Regina, but unfortunately they were lost.

Jerry gritted his teeth as he thought about why they were lost, and it wasn't missed by George. His friend was about to make more 'flat jokes', when he saw the tell-tale grinding on Jerry's jaw line as he gritted his teeth.

"You're thinking about, aren't you?"

"What?"

"About...it. Right?"

"'It'? 'It what'?" he asked irritably.

"Why we're here. The map."

"Why should I think about that little incident? Why should it bother me, ever?"...

...George frowned and in his mind he remembered how he'd taken the map of Saskatchewan into the toilet at the gas station almost a hundred miles back, how Jerry had pulled out of the station, the map lying on the floor, forgotten, abandoned...

"It is bothering you."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No."

"Yes, it is!" George insisted.

"Awriiight! Yes, it is bugging the hell outta me! That was our only map, George, and now we're lost! Lost in this Flatty McFlat-Land of Saskatchewan! without even a GPS as a back-up!"

"Are you sure the province isn't the one called 'Saskatoon', and the city back there was 'Saskatchewan', Jer, 'cause I gotta tell you-" George began gently, until Jerry slapped him on the shoulder.

"This is Saskatchewan! It's all Saskatchewan, and you'd known that if you hadn't taken our map into the bathroom to read! Who brings a map into the bathroom to read?"

George shrugged, embarrassed and sorry for his mistake. "I needed to read something in the bathroom. I don't like reading the graffiti on the walls...or looking at the pictures people draw on them..."

...George remembered sitting in the gas station bathroom, the map on his lap, his trousers down, and his attention drawn to one wall and some scribbles, accompanied by artwork. 'With a melon?' he mumbled to himself, reading more than he wanted to...

He added, "If you'd seen what I saw, and then the truck driver that just happened to show up, giving the weirdest looks while I was just trying to take a leak...brrr!" George finished with a shudder, and looked out the window, just barely able to make out very distant buildings that might be a barn, a couple houses, and perhaps one of those famous tall barn-like Prairie grain elevators he'd seen on a postcard...

...Fast forward several days ahead to New York as Elaine sorts her mail, finds a postcard from George, checks out the picture of the grain elevator from a place called 'Dog River', with a simple message from him that confuses her; 'Hi, Elaine; We're lost, but here's a building that's actually housing a Canadian UFO! Tell Kramer the Mother Ship's waiting for him! - George"...

Distracted, George looked out his window to the miles of flat land beyond and said, "I gotta tell you...this place is really, really flat. It's so flat, that I heard that if you're dog ran away from home you could still see him on the horizon three days later! Heh!" When Jerry didn't react, George just kept on talking. "Saskatchewan...Sask..katch...chew...waaaan...Saskatchewan...Huh! I gotta tell you...how many syllables is that any way? Like seven?"

"George..."

"I'm just saying it's a really looong name. So many different letters in it, all mixed up, twisting my tongue worse than 'acetylsalicylic acid',"

"It's four syllables, just four! Don't embarrass me with your Americanisms out here!" Jerry warned.

"What? I'm just saying! And we're both Americans, so you better watch it, too!"

"You watch it!"

"No, you watch!"

"No, you watch it!"

"I'll watch it if you watch it!"

"Oh, I'm watching it, baby!" George assured with a chuckle and snort. "I'm watching the watchers watching me, man!"

Jerry paused, took his eyes off the straight flat road for several seconds to stare at his friend and ask, "What does that even mean?"

George was about to reply, but his train of thought was as messed up as his lack of understanding of the name 'Saskatchewan', so he just shrugged, and tried to make it look like his face was saying 'If you don't know, I'm not telling you!'.

A minute later an agitated George had to say something else that was bothering him. "I only got a quick look at the other cities and towns in Saskatchewan, but did you know they also have a place called 'Moose Jaw'?" he chuckled with his customary snort, but Jerry wasn't interested. "'Moose Jaw', Jerry! What's next? 'Cow Hoof'? 'Sheep Nose''? 'Chicken Sh-'"

"I get the picture!" Jerry snapped.

Up the road a few miles later, Jerry's prayers were answered.
"Okay, here we go! Food and boarding just 10 miles up ahead!" Jerry said, upon seeing the sign.

"Kilometers," George corrected him.

"Whatever! It could be 10 light years or 10 Klingon kellicams and I wouldn't care! I'm dying for a cup of coffee!"

"Oh, me, too, Jer!"

Jerry looked at his friend, and through grinding teeth, "No coffee for you! You and bathrooms don't mix on this trip very well! You run off to one and we'll find ourselves driving on Pluto in the Twilight Zone!"

"Jerry-"

"Yer holding it in, Costanza!" Jerry shouted, flooring the rental car towards the little town up ahead.

Inside the store area of a gas station called 'Corner Gas', Brent Leroy, the husky, bespeckled owner and his lone employee, Wanda, were having their usual Monday debate with Brent's father, Oscar, and frequent slacker/visitor, Hank, about the pressing issues of the day that required absolute, complete attention and concern.

"You're out of Mars bars, jackass!"

Alright, perhaps not a pressing issue of the day as far as world politics and universal health care, but it was important to Oscar, and that's all that mattered as far as he was concerned.

"No, I'm not. They're right beside the Crispy Choco-Lumps and the Nougat-Double-Nougat," Brent assured his always-irritable Dad.

"The hell they are!" Oscar snapped, giving the front display barely a one-second cursory glance. "You know I have to have a Mars bar every Monday at 11 am! It's tradition!"

"So's hiding the Mars bars at 10:55 for Brent," Wanda said, her face buried in another in a long line of crossword puzzles, somehow aware of what was happening around her, even though she hadn't contributed much along the line of conversation all morning, other than...

"Lies, I tell you! She's spreading lies!" Brent said, mocking indignation, as he barely raised his calm voice. "I would never hide your Mars bars, Dad. Now, any sharp objects in the station that is near you when you find out I've run out of Mars bars, those I'd hide!"

"Meat cleavers, aisle two, Oscar," Wanda offered, distractedly, filling in the word for Row 7 across.

"Oh, hey, Oscar, I have a Mars bar right here in my pocket. You can have mine!" Hank said, rummaging through his jacket. Even though he looked younger than 35-year old Brent, he was the same age, just much less successful. Oscar, the retired previous owner of Corner Gas glared at Hank through his glasses, unblinking, ready to explode just by the fact that Hank had seemingly bought the last candy bar. Hank's face abruptly changed from one of a helpful smile, to utter confusion, to a grossed out frown, as he removed the object in his pocket. "Oh, yeah. That's not a Mars bar."

"Holy hell, what the hell is that?" Oscar growled, his stomach growling for lack of filling it with his favorite chocolate bar.

"I think it's a either a Mega-Nutty Chocolate-Bomb or a dead mouse I found outside of the Post Office."

"Either one- equal in nutritional value," Wanda commented, not daring to look at the thing in Hank's hand, for fear of being creeped out more than she already was now.

"Hank! Get that outta here!" Brent waved at him, grossed out. "I have food in here and valued customers to think about! And my Dad's here, too!"

"So what am I supposed to do now?" Oscar grumbled, slapping his arms against his sides. "No Mars bar equals-"

"-keeping your teeth a couple days longer?" Wanda asked, still with her head down. "What's a seven-letter word for 'neddy'?"

"Jackass!" Oscar snapped at Brent, stomping out of the store.

"Jackass! Yes! Scorrre! HA! Take that 17-down!

"Okay, things are happening now! There's a restaurant and a gas station in the same place!" Jerry smiled with a nod, approaching the adjoining buildings.

"Cool. You should get some gas here while you're at it," George suggested.

"It can wait. I really need a coffee."

"Jer, coffee can wait, this is a rental car and we're lost, which means we don't know how much gas we'll be needing to get to Regina. You should get gas first."

"Aren't you hungry? Coffee and a sandwich? Coffee and a slice of pie? Coffee and a slice of pie in the bathroom?" Jerry suggested, the restaurant/gas station looming before them.

"Sure, but it's always better get required tasks over and done with before you reward yourself with food!"

"Ha! Tell that to Kramer!" Jerry joked. "Look, this place is so far removed from civilization and probably time, that the guy will probably prolong the visit by a half hour asking to check the oil, poking and prodding our rental, and next thing you know we're out fifty bucks and less money for food!"

"Would you rather starve or walk 50 miles to Regina?"

The car drove over the gas pump bell hose, drawing attention from Wanda's request for a 9-letter word for 'sesquipedalianist', which Brent was only too happy to be lured from, for fear of making Wanda think she was smarter than him and Hank put together, and made it one foot outside the door when...

"I can handle a little stomach gurgling," Jerry assured George, and kept driving the few additional yards to park in front of the cafe that called itself 'The Ruby'. Brent made a face, and re-entered Corner Gas.

"Jer, let me tell you something about Canadians-"

"Here we go!" Jerry sighed, rolling his eyes.

