Part 1 through 101 of The Trash Compactor (eating through Straight Outta Lynwood) Blues...

Transmission Ooo, Molly is no longer visible but is that a cosy cat or not? Mymy!!!

-"A Me Up is better than 10 Down!" said a transient voice.
-"A Me Up is better than 10 Down?" said Beammeup or son, deux trois
-"Huppup Cy Ugly Motostosorio...!" said a monoteistic 2x2x2
-"Drab clots unhinged Romeo et Juliet...!" said several
-"Now, wtf are you doing here!!! GTFO of here with your literature

Off Season Still no Molly in vision. Tonight's the Night...

We see a stage stripped of scenography, curtains, actors whatever... It sits there in all of its dullities (want to scream out Fervent Optical Truths laden with hints of a third gender!), chit-chat, An Ominous-Looking Container allegedly containing cacao , A red glob hangs in midair and one has to be either insane or just not there to even remotely connect this with the obvious...

Yes! Right! A Stage! That's Cool! In! Now! On! Going! But the stage is not the important thing to look at here. It's about how you look at the whole room where you are at the moment that is the important thing.
Just think about it for a moment...

Does it feel good to think about it??? AaWw Ii Aaii!!![/color]

"Oh no!" wails Weird Al in utter despair, "how can I sing my song without my piano accordion?"
"Maybe you can improvise somehow" replied Mog with an evil sneer.
"Moi?"

-"Moi! Ji pI!"

And the world could at last draw a big sigh of relief as Weird Al Jankovic Un-Weird-Al-Jankoviced himself and quickly faded into the woodwork. That is real tiredness - Weird Al Jankovic got tired of himself. He's not around anymore. He can't be beamed anywhere. There's no such thing as to be beamed from nowhere to somewhere. Res Ipsa Loquitor!

-"Hey, what shall we do with this accordion, btw?" Inquired Mog philosophically.
-"Yeah, and all this vaudeville paraphernalia?" Echoed Lig, physically shifting.
-"We could start a Circus!" mused Cornad, dreamily phasing.

Omission Sequenze Un-Winding: CaCaphony.

Several saw it. Everyone remembered it. Not everyone was there. It was hilarious. It kicked in the right places. Sang like a bird. Straight dope right through.

Glasses, misty from the mildew and the cool breeze, ready. Out on the turf, racing the missiles, Lig & Mog communicate primarily by altering the brightness in the colored tail lights. They bob around like lightning rods, coated in deep water colors. They stray like glimmering bitches, driving a red composition of comfort and stability, momentarily fusing in a blend of a true nature where the genders have evolved and become one that is much stronger and can easier confront or work through the hardships that life deals you on a daily basis... (trailing off in yet another one of these odd... (that one trailing off too and I don't really know what is happening here or beyond some point that I may have passed already, it wouldn't be a surprise, to say the least...

Motor's going fine. They spin around in wider and wider circles. Blades Purring Just Fine, Yes! Sir!

Fusion Ignition Mission

Going very abruptly down but in a humorous light, that blows up in a storm that race across the sky emptying it of color so the sun can shine through and really give us the chance to see it all:

Crashing and burning.

Jangling and dangling but with the basic trajectory still intact... (that would be enough to identify every last one of these high class butcherers)

An ominous glimpse at the sky state the obvious... the ghost face of Weird Al Jankovic is watching over

Christmas at Ground Zero. A ghostly voice can still be heard singing the chorus "it's Christmas at ground zero....".

... while far away in the belly of an old aircraft things are really looking bleak. That engine doesn't feel good!!!
-"We need a mechanic down here asap!"

... simultaneous at a mountain site quite close, we've heard the ominous noise of an appoaching airplane. The open wound of its engine slowly bleeding out a crackling-swirling-roaring-mad-hot-hyper-sound that stays within you far longer than any ordinary sound. It's digging into decades of memories, broken hyper-links ripped from the womb of this insane story; this insane; this mad finger that keep stabbing down on the key-pad...
-"OMG! IT'S LOOSE..."

Yes, it was Weird Al and he was quite angry. Not only had his evil twin Albert Jankovic been taken out but he'd taken his favourite accordian with him. That was part of the reason he was the evil twin - he was always stealing things that belonged to his brother and losing or wrecking them.

He was the only survivor of the plane crash as he had put his tray table in the upright position as instructed. Now he was in Albuquerque and trying to find his bearings.

Somewhat unsteadily he got to his feet, dusted himself off, checked for contusions, and started looking for signs of civilisation.

A few hours later when Al had understand that there wasn't any signs of civilisation to be found around this god forsaken place. He sat down and drew a big sigh of relief. It meant that there wouldn't be any disturbance so in a nearby crevice he lay large amounts of dried grass. When he thought that he'd amassed enough he stripped down to undies and t-shirt before he crawled into the crevice and snuggled up in a foetal position and only a few minutes later he was sound asleep; dreaming of

a thousand twelve foot accordions all performing a ritualised rendition of Zorba's dance, while fiery shadows leapt and heaved upon the cavern walls.

And as they danced, every character to have come and gone in the amorphous realm of the Ongoing Story paraded before him, spraying confetti around like so many broken rainbows.

"Oh man!", he exclaimed, :"This is one serious trip!".

The rare member of the "are you serious?" gently drift across the late afternoon landscape formation