Facedown.

Whoa - that didn't take long. Is it Saturday already? Guess those orgone energy waves have an affect on your sense of time. As Dylan once sang, now things just keep getting uglier, and I have no sense of tiiiiiime.....

Well, now, those gall-dang other-worlders who came here to steal our land, take our jobs (they took our jobs!) and plant genuine Kentucky bluegrass turf all over our courtyard just couldn't take the heat from Trevor James Constable's orgone generating machine. What happened? Well, I'm gon' tell yuh. That unearthly contraption started shakin' and shakin'. Then it began to hop around like a Mexican jumping bean. I could hear little yips emanating from inside, and I could swear I saw someone waving a small, sucker-ended middle finger at me from one of the portholes (it may have been an optical illusion - no one else saw it but me, I guess....). Well, now, the hops got higher and higher, and at one point it just hopped clear out of sight. Damnedest thing. The way that fucker was pummeling that courtyard you'd think even god'd be a-feared of it.

Next thing I knew, something hit me square on the back of the head. Youch! Everything went black (actually, it was kind of a midnight blue, really, with orange and yellow sparkles - very nice). Not sure how long I was out, but when I came to, I had a headache and something Mitch Macaphee calls "frontier accent syndrome" - a dreaded disorder that people in the mad scientist community have been grappling with for nigh onto a hundred 'yar. Dag nabbed syndrome makes yuh talk like a gall dorn character actor at least every other sentence that festers outa' yer gob. (I have a particularly strange variant that appears to incorporate some elements of archaic British slang... most curious... dash it all....) Mitch and others tell me that I was struck by the hull of the bouncing ship driven by our turf-obsessed space invaders - apparently the fucker busted through the roof and into my private study... and dang near knocked my fool head off. (Haw...)

Let me tell you, friends - it was pandemonium around here for a stretch of minutes, right up until that highly agitated space vehicle bounced off the property entirely. Someone called upon Trevor James to pull the plug on his orgone generator before it burned a hole in the courtyard and cracked through the arches below into the drainage system of this quiet little upstate village. (Quiet though it may be, there is a lot of sewage that runs through this place - just ask the DEC... if you can catch them not hunting...) Though my head was, well, a bit more dented than before (dag nab it!), our little experiment appeared to be a success. But as you know... appearances can be deceiving. Within the next couple of days, similar mysterious space ships had appeared in the courtyards of many of our neighbors. Lawns were soon sprouting up all around us.... green, carpet-like landscaping. It was terrifying!

And me, well..... my frontier accent syndrome has calmed down a bit. But that extra dent in my skull seems to have affected my balance, so I'm typing this column face down on my bedroom floor. Yes, I type that well in the prone position... especially with Marvin (my personal robot assistant) at the keys. (Handy little critter.)