George continued as if he didn't hear his friend. "- they like everyone, and they've a hard-working honest people-"

"What are they, Amish?"

"Practically!" George insisted. "I dealt with the staff in the Toronto Blue Jays offices while I worked with the Yankees-"

"You realize that the Jays were mostly Americans and Cubans, and not Canadians, right?"
"The management people, Jer, that's who I dealt with, and I can tell you they won't try to rip us off here! Just get the gas now!"

Jerry frowned, and backed the car back up over to the gas pumps, ringing the bell. Inside the station Brent watched as the car waited for his attention, so he headed for the door as Hank suggested that another word for 'Grammaticaster' was 'Godzilla', until the car moved back towards the Ruby restaurant.

"What, what, what?" George cried out.

"I know what I'm doing! My stomach's killing me! I gotta eat now!"

"You just rang his bell twice!"
"Who are you? Anita Ward?"

"The ringing of a gas station bell is the precursor of a binding contract, Jerry! You've got to get gas now!" George insisted, his voice rising in indignation.

"If he's Canadian, he'll be polite and understand!" Jerry countered.

"Aww, what do I know about Canadians?" George admitted, jumping about his seat, slapping the dashboard. "Out here, this close to the Montana border, he's probably armed with his own RCMP-endorsed shotguns! Even nice people have a breaking point! Backupbackupbackup!"

"ALL RIGHT, George!" Jerry snapped, burning rubber in the dusty ground, kicking up a cloud that wafted off towards Oscar who was reading a paper outside the Ruby. The rental car sped backwards and stopped abruptly, ringing the pump bell again.

Brent sneered inside the store and waited for the car to leave again, but the two guys inside seemed to want gas now. Hank and Wanda both watched for the car's next move, but this time the driver seemed to actually expect service. Brent looked at his friends, with Wanda offering a fake cheerful,

"Go get 'em, Sparky! Fill 'em up!"

Hank added, "Maybe they're having trouble with their brakes?"

Brent approached the door and stopped. Two men were inside the dusty car, one with sunglasses on and the other a balding dude with eyeglasses on. They looked harmless enough. He began to reach for the door handle, his mind playing a rift from a horror movie, as if his next move would result in the attack of a demon or mummy from outside.

"Actually, you're right," George sighed.

"I'm right-what? Whatta you mean?"
"I gotta use the bathroom, and I'm sure the one in the restaurant will be cleaner than an old gas station's will! Gas can wait."

Growling like Lou Ferrigno's Hulk, Jerry floored the accelerator with a hostile grimace, forcing both of them back into there seats for a couple seconds before he slammed on his brakes in front of the restaurant, making Oscar yelp from the rushing-and-suddenly-stopping car near him.

"Did you see that?" Brent asked from inside his gas station to Wanda and Hank. "What a couple of jerks! I have better things to do than walk back and forth, being mocked by a gas bell prankster!"

"Yea, like stocking more Mars bars or Hank Mouse snacks!" Wanda commented. "You still here?"

Hank looked uncomfortable, aware that he'd put the mouse back into his pocket, and joined Brent at the door to watch the two men exit the car. They looked okay on the surface, but you never could trust the Big City types, Or...

"You know, Brent, I don't think those guys are from around here."

Brent looked at his friend and asked, "What gave it away? The fact that Dog River only has about 500 people living here, or the fact that they don't look like any of the school bullies that liked to pick on us as we grew up here the past 30-plus years?"

Hank shrugged, his eyes squinting as he got a good look at both men. One was average height and build with nice hair, and the other was shorter, husky, and balding. "I could probably take the smaller guy. Hey, he almost looks like you, Brent!"

"Like him?" Brent asked, incredulous, blinded by his own ego, and denial of hair loss. "If anything, I'm more of a Renaissance Man with a devil-may-care attitude towards life."

"Who do you think you are, Holden Caufield?" Wanda asked from behind them. She continued with her crossword, chuckled and filled in another line. "Heh,heh! Gotcha 21-across! Screw you, buster!"

Outside, despite his pleas to go inside and use the restroom facilities, George was holding back, looking up at the overhead signs.

"Weird."

Jerry sighed, and looked back with exasperation at his friend from the steps leading to the front door of the restaurant. "What is?" he asked, taking the bait.

"The signs- they don't match!"

"Huh?"
"Actually, Jer, you should be saying 'Eh' up here? All the Canucks say it. It's as common as the word 'and' to them."

"As common as fish-out-of-water for you when it comes to travelling?" Jerry asked. "What about the signs?" he asked with obvious boredom, looking up on the roof. George looked at him, and Jerry added an exaggerated, "Eehhh?"

Above the door a decorative oval red sign with angular sides and fancy lettering saying 'The Ruby' was on the left, and a couple feet away on top of the roof in huge block letters the word 'CAFE' was prominently displayed. Then further along the edge of the roof towards the gas station was a generic black and white sign that said 'STORE', and past that in yellow and black 'GAS'. Meanwhile, a roughly oval sign on a tall poll at the edge of the driveway had the name 'Corner Gas' written on it.

"Nothing matches around here! It's all willy-nilly! A little bit of this, a little bit of that- it's like five different people made their own signs and said 'Ah, to hell with what you guys want, this is my sign!'" He looked back and forth between the Ruby and Cafe signs, and looked as annoyed as if it were a personal insult to him. "It's like the signs are saying, 'the...ruby' and 'CAAFFEEE!'"

He looked at Jerry, expecting his agreement.

"You forgot to say 'Eehhh!'" Jerry reminded him, pointing his thumbs out, and wiggling his hips like The Fonz.

"Hey, I know what I'm talking about!"

"Why?"

"I may not be an architect, but I've read some books about it!"

"Since when do signs have anything to do with the construction of a building?" Jerry wondered, heading back towards the door of the Ruby.

George let it go, since his stomach was beginning to gurgle and his bladder was making that same signal that he needed to visit the men's room soon, so he joined Jerry inside. It was a typical highway restaurant with a row of stools along a counter top facing the kitchen area and the coffee maker, teapots, and freshly-baked items on display. Against the windows were several booths, some of which were occupied by what appeared to be the townsfolk that had a farming community look to them, while a red and white checkerboard-pattern floor gave it a quaint, small town feel. All in all, it was a cozy little place and looked liked it might have some good food.

Taking a booth, the guys pulled out their own menus and perused them, unsure of what they wanted, other than knowing that they were hungry and coffee would accompany it.

"Oooo! Chilly cheese dog!" George commented.

"Imagine that in a place called 'Dog River'!" Jerry smiled.

George looked over his menu and said, "Yea, but if you got one of those in New York City who knows what the heck is inside it! Out here amongst all these farms, it's probably got real beef inside it!"

"Ooo, look, George! Apple pie! They have real apples up here in Canada! Oooo!'

George gave him a drool smile and continued to check out the menu, even as a pair of shapely legs caught his attention as they approached their table.

"Hello, guys! Welcome to the Ruby! Can I get you something to drink before you order?"

George was so caught off guard by the pretty brunette waitress that he felt like he lost his voice. Fortunately, Jerry had kept his wits, and asked the woman for two coffees, adding that they needed a few more minutes to decide what to eat. She smiled brightly and turned around to return to go back behind the counter. George grabbed Jerry's arm and whispered urgently,

"Do you know who that is?"

"No, but I already know her social insurance number and her shoe size! How do I know who she is? We've only just met, but I'm guessing she might call herself 'Ruby'."

"Nononono!" George insisted.

"What then? Sally Cafe'?"

"I think it's Lynda Carter!" George whispered, stealing a couple surreptitious glances at the woman.

"Oh, c'mon, you're nuts! We're in the middle of deepest, darkest, flattest Saskatchewan, and you think Lynda Carter is waiting tables here?"

"You don't think she looks like Lynda Carter?"

"I think your eyeglass prescription needs to be updated!" Jerry smiled. "First Elaine thinks she looks like Wonder Woman in the comic books, and now you think you're in the presence of the actress who played her? There's a rudimentary resemblance, but-"

"Oh, yea, right! Like you can even tell anything through your sunglasses! And why're still wearing them indoors? I'll draw the curtains on our window if it's too bright for you."

"Naw, it's not that," Jerry said, dipping his head, and looking about cautiously. "You see, George, these little towns can sometimes have alot of my fans living in them-"

"Oooh, boy, here we go!" George sighed, rolling his eyes.

"-and I can't tell you how many times, as a celebrity, that I've had my meals interrupted by zealous fans wanting autographs, pictures, and the like. If I keep my shades on the whole time, I won't be recognized."

George smiled and stared at his friend like he was delusional. "You're delusional! You haven't even been on 'The Tonight Show' for, what? Five years and counting? You're not even a B-List celebrity now!"

"I'm still really popular! My Mom told me so!"

"And I won't even begin to mention the disaster that was your visit to 'The View'!"

"Hey! That Barbara Walters had it in for me!"

"Riiight!"

