All right, then-next on the pole was Horseman and his friend Photochick. Photochick is wearing a Hoover button in her mouth and this keeps her lips together.

Horseman was first up the pole and he's shouting back, "Hurry up, Photochick. Get up here." But then his pants fall down. Photochick, blinded reaches for her banjo and Horseman screams, "What are you doing? Get rid of that thing. Hurry. God, the cops are coming!"

Photochick snarls. "Don't call me no God," and she stars in a'singing, "Coming through the rye, coming through the rye, oh yeah, baby-o, we all just coming through the rye." Horseman gives her a kick in the mouth and her lips pry open and she stops her singing. "Now get the hell up this pole" Horseman sighs, vomits and looks out toward the slums ... "Good God, there's a thousand angry plumbers all in chrome suits. They've smashed the gates." Photochick, she squints. Horseman looks down. His face is dirty. "Didja hear me? Stop squinting! Didja hear me?"

"The sun's hot. I'm getting down off this pole" says Photochick. Meanwhile, back at the kazoo factory, Prez is walking back and forth dictating a letter. "Yes, I want the holes much bigger in these kazoos. I also want them cut sharper and to kind of pinch the tongue a little. I want a higher pitch, perhaps like a girl screaming. Also in the ads, I want to see a young hunchback. Perhaps with his nose broken. I want to see him sitting. Oh, I'd say, in front of a swamp with lots of mosquitoes. I want to see more of a poverty-type mood in the displays, also."

SCREAM from the closet. "Who's in there?" says the Prez. "Could you check on that, please, Miss Flunk." Miss Flunk opens the closet. Tattler, the errand boy, falls out. His arm tied behind is back. His shoes gone. "What's the matter there boy! Speak up! I'll have you demolished!" says Prez. "Sorry sir. The dykes have broken down. They're beating everybody up and putting them in the closets! Oh my Gawaud" says the Prez. "When? When has all this happened? Where are they finding all the closets? There aren't enough closets! Oh my Gawaud! What'll my wife say? Miss Flunk! Cancel my appointments for today. Order me my lunch?"

Miss Flunk slowly puts down her pen. Shuffles up to the Prez. Punches him in the gut and heaves him into the encyclopedias. "What! What's happening here! What, dear Gawaud, is happening here?" Prez, in a gust of anguish. "Get your hands behind your back, you fat fiend!" says Miss Flunk. "You're going into the closet."

BAP and the Prez lands in the closet. Tattler escapes out an air-vent. Miss Flunk take a bottle of ink and stars to polish her muscles. It begins to rain...

Meanwhile, back at the pole, Horseman is shouting, "Don't get down Photochick! I want you! I need you! I love you!" Photochick shouting back, "The sun's in my eyes! I can't do a thing with it! I fear my banjo is missing." The plumbers arrive. They take off their chrome suits. "What you guys want?" says Horseman. "We want you to ask each one of us for our autographs." says the chief plumber, who used to be one helluva banjo player himself and now spends his free time propositioning old ladies down on Highway 90. "That's what we want you to do."

"Nonsense!" says Horseman. "Just a minute." says Photochick. "Hold it just a minute. I'm game. I'll do it. Who do I ask first?" "What do you mean YOU will!" growls Horseman. "I'll do it. I'll ask 'm. I wanna do it. I'll do it."

"Good" says the chief plumber. "Now that we got that straightened out, we can chop down this pole without feeling too guilty and we won't have to join any lumberjack's union besides. " Good. Everything's looking good today and WHAM down comes the pole and they all walk back through the gates and go to the movies. Horseman and Photochick. They all sprawled out on the ground clutching the grass. A giant billboard sign faces them. It, being a musical instrument advertisement. Showing a picture of two women racing car drivers. Holding hands and each smoking a kazoo.