Rat bastard.

No, I haven't seen your fork. What do I look like, the lost and found? Okay, don't answer that. Anyway, why the hell do you NEED a personal fork? Are you some kind of FREAK?

Oh, hi. Jesus, the shit you have to deal with around this stupid hammer mill! Crikey... we've got songs to record, albums to hawk, hawks to feed, feed to store, stores to shop, shops to... store... just a whole lot of things to do, okay? The last thing I want to be stuck doing is hunting down lost silverware. But, of course, you've got to try to keep people happy, and Mitch Macaphee is one of those people. Believe me, it's not easy to find a really dedicated mad scientist who's willing to work with a hardly-working rock band. Most of them expect to be paid. (We always assume that to be evidence that they're just not "mad" enough for our purposes.) Some expect honorific titles and assorted baubles of scientific status. Still others will just as soon vaporize you for even talking to them (perhaps unintentionally). Next to those guys, Mitch Macaphee is downright affable. Even if he does have a private fork. (He's been using the man-sized tuber as a taster, too... I've seen him!)

Oh, sure... time was in the history of Big Green that mad scientists were relatively thick on the ground. We had your Dr. Hump, your Trevor James Constable, your Admiral Gonutz (though not technically a mad scientist, he was, indeed, mad). Indeed, they populated our early interstellar tours like heavy metals in a neutron star. (Not sure if that makes sense, exactly.... someone ask Mitch.) But they've all gone, now. Moved on to richer pastures and more rewarding career choices. Let's face it.... Big Green was unable to offer them the kind of glory every mad scientist craves. We couldn't even deliver the basics - a few sparking electrodes, banks of oversized v.u. meters, a gothic castle on a hill, the right little gnome. No, sir... all we could offer is a near total lack of monetary compensation and squatting rights in this drafty old abandoned hammer mill. Just try to hang on to a first-rate psycho-genius with nothing more than THAT as an incentive. Just try!

Okay, anyway. Mitch must be kept amused. He's the last one we've got. Even Matt has decided he's too big to fail, and has started carving driftwood sculptures to amuse him. (Matt's good at a lot of things, but I don't think one of them is carving. Most of his attempts were offered to the beavers, who made damn good use of them... no pun intended.) I even convinced posi Lincoln and anti Lincoln to put aside their differences and try their hand at convincing Mitch not to accept that attractive offer he'd received from the International Association of Mad Scientists Board of Governors, whose convention will be held in Buenos Aires this year. (Hot ticket, you best believe.) Since bribery is out of the question (lack of funds), we thought the Lincolns might use inescapable logic and persuasion. Not that either one of them possesses those capabilities, but someone has to try it on the rat bastard.... and it's not going to be me. I've got work to do, damn it! There's an album to finish, and it's not going to freaking finish itself. As it is, Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is doing some of my parts. It's almost like I'm becoming HIS personal robot assistant.

Okay, I'm a little off just now. Come back in a couple of hours and take another look. If I keep making that noise, take me into the shop and have them look at my bearings. (Could cost a bit.)