"In for me, baby!" Jerry insisted.

George stared at him, his face falling. "You're using my 'baby' again? Can't you come up with your own material anymore?" Before Jerry could respond, George hushed him with, "Shshsh! She's coming back. I'm gonna test her!"

"George..." Jerry sighed, exasperated.

The pretty server returned with two coffees, and a bowl loaded with little creamettes and milkettes, when George said, "You have a nice place here...eh...Ruby."

The woman smiled and said, "Thanks. Oh, uh, I'm not 'Ruby', though. I named it in honor of my aunt who ran the place before me. The locals here were so worried that I'd change it when I took it over after she passed away, but all I did was name it 'The Ruby', after my aunt. You know how little towns are when it comes to outsiders!"

George and Jerry looked at each other, and for the first time Jerry's confident smile left him, as he was surprised by that little fact. He asked, "You're not from Dog River?"

"I'm not even from Saskatchewan! Nope, I'm a Big City Girl at heart-" she explained, until a cranky older man at the counter top on a stool drew her attention away from the guys.

"You call this soup? Where're the little pasta letters? What kinda crappy vegetable soup doesn't have pasta letters in it like the canned stuff?"

"I'll be right there, Oscar! S'cuse me! I'll be back to take your orders."

As the nameless Lynda Carter-lookalike tried to explain to the senior named Oscar that the soup was made fresh, and only canned factory-made soup was alphabetized, George yanked on Jerry's arm, saying under his breath, "I'm gonna get her to autograph my menu!"

"We don't know if it's even her, yet!"

"It's her! I'm positive! She even sounds like Lynda Carter! Oh, man, this is so cool!"

"Since when were you ever a big Lynda Carter fan? You stopped watching 'Wonder Woman' after the second season because she never fought any, and I quote, 'Hot chicks in spandex supervillainess costumes', unquote!"

"It has nothing to do with being a fan!"

"Not following you. As usual."

"It's about making money off the real fans out there!"

"Now I see!" Jerry said, with a knowing smile.

"You got it, Jer! I get a menu signed, I sneak off with it, post it on E-Bay and next thing you know I've recouped the price of my plane ticket out here!'

"You're a true entrepreneur and philanthropist, George Costanza!"

George's cheerful mood was immediately muted as a pair of police officers entered the restaurant and took a booth a couple booths behind George. Jerry noticed his friend's attitude alter to one of cautious self consciousness. The comedian asked his friend what was the matter.

"The cops, Jer. Highway cops just came in and sat down," George replied, barely moving his lips as he said it.

"So?"

"Highway patrols are the same everywhere! Always out to lynch outsiders, load them up with tickets for going even just 2 miles an hour over the speed limit, stupid little things like a tilted licence plate, two different windshield wipers on the front window! We gotta watch ourselves now that they're here!'

"Yea, now you'll have to sell two Lynda Carter-autographed menus to pay for all of your future tickets!" Jerry joked under his breath.

George stared hard at him, and said with forced urgency, "Just watch your step, that's all I'm saying! The girl cop looks okay, but the guy looks really mean!"

"Him?" Jerry asked, looking over George's shoulder, which allowed him a clear view of the male cop. He appeared to be of Native Canadian Indian descent, with neatly-combed black hair. "He's smiling now. Seems like he's a friendly sort."

"Yea, they lure you in with their quaint Canadian manners, and their friendly smiles, drawing the truth out of you like maple syrup, then, bam! He's writing you up for six traffic violations, and saying, 'You sure do have a pretty mouth!'"

Jerry looked at the police office, who still seemed harmless enough, giving the Lynda Carter look-a-like a big smile and a wave,, when he decided to have some fun with his paranoid friend. He rubbed his eyes, squinted, and covered his mouth, looking away.

"What? Whatwhatwhat? What is it? Is he coming here? Is he pulling out his gun? Is he gonna mace me?" George hissed out in a panic, looking back at the door, ready to make a dash for it.

"No, no, it's not that. You know who that cop is? I just realized it!" Jerry whispered, leaning forward, maintaining his best poker face.

"Who, who?" George wanted to know, practically begging.

"Okay, you're going to say I'm crazy, and think I'm just teasing you about the Lynda Carter thing, but the policeman used to be an actor! Do you remember 'Star Trek - Voyager' and Commander Chakotay?"

"'course I remem...Chakotay? Chakotay's a cop in Saskatchewan now? C'monnn!"

"I'm positive, George! What was his name, again? Robert...Bet...Beltran! Robert Beltran! I'm positive it's him!"

George leaned back in his seat, his face showing he wasn't buying it. "Okay, yea, right! Lynda Carter and Robert Beltran have gone into the restaurant business...in Saskatchewan...together? Ha! Oookay-fine!"

"I'm not saying that, because I know that's not Lynda Carter!" Jerry insisted. "But consider that since 'Voyager' went off the air, how many times have you seen Beltran on TV? Ever? He probably retired here to take up law enforcement." George began to slowly turn his head, when Jerry's hands yanked on George's arms and hissed, "Don'tlookdon'tlookdon'tlook! Robert Beltran just stopped smiling! He looked over here just now!"

George was finally buying it, looking nervous and confused. "What did he see? Was he looking at me?"

Jerry answered, "He just threw a look this way like this," to which Jerry displayed an exaggerated look of a pouty frown, squinty eyes, and a tilt of the head, then hid behind half of his menu.

"Oh, geez, oh man!" George sighed, clearly worried. "Bad enough to get a highway patrol cop pissed off you, but getting Officer Robert Beltran pissed off at you is worse!"

"How so?" Jerry asked, faking concern.

"Think, Jerry, think! He was at the top at one time, a star of a 'Star Trek' series, which was gradually mocked by the very fans that employed him, until fandom started calling his show 'The Seven Of Nine Show'! He was pushed out of the spotlight for the spandexed cyborg and those dumb Borg kids in the seventh season! He's bound to be harbouring a load of resentment, and what better way than to channel that into law enforcement and pick on people with impunity! It's genius!"

"Yes, it is!" Jerry said with his smile hidden behind his menu, taking the compliment.

When a young man wearing a ballcap backwards on his head sat beside the complaining old man called Oscar on an adjacent stool to distract him, the server finally managed to return to George and Jerry, holding her order pad.

"Well, guys, are you ready to order yet?" she asked cheerfully.

"Yes, we are! It's a wonder that we could decide, my dear woman!", George smiled up at her, making Jerry roll his eyes. "The food here is probably wonder-full! Eeh?"

The lady practically blushed from the compliment, and replied, "I think it's pretty good, but who am I? I'm kinda biased that way!"

"I bet you are! Yes, ma'am!" George smiled, adding, "And I bet the spaghetti looks like a plate-full of a golden lasso!"

"George...you're stretching it," Jerry warned.

"You want to eat a...lasso?" she asked.

"Only if it makes me tell the truth as to how delicious it was! Eh?"

"George, stop it!" Jerry sighed. He looked at the confused server, and told her, "Does anyone ever say how much you look like Lynda Carter?"

"Ooooh, that's so sweeeet!" the woman grinned ear to ear, touching Jerry's shoulder by way of a 'thank you' for the compliment. "I get that once in a blue moon, and I only wish I had her money and looks! No, I'm Lacey Burrows and I own this little ol' restaurant out here in the middle of nowhere! But just for that, your coffee's on the house!"

"Well, thank you, Lacey!" Jerry smiled, emphasizing her name as he looked at George.

His embarrassed friend added sheepishly, "Actually it was I who thought you were-" only to be interrupted by a debate from the counter.

"Hey, Lacey, Oscar and I have a debate going here, can ya help? I say SpaghettiOHS are the letter 'O', but Oscar thinks they're 'zeroes'! Who's right? I am, right? 'cause they're called 'Spaghetti-OHS', not 'Spaghteti-ZEROES'!

"Guys, I'm taking orders over here. Now what'll you have, uh...?"

"I'm Jerry, nice to meet you, Lacey! Can I have a toasted western on whole wheat?"

"Sure can! And you're having...?"

"I'll have the chilli cheese dog with fries, thanks, Lacey. Oh, and, eh, by the way my name's-"

"Okay, check! Got it!" Lacey smiled, interrupting him and making a notation, saying, "And Jerry's coffee for free! Be right back!"

George just starred at the server who was evidently not Lynda Carter, but had apparently given Jerry a wink before she left. He frowned at his smug friend, and mumbled, "Well, at least we might still be dealing with Robert Beltran!"

Lacey went back to the kitchen window and gave her line cook, Josh, the food order ticket, and resigned herself to the latest silly Hank/Oscar debate. Except that Hank wasn't really interested in the debate he'd mentioned.

"Hey, Lacey; what do you know about those two guys over there?"

"Which two guys?" she asked. Hank looked over his shoulder, and was surprised to find every booth and half the counter top was now occupied by two men each, except for the one where his friends, police officers Davis and Karen, sat at.

