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Point and Click

                    “Hey, what’s that?” Drake asked.  He pointed to a small box-like device in his friend’s hand.

                “THIS, my friend,” replied Phil, “is the most innovative and useful item on the market today.”  He waved the little object proudly.

                “What—That thingie?”  Smitty wrinkled his nose at the device.  “What’s it supposed to do?”

                “It’s a television remote control,” Phil beamed.  “That way you don’t have to get up to change channels.  Neat, huh?”

                Drake raised an inquisitive eyebrow.  “You have GOT to be kidding me.”

                “No, no kidding.  The guy I bought it from said that it was the best one out there—It’ll work with just about any set.”

                “This same guy didn’t happen to be wearing a trench coat lined with wristwatches, did he?” Smitty asked sarcastically.

                Phil gave him a disgusted look.  “Ha ha, very funny.”  His attention returned to the little device.  “Anyway, he said all you have to do is point it and press a button and CLICK—You’re watching something else.”

                “Well, give it here and let’s try it out already,” Drake insisted.  He grabbed the remote from Phil’s hand and pointed it at the set. 




                Silence again.


                “The stupid thing doesn’t work!” Drake shouted.  “How much did you pay for this?”

                “Ten dollars.”

                “Ten bucks?!?  And it doesn’t even work?”  Drake glared at Phil angrily.  “I can’t believe you’d fall for something like that...”

                “Maybe it needs batteries?” Smitty suggested.


                “I said, maybe it needs batteries.  Thingies don’t run on air and wishful thinking alone, you know.”

                Drake turned the device over, finding a sliding plate on the back.  He popped it open and sure enough, there were no batteries.  “You got a spare 9-volt around here?”

                “I’m way ahead of you,” Smitty replied, handing him a 9-volt battery.  “I know where the junk drawer is in this house.”

                “You snoop, don’t you, Smitty?” Phil asked flatly.

                “I just happen to be very curious, that’s all.”

                “Alright, here we go again,” Drake announced.  He pointed the remote at the TV once more and pressed a button.




                Drake sighed and cast another glance at his friend.  “I think they should change that old phrase to ‘A PHIL and his money are soon parted’.”

                “Still doesn’t work?”



                The three of them sat quietly—Drake was brooding and Phil was regretting handing over his ten dollars.  Smitty, on the other hand, was thinking.

                “Lemme see that,” he said, reaching for the remote.

                “Take it—It’s broken anyway,” said Drake.

                “I just HAD to get the defective one,” Phil added.

                “I bet they’re all defective, Fang-face—You were taken.”

                “How was I supposed to know?”

                “Well, for starters—“

                “I think I got it!” Smitty exclaimed.  He waved the remote happily.

                “Well, give it here!” Drake said, snatching the remote from him and again aiming it at the television set.


                “Crap.”  Drake looked at the TV screen, severely disappointed.  “Nice try, Smitty, but it’s still a piece of crap.”

                No answer.

                “Smitty?”  Drake looked all around the room, finding no sign of Smitty anywhere.  “Where’d he go?”

                “Uh-oh.”  Phil pointed to the television.  “I don’t think that remote works quite the way we wanted it to.”

                “What do you mean?  It’s just a little piece of junk that...”  Drake’s voice trailed off as his eyes focused on the image on the TV.

                Smitty was seated on the front step of a dilapidated old house.  He was engrossed in conversation with a very attractive blonde woman.

                “How’d he do that?” Drake asked.

                “I don’t remember us doing haunted houses as a theme on Action,” Phil commented.  “Wait a minute—What’s the address on that house?”

                Drake peered closely at the screen.  “1313.”

                Phil rolled his eyes.  “1313...Mockingbird Lane...  That’s Marilyn—The Munsters’ niece!”

                Drake stared at him incredulously.  “You’re off your amp, buddy.”

                “No, really!  It is!”

                Only seconds later, a woman with black and white streaked hair and flowing robes appeared in the doorway.

                “Hello, Marilyn dear,” she chimed.

                “Oh, hello, Aunt Lily,” the blonde answered.

                “Who’s your new friend?” Lily asked, smiling at the young man seated on the front step.

                “This is Michael,” Marilyn said.  “He sort of...dropped in.”

                    “Hello.”  Smitty grinned.  He looked quickly toward Phil and Drake, who were awe-stricken.


                “That’s just too weird right there,” said Drake.

                “What happens if we change channels?” Phil asked.  “Does he stay in there or what?”

                “Dunno.”  Drake pointed the control at the TV and pressed a button.


                “Buffy, where’s Mr. French?” asked a freckled, red-haired boy.

                “I dunno, Jody,” replied his sister, a red-haired girl with sausage curls.  “Let’s ask Uncle Bill!”

                The two of them immediately ran into their uncle’s workroom, where he was busy making changes to a blueprint of an office building.

                “Uncle Bill!  Uncle Bill!”

                “Whoa-whoa-whoa!  Settle down, kids!”  Bill’s gaze went between the boy and the girl.  “Now, what is it?”

