The two were having such a recklessly good time telling poop/hermit crab jokes and gossiping about popular kids' cheekbone placement that they paid little attention to where they were headed.
It wasn't until they were back in Seattle that they realized they (Gary the P) had been driving the wrong way. The two took the opportunity to take a well deserved break from catching criminals.
Gary the P decided he would pop into his parents' house for a bite to eat. He rang the bike-horn-doorbell outside their front door, and before Calara could say, "They haven't answered, and it's been about 5 minutes, we should just go," his parents rushed to the door, slamming into it with their combined weight and knocking it on Gary the P.
Calara stood horrified at Gary the P's brand new contusions and lacerations from the spiked wreath his parents liked to hang year round to ward off bears. Then the family burst out into laughter.
"Just like old times, eh?" Gary the P's slightly (2/15) Canadian father, Waldo, said.
"You mean this happened regularly?" Calara howled.
"Oh, sure! It was a bit of a tradition." Gary the P's portly mother, Reginabeth, said.
"Why don'tcha come on in, eh? We just made dinner!" Waldo said jollily.
As the four sat around the table, Calara nostalgia'd. She'd been to this house almost everyday when she was a kid, hanging out with her best friend. Countless times, she had saved Gary the P's life from common, yet lethal, household dangers. Her fondest memory was when the two were playing Pong on his brand new Atari (they were always a bit behind on technology trends). The two were in their ninth consecutive hour of a stalemate, when Gary the P suddenly let out a sneeze so powerful that he grew three inches. Calara laughed so hard that she was unable to focus on the game, yet ended up winning anyway.
"So what brings you two up to these parts?" Reginabeth said slowly as she feasted on her roast pheasant pudding.
"I know my
"Eh, eh?" Waldo grinned with a mouthful of grapes and tangerine juice.
"Exactly." Calara piped in.
Waldo swallowed. "So why aren'tcha out there right now? He could be killing someone else, ya know?"
"Well, we were on our way to Springfield, Missouri, but we took a wrong turn or twenty." Gary the P squealed.
"Hey, Waldo, don't we have those coupons for a flight to Springfield, Missouri?" Reginabeth chimed.
"Oh, youbetcha! Why don't you two use these to help you with your destiny, eh?" Waldo said as he pulled the most convenient plot devices ever out of his wallet and handed them to our heroes.
"Gosh, Dad, thanks! We won't let you down!" Gary the P said as he hugged his parents goodbye.
"Bye Mr. and Mrs. the P!" Calara hooted.
The two hopped on their motorcycle and charged down the highway to the Seattle airport, wind in their hair, hope in their hearts, and a questionably prepared meal in their bellies.
TO BE CONTINUED BY JAKE "CLOWN SHOES" SMITH