"The two guys that just drove up, and back over Brent's gas pump wire-thingy over and over!" he explained, as if it made all the sense in the world.

"You lost me, Hank," Lacey admitted.

"The guy with the sunglasses on and his fat friend with normal see-through eyeglasses," Hank said.

"Oh, not much. Do you want to know if they're available?"

Hank shook his head, embarrassed by the gay joke, since he wasn't gay, so after a few seconds of trying to organize his thoughts, he leaned in and whispered to her and Oscar, "I think they might be from Wullerton!"

Hank and Oscar simultaneously made a spitting sound directed at the floor, grossing out Lacey.

"I hate it when that happens!" she frowned. "I wish you'd guys would stop that!"
"Stop what?" Oscar asked, indignant. "Stop mentioning Wullerton-" he frowned, made a spitting sound towards the floor and continued, "and displaying my Constitutional rights to say how I feel about those a-holes? Not on your life, woman!"

"And what's it all about, anyway?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips, hoping to get to the bottom of the story. "I came here from Toronto all those years ago, and on my first day you guys made your thoughts about Wullerton known-" Hank and Oscar simultaneously spit again, "-but nobody wants to tell me about this rivalry with the next town! So what's it about?"

"If you don't know by now, we're not telling!" Oscar told her, defiantly sitting back on his stool as he crossed his arms, then had to awkwardly reach out forwards to prevent himself from falling off his stool.

"Yeah, and anyways, Lacey, you're missing the point. I think those jerks are from-" he began, but a threatening glare from Lacey warned him not to spit again, so he continued, "-that other town...and I think they're here to cause chaos and mass hysteria!"

"Right, not like the rampant paranoia that the mere mentoring of their town has on residents of Dog River!" Lacey said. "Tell me, Hank, what could they possibly do to cause chaos around here? The one with the sunglasses is so sweet! He said I looked like Lynda Carter!"

"Lynda Carter?" Oscar nearly exclaimed, drawing George's attention. "Jimmy Carter's wife? Like hell! She's gotta be at least 70 by now, and you're-"

"Not Rosalind Carter, Lynda Carter," Lacey explained. "Remember Wonder Woman?"

"Who? Is that the actress that advertised Wonder Bras?"

"She should have!" Hank commented with a smile, thinking back to watching the lovely actress on TV when he was younger.

"No, Lynda Carter! You know?" When Oscar drew a blank she added with a lame singing tone, "'Wonder Womannnn! All the world is waiting for you, and the power you possess! Fighting for your rights, and the old red white and blue!' Remember? It was in the seventies!"

"I only watch the CBC!" Oscar grumbled, letting the topic die out for lack of interest on his part.

"Well, anyways, Lacey, just keep your eyes on those guys, willya? I heard from Fitzy that this day might come!"

"What day?" she asked, and was immediately sorry she asked.

With deadpan, grave concern, Hank looked off to one side and replied in a dramatic monotone, "The Day of the Invasion of the Jerks from Wullerton!" Hank then stared off over her shoulder, his mind imagining the dramatic chorus of horns making a 'Dun-dun-daaaaa!' sound, then he and Oscar spit on the floor, so a grossed-out Lacey sneered, and told him,

"Stop that horn-look thing! It's freaking me out! And since when does 'two' constitute an invasion?" She then went into the kitchen to grab a mop for the floor.

Brent joined them next, sitting down beside his friend as Hank turned around, and pretended to check out the silverware before him as he mumbled, "And why's the one guy wearing shades inside?"

Oscar stared at him, his mouth gaping open as he repeated, "Wise guy wearing eyeshadow? Where?"

"No, no. Check it out, guys- one guy is wearing his sunglasses inside! Why would he do that, unless he was casing the joint so as to report to his Wullerton Overlords!"

The three of them spit on the floor, even as Lacey began to wipe the floor with her mop, mumbling something about her Aunt should have left her with her 50 cats instead of the restaurant her will.

"Maybe one guy is blind," Brent suggested.

"That might explain the driving back and forth over your dingle-a-ling," Hank suggested.

"Excuse me, but I've always kept my ding-a-ling in my pants!"

"I mean your gas bell ringer bell-thingy."

"I also would leave my other ding-a-ling, namely you, laying on the ground!" Brent joked.

"Thanks, man! You're a real friend!" Hank smiled, slapping his friend on the back, unaware of the insult.

"The hell he's blind!" Oscar grumbled. "He's picking up his coffee cup, pushing the sugar container back where it belongs..."

"Yea, but Daredevil could do that, too With his radar sense!" Brent suggested.

"You think he's a devil?" Oscar asked his son, incredulous.

"No, just devil may care. He also likes devil's food cake, and devilled eggs..."

"What's the little guy doing?" Oscar mumbled as he watched George get out of his seat, look in the opposite direction of police officers Davis and Karen, virtually tip-toeing past them, and then scurrying quickly into the washroom for the last couple of feet.

"That was a little odd," Brent noted.

"Casing the joint, I tell ya!" Hank insisted, his eyes bulging wide under his ball cap, his forehead becoming creased with lines of tension.

"Not just that! He took the menu into the washroom with him!" Oscar sneered. "That's disgusting!"

"So we have a disgusting devil casing the joint that likes to ring my bell-thingy over and over! Yep! They're jerks, alright!" Brent said, his tone making it sound like a joke, even though his face was virtually deadpan as he said it.

"So, Lacey, can I get a cup of coffee and my usual two chilli cheese dogs?" Brent asked her as she returned to the counter.

"Sure, Brent, but it'll be a little longer. Josh just used the last fresh hot dog bun for Jerry's order. He'll have to bake some new ones."

Brent's eyes bugged out behind his glasses, his expression of paranoia and outrage nearly matching Oscar and Hank's. "Okay, now they really are jerks from-" he was about to say 'Wullerton', until Lacey gave him a death-glare, while holding her mop at eye level, so he lamely finished, "-that...that bad-bad town down the highway."

"And don't forget disgusting!" Oscar insisted, sounding all high and mighty and indignant. "Who the hell reads a menu in the can?"

They watched as George returned from the restroom, once again trying not to be noticed by Davis and Karen as he made every effort to walk as close to the stools as possible and avoid contact before he sat down, and placed the menu back into the slot.

"Even from here I can see water spots on my menu," Lacey frowned. "Maybe he really is a jerk. But not the other guy!" she smiled again, her mood lighting up. Brent wasn't present previously, so she clarified for him, "He thinks I look like Lynda Carter! Can you imagine?"

"Don't worry, Lacey, if they really are from that other town I'm sure that sooner or later he'll get around to defacing the salt shaker or begrime your curtains, and then his compliments will mean nothing to you!"
"'Begrime my curtains'?" Lacey repeated.

"I heard it last night on 'a rerun of 'The Six Million Dollar Man'. Ya see, Steve Austin had too-"

"I'll stick with 'Wonder Woman', thanks," Lacey smiled, grabbed Jerry and George's food orders from Josh at the kitchen window, and brought them their lunch.

"Hey, who would win between Steve Austin the Six Million Dollar Man and Stone Cold Steve Austin of the WWE?" Hank wondered. "Would his stone-cold-stunner move work on a guy with bionic implants?"

"I don't see why not," Brent mused. "If his bionic arm and legs are flaying about while he's in the stone-cold-stunner headlock, they're not going to protect him much!"

Next door in the adjoining building, Emma entered the store area of Corner Gas, finding Wanda alone in the station, her crossword puzzles finished and Brent out of the store, which allowed her to waste time to make a house of cards out of unopened packs of hockey and baseball card packs.

"Hi, Wanda. Where's Brent?"

"Tracking down the guys that ran over his tinkle bell," she replied, distracted.

"His...what?"

"He's next door."

"Oh."

"Yep! Sure as Pluto's been downgraded from planet-status, that's where you'll find him! Yes! Score! Three floors done! Eighteen to go!"

"I'm not sure what that means? Planet what?"

"Oh, uh,it's like I was replying to your question, and answered, 'Is a duck's behind waterproof?' You see?"

"Nope."

Wanda sighed, looked at her and said, "He went next door. That's where he is."

"Okay, thanks."

Under her breath Wanda grumbled, "Sooo difficult being the smartest egg in a case of cracked ones!"

"I understood that one!" Emma warned from the other side of Corner Gas that led into the Ruby. Wanda cringed, and watched as her house of sports cards fell across the counter top and the floor. She looked over it, shrugged, and sat back down on her stool assuring herself lamely,

"Whatever. Hank'll pick 'em up for me."

"Okay, guys, here's your toasted western and the chilli cheese dog," Lacey said, offering a smile solely for Jerry. "Mmm! Nice shades!"

"Thanks!" Jerry replied with a big grin, hoping he wasn't blushing.

"My grandfather used to wear that kind all the time!" she smiled, innocently.

Before Jerry could say anything, George's curiosity couldn't be restrained any further.

"Hey, Lacey, I was just wondering, eh, about your signs outside? They're all different."