                “Mr. French is gone!” Jody exclaimed.  “We can’t find him anywhere!”

                “Did you give him the day off?” asked Buffy.

                “No...He should be around here somewhere,” Bill answered, puzzled.  “Hey, French!”

                “I think I’m in the wrong show,” Smitty said as he examined the penthouse kitchen.  “And what am I doing with this?”  He looked at the bespectacled doll under his arm.  He pulled its string.

                “Hello....I’m Mrs. Beasley....” it crackled through its voice box.


                Drake was on the floor, laughing hysterically.  “Oh, this is too good!”

                “We have to get him outta there,” Phil said between snickers.  “What button did you hit to put him in the TV anyway?”

                “I dunno...”  Drake studied the buttons on the remote and selected a random one.  “I think it might have been this one.”




                “Phil?  Oh no...”  Drake looked again at the television, finding Phil standing beside a prisoner of war camp.


                “Ah, the new contacts are here,” said the man in the bomber jacket as he looked over the two new men.  “You think they’d send us someone who didn’t look so...conspicuous.”

                “Well, Colonel, y’know ‘ow it is with a war on an’ all,” a British officer commented.  “This is probably the best they could do on such short notice.”

                   Smitty was eyeballing the tiny man who had Lebou embroidered across the band of his chef hat.  He whispered to Phil, “I think I finally found someone shorter than me....”

                Phil stifled a laugh.

                A black man posted at the window turned and faced the men in the barracks suddenly.  “Schultz is on his way!”

                All the radio equipment and important films and papers disappeared as if they never existed...just as a large German sergeant entered the barracks.

    “Hello, Schultz,” the Colonel greeted him.  “How are things in the Third Reich?”

                “Ach, lousy, Colonel Hogan,” the sergeant replied.  “Colonel Klink is not in such a good mood.”

                “Ah, he’s always a ray of sunshine ‘round ‘ere!” the British officer said caustically.

                “Yeah, a regular silver lining,” Lebou added with a snort.

                “What did he do this time, Schultz?” Hogan asked, hoping to pump the fat German for important information.

                “He took my teddy bear,” Schultz sniffled.  “I can’t go to sleep without my little Teddy Chum-Chums...”  The German burst into tears.

                “There, there, Schultzie....” Hogan comforted mockingly.


                “I kinda like this remote thingie,” Drake chuckled.  He pressed another button.


                “Hello, Chief?  This is Agent Number 86....”

                Phil and Smitty toppled onto the man as he spoke into the heel of his shoe.

                “Ah...It’s the old Dropping-Secret-Agents-On-The-Other-Secret-Agent routine,” the man said, his voice muffled against the floor.  “KAOS will have to do better than that!”

                “Oh, great,” Phil moaned.  “Why couldn’t it have been The Man From U.N.C.L.E. instead?”

                “Don’t knock it—99 should be around here somewhere!”  Smitty grinned widely.


                Drake clicked the remote control again.


                Phil and Smitty found themselves on a beautiful beach, somewhere in the tropics.

                “Ahh, now this...  This I like,” Smitty sighed as he breathed in the salty air.

                Phil’s eyes darted around cautiously.  “It’s a little too quiet for my liking.”

                Two men came around a cluster of palm trees nearby.  One of the men was very scrawny and dressed in a red long-sleeved shirt, a white hat and enormous bell bottomed pants.  His companion was a loud, fat man, who wore a blue shirt and a captain’s hat.  They both froze upon sighting the two Raiders.

                “Hey, Little Buddy—What’s that?” asked the big man.

                “I dunno,” the little one replied.  “Maybe it’s space aliens!”

                “What do we do?”

                “Throw a coconut at it!”  The little man began flinging coconuts at the two “invaders” on the beach.  Phil and Smitty quickly ran for cover.

                “Drake!  Change the channel!” Phil pleaded.

                “Now, Drake!  NOW!” Smitty added.


                   Drake was concerned.  He really was....but this was too funny to him.  He was in tears from laughing so hard.  He regained partial composure of himself and decided to do something....

                He decided to have some fun with this while he could.




                Phil was hanging from a rope just below Illya Kuryakin.  He looked across from him, sighting Smitty dangling far below Napoleon Solo.  He looked down....way down.

                “Smitty, whatever you do,” he said breathlessly, “don’t look down.”

                “Huh?”  Smitty immediately glanced down, seeing the endless rocky canyon below him.  He swung the rope and grabbed Phil in a fierce hug.  “I want my Mommy!”

                “Solo,” Illya grumbled.  “Remind me to tell U.N.C.L.E. not to send ‘green’ agents with us on assignment....”




    “I’m telling you, Tony—If you’d just let me borrow that bottle....”

                “No way, Roger.  I’m not subjecting poor Jeannie to you!”  The Air Force Major rubbed the side of the bottle, causing pink smoke to shoot from it.