She nodded with a shrug. "I suppose so. They were made at different times, by different people. This wasn't even called 'The Ruby' until I took it over and had the sign made."

"Yeah, but that's just it, you see, eh?" he said, making her shake her head, confused. Sounding like a know-it-all, George said, "Well, you see, eh, that because the 'Ruby' sign and the 'Cafe' sign are so different it looks like your telling customers in a little voice...'the ruby', and then in a loud voice, 'CAFEEE!" he told her, nearly lunging at her with clenched fists, making her jump back, and gaining the attention of Brent, Oscar, Hank, Davis, Karen, and almost everyone else present. Embarrassed, George added, "Sorry, but as an architect-"

"Not an architect," Jerry mumbled under his breath as he took a bite of his sandwich.

George glared at him and repeated, "As an architect...eh...I can tell you that they should look alike! I'm sure somebody will build you one out here! Probably just cost you, like, ten bucks considering the exchange rate between the Canadian and American dollars!"

Lacey frowned at him, giving him her best glare usually reserved for Hank and told George, "The Canadian dollar is trading at 97.9 American cents today. We're just 2.1 cents behind parity."

"Oh. Uh. Eh."

"Enjoy your lunch," she told them, and returned to Brent and the guys, while Emma arrived and sat beside her husband, Oscar.

"Man, that little guy is really a jerk! First the menu, now the Canadian dollar and my signs! And he keeps saying 'eh' all the time! What's with that?"

"Just maintaining their cover, Lacey, obviously!" Hank insisted. "They're pretending to be from the States with all their 'ehs' and 'y'alls' and 'process American cheese', even though we know they've blown their cover and are actually from you-know-where?"

"From where?" Emma asked innocently.

"Wullerton," Oscar answered, making everyone once more, including Emma, spit on the floor, much to Lacey's increased anxiety.

"Can you guys do something else? I'm beginning to think a release of bum-bombs would be preferable to all the spitting!"

"Bum-bombs'?" Brent asked. "Oh! You mean farting! Well...I suppose we could bring it up at the next Town Hall meeting..." he said, actually considering it.

Drawn in by the gathering of their friends, both Davis and Karen moved over to the counter top, much to George's barely-restrained nervousness. Jerry just kept on eating and humming to the country music song playing in the background.

"Hey, is this a private party or can anybody join?" Davis asked with a big grin.

"I don't know what that means," Emma admitted.

"Well, it's like-"

"This isn't a party, Davis," Emma replied, deadpan. "We're just watching those two newcomers."

They tried to be subtle about their spying as they watched George and Jerry fight over a squeezable ketchup bottle like a couple of little brothers. Seconds later, both hands had squeezed out a gusher, spraying the thick red sauce across the curtains, onto the window, and a little bit onto the already-contaminated menu. Jerry shoved the ketchup at George, who looked embarrassed and confused with what to do next, so he wiped the ketchup off the curtain, thought about it, then smeared the sticky goop from his hand onto his chilli-cheese dog, making mostly everyone cringe from the rudeness, including Lacey, who was now thinking Jerry was a bit of a jerk, too, after all, what with his teasing of his friend and laughing with his mouth open and full of food.

Brent's eyes lit up, and he turned around in his stool to ask Lacey, "Hey, that gives me an idea. The next time I get a chilli cheese dog can I have a side order of ketchup? It might add a bit of zing to the flavor when I dunk it in it! Just a nice little dollop of-gllooop- and now I'm salivating!"

"Well, I'm gonna do something about it before they can report to their Overlords and Overladies, 'cause next thing ya know they'll be trying to spread their town borders to encompass Dog River like- like the Nutzies did in World War Two or something!" Hank stated, rolling off his stool, and going outside on a mission that nobody cared about.

"You mean the Nazis," Brent suggested.

"Yeah! Them, too!"

"Hey, did I see one guy take a menu into the bathroom with him?" Karen whispered.

"Yes, he begrimed it and sullied it!" Brent said.

"You're going to keep using that word until it's worn out, aren't you?" Lacey asked.

He responded, "It behooves me to belittle the unbecoming begrimers of B-Town. No wait, it's Wullerton not B-Town."

They all spit again, now including Davis and Karen. Lacey sighed, and went back into the kitchen with Josh to sulk and wait until all of her crazy friends left her restaurant.

"So what're they doing here?" Davis asked, suspiciously, noticing George watching him, so George looked away, then Davis looked away and back again, so George looked away and then back at him, then they looked at one another again and away once more.

"Do you want me and Karen to grill them? Run 'em outta town?"

"We don't know for sure that they're from that other town," Brent clarified. "It's just a theory. Actually, a theory brought on by Hank."

"Oh, well, then forget it!" Karen sighed, sliding off her stool, as did Emma and Davis. "That's like the pot calling the kettle pink!"

"That doesn't make sense to me," Emma admitted.

"Exactly We're talking Hank here, remember?"

Davis left some money on his table to pay for the drinks they had, then sauntered past Jerry and George, and out the door with Karen, who gave George one more glance before leaving. Oscar was dragged out of the restaurant by Emma, admitting that they'd run out of SpaghettiOHS at home, but did have plenty of Beefaroni, which seemed to please him.

George leaned in over his lunch, his chin still displaying a couple droplets of chilli as he whispered, "Okay, I think we're in the clear! The cops are gone! I don't know if that's Robert Beltran or not, though!"

Jerry was grossed out enough to offer George a napkin to wipe his chin, but all he did was blow his nose loudly like a horn, drawing attention to himself.

"You had your chance to ask him, and get your menu signed," the comedian noted.

George snorted a chuckle, saying, "Yea, riiight! Like Beltran's autograph is anywhere near as valuable as Lynda Carter's on E-Bay!"

Hank reappeared and joined Brent at the counter and told him, "Okay, buddy, I fixed 'em good! Those jerks don't know who they're dealing with! They'll be on the next train outta town by sunset!"

"Haaank?" Brent asked, "What did you do now? Keeping in mind Dog River doesn't have a train station!"

Smiling like a naughty boy, Hank replied, "Put a flat in not one but two of their tires! Even if they have a spare, they still got another flat to deal with! 'Sabotage' is my middle name! High five?"

Brent glanced at Hank holding his hand up high to be slapped, but he didn't accept the offer. "We wanted those boneheads out of town, Hank! Now you've stranded them here!"

"No, see, 'cause they have a flat and a couple normal tires, and...oh...yeah. Damn."

"So thanks to you, the jerks from Wullerton," they both spit on the floor, "can't get from Point A to Point B, because of the point on your head and your damaging their car! Nice."

"Hey, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"That's what you said about the Old Man Weldon!"

At the mentioning of an embarrassing incident from their teen years, Hank shifted and blushed, saying, "Hey, I thought we agreed to keep quiet about that? I'll make it up to him! Who knew fake crop circles would get him arrested?"

"Or the Men In Black visitations that followed and those FBI agents knocking on his door at 3 in the morning," Brent mused, pausing to think back. "Although she was really cute..."

"What Men In Black?"

"You know, the guys that dropped by, wearing dark sunglasses, using a little flash camera to take pictures of everyone?"

"What camera? What flash?" Hank asked, completely bewildered.

"How can you forget those guys? One was middle-aged, the other a snazzy-looking young African-American taking your picture with their mini-camera? No? Just as well- they creeped me out, so I hid behind Old Man Weldon's barn! Didn't you ever see them talking to their little pug dog like it was a person? No? Huh." Brent said, dropping the line of conversation, losing interest. "Well, looks like I'm not getting that chilli cheese dog, thanks to those jerks. Might as well go back to Corner Gas and trick Wanda into paying for a bag of chips for me."

All alone in his quest to spy on the two 'jerks', Hank tried to play it incognito, fumbling with his cell phone when he got an idea to freak out the invaders. He quickly dialled a random number and hit the 'connect' button by mistake as he put it to his ear, and backed up until he was pacing back and forth near Jerry and George's booth.

"Oh, hey, yeah! Hi, Fitzy, how's it goin! Hank Yarbo here! Yeah, I just wanted to tell ya that the, uh, the UFO is safe and sound in the Dog River grain elevator!" The two New Yorkers looked at each other, then at Hank's back, then back to each other, listening in while they ate. "Yeah, you know the one we captured along with all those crop circles that I didn't make with Brent up at Old Man Weldon's farm! We're gonna call up Area 51 and ask for an alien trade! Our spider-aliens for their, um, kangaroo aliens! Seems like a fair trade, right? Right! So, uh...nice talking to you...Davis...about the, no, I mean, Fitzy, about the Canadian UFO in the grain elevator just outside the window...near the Ruby...outside the window. Bye-bye! Give my regards to Elvis! Yepper! Bye!"

...A confused well-dressed man with neat hair sitting in a lavish office held the phone to his ear, and heard it click, ending the weird call. He reached forward, clicked on the intercom, and said,

"Monique, could you trace that last call to my line? I think I need to track down a prankster! Somebody calling himself 'Hank Yarbo'!"

"Yes, Prime Minister!" replied the intercom voice. "I'll alert the RCMP immediately!"...

Hank's awkward planting of his prank led Jerry and George to look out the ketchup-stained window to see that there was, indeed, one of the tall iconic barn-like buildings across a field and a highway, which certainly seemed large enough to house an aircraft, one as big as a Lear Jet, or even a flying saucer. However...

"A UFO!" George chuckled, dripping loads of chilli down onto his lap. "What a jokester! These small towns- always playing pranks on us Big City types, huh?"

"Of course it could be true, you know," Jerry said, playing along. "Aliens keep landing in quiet remote places like this all the time!'

"Yea! Right!" George snorted, derisively. "Like an alien from Mars or Kronos or wherever would want to visit Canada! Yea! The States is where all the action is, baby! That's where they land all the time!"

"I guess you're right," Jerry smirked, sipping his coffee, "Our cows and chickens know how to part-taaay! Not like these simple-minded Canadian cows and beavers!"

"That's what I'm saying!" George smiled back, still serious about his theory.

"Then again, maybe that's how Robert Beltran landed in Canada? Maybe they've stored the Delta Flyer over there!" Jerry suggested.

George only smiled and drank his coffee.

Eventually they were finished eating, and Lacey was able to poke her head out of the kitchen safely, now that all of her Dog River-born friends had left, and there was no longer any chance of the floor being messed up by them. Joining the guys at the cash register, she told them she hoped they had a nice meal, and to come back sometime soon.

"We sure will! Us and our friends...in the FBI!" George smiled, making Jerry roll his eyes as he pulled out his wallet.

"The FBI?" Lacey asked, surprised and almost impressed.

"Right, the F...B...I!" George chuckled, adding, "They might want to take a look inside your...what was it called, Agent Seinfeld? A 'grain elevator'? Might want to check out all the 'unusual' contents...inside it! Know what I mean?" George finished with a knowing wink.

"Oh, thank God!" Lacey sighed, actually relieved. "I'd be really grateful if anybody checked it out! All those strange sounds and all those weird-looking visitors from out of town!" George lost his smile, and realized that Lacey wasn't kidding, that she was being completely honest. "I mean, it's not like I have a choice where the Ruby sits, but being so close to that-that thing...well, it would really be worth a look!"

"Uh...yeah. Yeah, we can, uh...look into that. Eh," George ended lamely, his mind racing a mile a minute at the implications. He noticed a rack of postcards displayed beside the cash register, his eyes popped open wide, and he yanked one card off the display, stuttering, "Here's our check, and-and-and this post card. Nice postcard!"

Lacey looked down and smiled at it. "Oh, the weird ol' grain elevator outside! Nice memento, huh? We've got other post cards of Dog River. I think there's one of Davis's amazing pile of wood-"

"Nononono, sweetheart! That'll do. You ready, Jerry?"

Jerry looked embarrassed, and told him, "I'm almost out of cash, George, sorry! I don't even have my credit cards on me!"

"How much do you have?"

"Five bucks and some boonies."

"Loonies," Lacey corrected. "The one-dollar coins are nicknamed 'loonies', and the two-dollar coins are 'toonies'."

"So I have to pay for lunch?" George snapped, indignant.

"I'll pay ya back, don't worry! I'll just get Kramer to wire me some money when we get to Regina. And by the way-"

"How could you not know you were low on cash all this time? How long have you been down to just five-oonies?"

"They're not called 'five-oonies', just dollars," Lacey noted.

"Loonies, boonies, goonies, whatever! That's great, just great! You do this to me all the time, Jerry! You invite me on a road trip and then stick me with the bill-oonie! Very nice!"

"You'll get repaid! Chill out!"

George reluctantly paid Lacey with a twenty and got the change back, still grumbling as they returned to the rental car, started it up, and felt it feel as if it were driving in quicksand. Jerry got out, and his expression of frustration prompted George to jump out, too. His temper and mood clashed into a mixture of torrid emotions as he saw not one, but two flat tires!

"Morrre spending on my part? Oh, man, this is unbelievable! Oh, man, I wonder if Officer Robert Beltran did this to us because you were making faces at him?"

Brent and Wanda watched the action from the window behind the cash register, as Brent had informed his co-worker as to the supposed identities of the two men, and Hank's theory that it was part of an invasion to come. When Wanda sarcastically suggested that they were about to come barging in, guns blazing, chaos descending upon them, his mind began to wander as he pictured it...

...Brent imagined the sight of the two men crashing through the doors of Corner Gas on web-lines, rolling on the floor like commandos, as they brought up their sub-machine guns, and started to shoot up the place, destroying displays of cans, and chips, and magazines and displays of Mars bars, until Wanda pulled up a bazooka from beneath the counter, took aim, and fired at the destructive duo from Wullerton (spit!)...

"Wait...I have a bazooka down at arm's reach for my own personal use? Preferably to be used against Hank?" Wanda asked, bringing Brent's imagination to a grinding halt.

"Yeah, it's just under the cash register, beside the paper towels!"

Wanda looked below the register, saying, "Probably to soak up all the blood and guts from Hank?"

Jerry and George entered the Corner Gas store, with Jerry saying, "Hi! My car has a couple flats in it, and I was wondering if there was a station nearby to get it fixed?"

"What's wrong with this station?" Brent asked.

"You have a garage here?" Jerry asked.

"No. But I could have."

"I didn't think you did."

"But I could have!" Brent insisted.

"But that doesn't help me now."

"How do you know I couldn't just fix your tires in the driveway?"

"Can you?"

"Maybe," Brent shrugged. "Done it before."

"Fixed tires in the driveway?"

"No, washed a car or two in the past. But I'm planning on expanding."

"Do you have tires for sale here?" asked Jerry.

"No."

"Then I see a fault in your plan."

"Touche," Bent replied.

"So is there a place in town that I can get tires?"

"Sure. But they won't fix 'em for you."

"Why not?" Jerry asked.

"That's really the sort of thing a gas station should do for you."

"Like here?"

"Hopefully in the future. I'm planning on expanding."

"Welcome to the Twilight Zone," George mumbled under his breath. He noticed Wanda was looking at him, then Brent, then him, then Brent, a stick of half-chewed liquorice in her hand, forgotten. "What?" George prompted.

"Ever been to Saskatchewan before?" she asked distracted. George smiled, and admitted that this was the first time ever. "Weird," she added, still looking between him and Brent.

"What? You think I'm weird? Weird in what way?" the ever-self conscious George asked, still unaware of the chilli sauce stains on his chin.

"It's just that I could swear you and Brent look alike! Almost like you're long-lost brothers or something! You see it, too, right, Brent?"

The gas station owner looked down his chest and feet and up at George, prompting both to look at each other and themselves again and again.

"Nope. Not seeing it," Brent consented.

"Me, neither," George shrugged.

"Oh, c'monnn!" Wanda smiled. "The glasses, the receding hairline, the stocky build, the double chin, the chilli stains on the chin? What're you guys, blind?"
"May I introduce Wanda, the next Canadian ambassador to the United Nations, soon-to-be the We-Hate-Canada's-Guts Nations?" Brent joked. "You seeing a similarity?" he addressed Jerry, who shrugged.

"If it means I'll get two fixed tires I'll say you guys look like Bruce Willis! I just want to get my car fixed!"

"And some money wired here from New York!" George added, urgently.

"I guess that'll be a good idea, since the tires will cost you money and not two goats and three ducks like in the Old Days!"

Brent finally gave them a break, believing that they were actually a couple guys from New York, after all, and arranged for a couple tires to be driven over to Corner Gas from Wally's Wheels and Fish in town. Fixing the flats with a jack was something he reluctantly admitted was something better suited to someone else that was used to working around cars.

"You work in a gas station and you're not used to working with cars?" George smirked.

"Just the gas nozzle and the radio dial parts, yeah, that's about it," Brent replied.

The fact was, now that he felt a little sorry for the Americans, he felt it only fitting that Hank should be the one to fix the tires that he'd popped in the first place.

Hank agreed to do so...

"Okay, okay! I'm here!" Hank moaned, entering Corner Gas, just as Wanda was about to lock up.

"Brent called you five hours ago! Where've been?"

"Nowhere," Hank shrugged, obviously hiding something. "Definitely not up at Old Man Weldon's farm, not making crop squares."

"Crop circles, you ninny!" Wanda corrected.

"Maybe you guys see crop circles, but these are crop squares! I like to be on the cutting edge!"

"Not near enough a cliff edge in these parts for my liking," Wanda mumbled, pushing Hank outside so she could lock up. "So, that's the car, there's the jack, get to work."

"I'll miss 'Jeopardy' at this rate!"

Wanda left him to his work, which he was about to start when he saw a government car pull up at Corner Gas. He was worried that it might be more jerks from Wullerton (spit!), until the driver approached him and showed him a cool ID badge.

"RCMP...mind if you answer some questions for us?"

Resigned that they'd be spending a night in Dog River, thanks to nobody giving them directions to Regina (Hank had earlier been effective at convincing everyone that the guys were still from Wullerton), and the fact that George didn't want to drive off into the night in the middle of nowhere and have a close encounter of the fifth kind with a UFO, the guys found themselves in the lone hotel available. On the first floor was the check-in table, but also a cozy little bar filled with townsfolk and music.

And fortunately, a payphone, which Jerry used to collect call Kramer back in New York.

"So I need two things, Kramer-"

"You got it, buddy!" his crazy-haired friend told him, a lamp and a hammer in his other hand, and a goldfish bowl in his lap- the result of the surprise phone call interrupting the middle of his latest project.

"I've got reservations with the Regina Holiday Inn for today, but we're not gonna make it, so I need you to call them and push it back to tomorrow!"

"But you're already in...Saskacatchewy- Saskarrawan- Saska-"
"Saskatchewan, yea, I know, but we're not getting too far with the locals for some reason. Just call Information, and call the Regina Holiday Inn for me, you think you can do that for me?"
"Sure, no problem."

"You'd like it up here- did you know that Saskatchewan has over 250 golf courses? Anyways, the other thing is helping us to get there. Go onto my computer, pull up Google Maps and get me directions from a place called 'Dog River', to Regina."

"Dawgrivver! Got it!"

"Dog River."

"Doug Rivers? Who's he?"
"Dog! Riverrrr!"

"Is that with one 'R' or three?" Kramer asked innocently.

"Kramer! It's spelt the way it sounds! The word 'Dog', and the word 'River'! There're are no extra consonants or vowels!"

"Mff. Unlike "! Okay. Dog...River. 250 golf courses, huh?"

"Yeah-yeah, so far so good, but that's not all"

"What? There's more?" Kramer whined. "I'm looking after Newman's cat while he's at the 'Buffy The Vampire Killer' convention, and I gotta tell ya, pal- she's a mean little tabby! She's eating me outta house and home and Fancy Feast! I've got her hooked on Alpo now, and if she doesn't get her fixin's by 7pm I am in moocho trouble-ohso!"

"Just one more thing; I need you to wire some money for me through American Express to the hotel in Regina-"

"Seventeen dollars and eighty-one cents!" George called out, lunging forward into the old phone receiver from behind Jerry, who gently pushed him back.

"I'm gonna need more than seventeen bucks, Kramer! Make it about a hundred! Okay? You got all that?"

"I'm down with that, don't worry, Jar," Kramer assured, writing fast and furious with his hammer and lamp in his arm, the fish bowl teetering on his lap, trying to balance it, until a reflex action made one knee jump and almost throw the bowl off his thighs and onto the floor, until he dropped the phone and caught his lamp. Strangely enough, a cat 'meowrred' at him with a hiss behind his couch. He picked up his phone and asked, "Still there?"

"Yea. One working ear, but I'm still here," Jerry frowned. "I'm counting on you, Kramer!"
"I've got you covered, buddy! I'll get on this right away!"

"Fine, fine! I'll call you tomorrow morning at 9 am to see how you made out."

"Nine am your time...or Sacajawea time?"

"Nine am New York time! Right? Okay, bye."

"So? So? Is he going to get us money and directions?"

"Oh, yeah. We're screwed," Jerry sighed, and went back to their table to order another beer.

It wasn't long after that Jerry noticed the two police officers arrive at the hotel and off-duty, if their casual clothes were any indication. The woman was even more attractive now, with her dirty-blond hair down around her shoulders, and now that he got a good look at the male officer, he knew that he definitely wasn't Robert Beltran of Star Trek - Voyager' fame.

However, that little fact wouldn't stop him from having a little fun with George.

"Writing a post card?" Jerry asked, as he watched his friend writing at their table.

"Yep! Post card of that Dog River grain elevator-thingy to Elaine! She needs to know about the UFO these people have hidden inside it!"

"Oh, George, c'monnn! That guy was joking!"

"Was he? Or was he acting so weird to make you think he was kidding so nobody would ask questions later? Ha-ha! But I'm too smart for these local-yokels! I know that he knows, but he won't know that I know that he knows, thinking that I don't know what I know! You see where my thinking is?"

"Uh-huh. Definitely out of this world," Jerry frowned, taking a sip of his beer, and then leaned in. "You know...Robert Beltran just showed up again!"

George was immediately alert and nervous again, showing the evidence of his UFO-postcard into his back pocket, looking every where except where Davis and Karen were sitting. "Where? Where is he?"

"Over there by the juke box. Still hanging out with his partner. Lucky girl!"

George made a face. "What? You got a thing about Chakotay that you've never told me about?"
"No, no, not like that! Not that there's anything wrong with that..."

"Of course not, nothing at all," George sighed, striving to remain politically correct, even in another country.

"What I mean is, here's this lady cop, posted in the middle of nowhere, and she's got this gold mine of 'Star Trek'' stories and background access that we could only dream about as fans of the show," Jerry explained, seeing George's eyes light up, knowing that he'd just hooked his friend with the web of deceit he was spinning. "Think of it; all those times on the set, listening in on Kate Mulgrew's daily anecdotes about her fifteen cats and her jealousy of Seven of Nine, all those multiple takes Beltran took on purpose when he had to kiss Jeri Ryan over and over and over, purposefully screwing up take after take..."

"You think he screwed up filming on purpose with Jeri Ryan?" George wondered.

Jerry looked at his friend with a knowing smirk. "Wouldn't you?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess you're right."

"Damn right I'm right! And here she is, hearing all those stories! Lucky girl! Why don't you go over there and get an autograph?"
"Oooh, no! No, no, no, no!" George replied, his nerves suddenly approaching 'p0anic mode'.

"C'mon! Why not? He's right there, off duty! He's probably starving for attention! The locals probably haven't made a big fuss over his B-List celebrityhood since his first week on duty! Just get his autograph, George!"

George considered it, casting a glance over at the couple, but shrunk back into his seat. "Nope! Can't do it! May I remind you what happened years ago at that infamous 'Star Trek' convention, and the even more infamous William Shatner Incident?"...

...George imagined the classic scene from the black and white original 'Frankenstein' movie, where the townsfolk rioted against the creature, carrying pitchforks and torches, but this time a wild-eyed William Shatner, in color, in his yellow and black Captain Kirk uniform, was leading the masses, screaming, "Cantstandyaaaaaaa!"...

"It never happened that way!" Jerry frowned, thinking back.

"Well, it might as well have! Trust me; you don't want to piss off The Shat...let alone Adam West!"

George started thinking back...

...that oh-so-innocent comment regarding his co-star, Burt Ward, prompting Adam West to glare threateningly back at him...

...but Jerry interrupted him like a record player needle scratching the album abruptly, and pushed a piece of paper in his friend's face, urging him on, practically kicking him out of their booth.

Seeing an opening, Brent took this opportunity to approach Jerry from the bar, a beer in hand.

"Hey, there, Jerry."

"Hi, Brent," the comedian smiled, now on a first name basis, thanks to spending the afternoon together at Corner Gas and the Ruby.

"Sorry about your wheels, man, and the krunk in your plans to drive down to R-Town."

Jerry hesitated, his brain unable to process the words. "Come again?"

"Sorry. I thought you New Yorker/Hollywooder types had your own lingo. Just wanted to say sorry about not getting your tires to you in time to drive down to Regina today like you were supposed to."

"Oh, well, that's okay. My show's not scheduled until tomorrow, anyway. With George coming with me, I knew I had to take into account extra delays."

"Cool. I'll do my best to keep Hank away from you guys, though. He's got a vivid imagination."

"What're you doing with this jackass from Wullerton?" Oscar's voice asked from behind Brent, and followed it up with a spit on the floor.

"And here's someone with a demented imagination. Jerry, my Dad, Dad, Jerry...from New York."

Oscar looked Jerry up and down, still sceptical. "'New York'? We don't have any towns in Saskatchewan called 'New York' or 'New Dork' or 'New Anythingelse', dumbass! I should know! I've lived here all my life!"

"And it shows," Brent deadpanned. "No, New York, New York, Dad."

"I heard ya the first time! Stop repeating yourself! I ain't deaf, yet!"

Jerry smiled, and offered, "Uh, , he means New-"

"Time was a goofball like you and your pudgy friend could be ridden outta town by shotgun! You know my great-great-great-granddaddy, er, Mannix Leroy, run Billy the Kid outta Dog River!"

"Great-great-great-grand-?" Brent began.

"Stop repeating yourself! You sound like a jackass!" Oscar snapped at his son.

"I'm from the States, . New York City, you know? Manhattan, the Bronx, Queens..."

"Oh, no, you didn't!" Brent sighed, covering his eyes.

"Queens?" Oscar bellowed, drawing attention to the table. "You and the porky guy are sissy-queens? What's this town coming to? Well, ya can't borrow any of my wife's undies or skirts! Find your own dresses to wear!"
Oscar trudged off, and Brent sighed, looking across the table at an open-mouthed Jerry.

"Welcome to Dog River," Brent sighed. Moments later, Wanda joined them from the bar, a beer in hand. "Finally a breath of fresh air and sanity."

"Hi, guys. Did you hear? The UFO aliens are asking for extra helpings of cow brains!"

"Or, not," Brent sighed. "Look, Wanda, I already told Jerry and his friend that Hank was kidding about the aliens in the grain elevator. The guys are from New York, New York, not from that other evil, despicable town down the highway."

"Oh. Way to kill a mood, Brent," Wanda sighed, slouching against one arm, and taking a gulp of her beer.

George suddenly barged back to the table, threw the paper at Jerry, and stared daggers at him as he gave him a backhanded slap on the shoulder and said, "That... was not...Robert Beltran!"

"Really? Are you sure?" Jerry asked, trying to sound innocent and bewildered. "Because in this light-"

"Yes, I'm sure of it! Just got laughed out of the corner by the cute cop and a police officer named Davis Quinton! Thanks, Jer! Thanks, alot!"

"Hold on, you guys thought Davis looked like Commander Chakotay of 'Voyager'?" Brent wondered, looking across the bar at his friend.

"Originally both of us thought so," Jerry said, then took on an exaggerated confused tone as he added, "but, you know...now that you mention it..."

"Jackass!" George grumbled.

"Oh, oh. He's catching Oscarleroyjackassitis!" Brent said to Wanda. "Well, I admit that Davis once tried to draw his own tattoo on himself, but it wasn't on his face like Chakotay. Tried to tattoo his chest with a Sharpie..."

Wanda smiled and added, "Yea! Didn't realize he gave himself an upside-down tattoo that read 'MOM' to himself when he looked down at it, but' to everyone else it read 'WOW'!"

"So, is this it? This is what people in Dog River do for entertainment?" Jerry asked in a friendly way, so that it didn't come off insulting.

"It's this place or Davis's pile of wood at his house. Actually, watching my Dad try to send mail without a stamp is a laugh-riot, but that only happens around the holidays," Brent joked.

"That's only for the rest of us," Wanda said. "Brent usually has to have his daily quotient of comic books to fill up the 7 hours and 45 minutes a day that Corner Gas doesn't have customers between 9 am and 5 pm!"

Brent gave her an embarrassed grimace for revealing that he, an adult in his thirties, still read comic books, but Jerry was interested.

"That's cool! I still read them myself! In fact, I even have two copies of the 1960 Superman Annual!"

"Really? That's so cool!" Brent gushed. "I have lots of old comics, mostly Marvels, but I really dig the old '60's DC's!"

"Here we go..." sighed Wanda, bored out of her skull.

"You like Superman?" asked Jerry.

"Man of Steel, powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men in Dog River! What's not to like?"

"So...George Reeves, Christopher Reeve, Tom Welling, or Brandon Routh?" Jerry asked, leaning in.

Brent released a confident, "Pshaw! George was the original! He's the Man!"

"Really? Even though Christopher Reeve took the roll, made the greatest superhero movie of all time, and paved the way for everyone else to make a superhero movie?" Jerry asked, incredulous.

"Okay, I'll give you that. But as much as I like Superman, I'm also into Raptorman, Batman, The Thing...Catwoman's pretty cool, too-"

"You lost him after 'Superman', Brent," George sighed, matching Wanda's boredom. "Beyond Metropolis, all other cities, fictional and not, and their resident superheroes, are just a big white blur to Jerry."

"So while these two compare utility belts, maybe we should try to pick up a conversation meant for adults," Wanda said. "So what do you do for a living, George?"

He smiled back at her, leaned back in his seat, and replied with mock confidence, "Well, I'm an architect! Eh!"

Wanda stared at him, squinting with scepticism as she replied, "Really? I don't see architecture coming from you! And don't do that 'Eh' thing. It's not politically correct."

George's ego, like the rest of his night, went slowly downhill from there on in...

The following morning after a hearty breakfast at the Ruby, where Jerry ordered the most expensive item on the menu, much to George's irritation, Jerry and George waved back at Brent, Wanda, and Oscar as they finally returned to the highway, loaded up on coffee, tires, and gas

"I'm surprised you saw them off, Dad," Bent had to admit, standing beside him. "Last I heard you thought they were cattle rustles bent on stealing your cattle, which by the way, you don't own because, you know, you live in a house on the main street and don't own any farmland!"

"Can't a guy just act neighbourly to strangers and make up for stuff he said?"

"You apologized to George for calling him a 'Yankee Doo-Doo Dandy Four-Eyes'?"

"Not exactly," Oscar frowned, the corners of his thin mouth curling into a smile he was trying to maintain in a downward-facing frown. "I drew them a map. A map to Regina. Just a peace offering, you know? A map." When Brent and Wanda stared at him, wondering if he really did do a stranger a favor, the old man couldn't take their stares any longer and snapped, "Just a map! I gotta go buy some stamps!", before he hurried off.

Brent and Wanda looked down the highway, as Brent whispered in Jerry and George's direction, "Those poor bastards."

The guys had been driving for a couple hours and were getting nervous. The countryside maintained a rural, flat countryside, but after following Oscar Leroy's map all this time instead of Kramer's confusing phone directions, they began to wonder why they hadn't reached Regina yet. They passed the occasional car along the remote highway, and drove without incident until a police patrol car followed them for several miles, then were flashed to pull off the highway by the cop.

"Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man!" George worried, wringing his hands. "A highway patrol cop! A real one this time!"

"Just relax, George, we weren't doing anything wrong! I wasn't anywhere near the speed limit, so we're fine! He might even be able to help us get back on track and find Regina."

The officer was your typical highway patrol caricature, overweight, reflective sunglasses, over-confident and drunk with power as he sauntered over to the suspicious car.

"Licence and registration, puh-lease, sir," the cop asked, leaning in, and sounding suspicious. He watched as Jerry removed the necessary papers from his wallet, then broke out into a wide grin, "Welll, I'lll beeee! Yer Jerry Steinfeld! The comedian!"

Despite wearing sunglasses he'd hoped would conceal his identity like Clark Kent's eyeglasses, Jerry was forced to admit he was whom the cop thought he was.

"Well, well, well, boy! What in tarnation are y'all doin' waaay out here in Montana?"

"Montana?" Jerry and George exclaimed in unison.

"Sure! You boys are just a few miles outside of a nice little town called 'Cat Puddle'! Real nice folks over there! Although, been alotta UFO's flyin' about and such these here days! Say, why're you boys drivin' a foreign car out here?"

"It's a Ford, officer," Jerry explained. "A rental."

"Yea, but y'all are drivin' a rental in Montana from the country of Saskat Chewwwan! Makes it a foreign car, right?"

"But, Officer-" Jerry explained, until the cop cut him off with a stare that made him very uncomfortable.

"Ya know, , I never realized...but y'all sure do have a purty mouth..."

Jerry's face went white and looked at George who was just as nervous, and who could only mumble, "I wish he was Robert Beltran!"

Kramer showed up too late in Dog River to help Jerry and George, forgetting that all he had to do was wire money to his friends, and not deliver the cash in person, but he figured that he wouldn't waste the trip to Saskatchewan without visiting some of its 250-plus golf courses. Getting directions from the big boy in the gas station called 'Corner Gas' (whom Kramer thought looked alot like Newman), he backed up too quickly from the gas pumps, sped backwards, and came to a sudden stop, but only after he bumped into a solid object.

Kramer got out of his car, and looked about and up, embarrassed and sorry that he'd dinged the tall 'Corner Gas' sign pole, which gradually creaked and began to bend to one side until it now tilted at a 45 degree angle. The Newman-look-alike and his lady shop helper barged out of the doors, unable to believe what they were seeing.

"Sorry! Sorry, guys! I'll pay you back later! Gotta hit the banks first, okay!" Kramer shouted back at them, until his nose began to itch like crazy from all the dust his car had picked up, which forced him to release a huge wailing sneeze.

Brent and Wanda watched from the safety of the doorway as they heard an unsettling creaking, and then watched as the huge 'CAFE' signage on the roof of the Ruby began to teeter and totter, until the 'A', 'F', and 'E' fall backwards, while the 'C', somehow fell forwards, and landed with a crash on top of Oscar's parked car.

Kramer panicked and beat a hasty retreat, kicking up more gravel and dust as he sped away from Corner Gas, raising enough of a cloud to fly into Oscar's face, after he dashed out of the restaurant to see the commotion.

Brent and Wanda looked at each other, and shrugged in unison.

"Any jerk from Wullerton (spit!) that makes my day like that can't be all that much of a jerk!" Brent smiled, re-entering his store, as Wanda and a dust-caked Oscar stared at each other.

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