                “Wait a minute, Tony—You’re afraid to let me talk to Jeannie, but you let her have company in that bottle?”

                “Honest, Rog’, I don’t know how they got in there!”

                “Greetings, Ali Baba,” Smitty said with a laugh as he noticed Phil’s outfit.

                “Very funny, Aladdin.  You look about as well,” he retorted.  Both of them looked like extras in a TV version of 1,001 Arabian Nights.

                “Jeannie!  JEANNIE!” Tony bellowed.

                From nowhere, a pony-tailed blonde in a pink harem costume appeared.  “Yes, Master?”

                “Jeannie, who are these men?  I’m hoping they’re distant cousins or nephews or....”

                “I have never seen them before in my life, Master.”

                “Are you sure?”

                Jeannie squinted her eyes at both of them.  “Yes, Master.  They do not look familiar to me at all.  Where did they come from?”

                   “They, uh, came from, ahem, uh, your bottle,” Roger answered.

                “What?!?”  Jeannie glared angrily at the two intruders.  “How dare you!  I will teach you both a lesson!”  She crossed her arms and raised her head.

                “Listen, we can explain!” said Phil.  “Let’s be reasonable about this!”

                “Change the channel, Drake!”


                Drake had a copy of TV Guide in his hand and was running through as many channels as he could.  He was enjoying television more than he usually did this time.




                Phil and Smitty found themselves in a suburban living room, listening to Darrin Stevens whine about his wife Samantha’s supposed “witchcraft”.  She twitched her nose and he turned into a carrot.




                They were in a small choir.

                “A-a-allen Bra-a-ady, A-a-allen Bra-a-ady, A-a-allen Bra-a-ady...”

                “Bu-u-ddy Sor-rell!”

                “I hate it when they do the Christmas reruns in July,” Smitty muttered.




                They were in a beach house.  Smitty was seated behind a drum kit and Phil was holding a bass guitar. 

                “Familiar territory,” Phil sighed.  “Instruments.”  He noticed, however, that the bass he held was not his signature Vox Phantom IV.

                “Now, Micky, Peter—Y’all need to come in on the... Hey, now wait a minute!” the lanky, dark-haired Texan gasped.  “You’re not Micky!”

                “And that’s not Petah!” added the little Englishman.  “What did you do with them?”

                “Are you from the Secret Agents?  They’re always sneakin’ around here....”

                “Does this mean we have to run around at high-speed and act goofy?” Smitty asked Phil.

                “What are you talking about?  We already do.”

                “Oh yeah...”




                   They ran through commercials for Bayer Aspirin, Dristan and Frito-Lay potato chips.  They lingered in the Cover Girl ad a while, talking to the young ladies.








                Phil and Smitty were surrounded by men in velour shirts and black pants.  Behind them, they could see stars and the faint shadow of a spaceship.

                “Set phasers on.....broast.”

                “I kinna due it, Cap’n!”

                “We’re wearing red shirts—That means we’re expendable!” Phil panicked as he noted his wardrobe.  “DRAKE!”




                They were part of a crowd in an auditorium...and they were sitting right next to Fred Flintstone, who—like everyone else in attendance—was wearing a ridiculous blue hat with a pair of horns on it.

                “Do you know the Water Buffalo handshake?” Smitty whispered.

                “No, but sing a few bars and I could fake it,” Phil laughed.

                “Pipe it, you two!” Fred barked.  “The Grand Poobah is talking!”




                Phil was on an airplane.  It was a blissfully quiet flight.  However, he noticed Smitty was missing.  He wasn’t sitting beside him, nor was he in any of the surrounding seats.

                On a curious whim, Phil slid up the window shade.  Smitty was on the plane wing, clawing at Phil’s window.

                “Two men on a flight….A flight through a place where time stands still…”

                “Who is THAT?” asked Phil.

                “It’s Rod Serling!” Smitty wailed.  “Get me off this plane!”




                Phil and Smitty were seated together on a quiet park bench.  It was a relatively normal, quiet scenario, save for the fact that Smitty was dressed like an old man and Phil was in drag.

                “Uh, Smitty…”


                “I’m afraid I have the sudden urge to hit you with my purse.”

                “Ummm….Oooookay.”  Smitty scratched his head in confusion.

    Just then, a man in a yellow rain slicker wheeled by on a tricycle, falling over after passing by the park bench.  After that, someone popped up from the bushes behind them.

    “Veeeeery eeeenteresting…” he hissed in a mock-German accent, “but shtupid!”




    Ed Sullivan glared at the two Raiders as they attempted to keep a mass of porcelain plates spinning with perfect balance atop long, wooden rods.


    Smitty literally growled as another plate hit the floor.  “When we get out of here….”


    “I’m gonna take that remote….”


    “And I’m gonna—“




    Drake was laughing so hard, his sides ached.  He wiped away a few stray tears and composed himself enough to aim the remote again.

    “I don’t know why Phil didn’t think of this a lot sooner,” he chuckled.  “Best ten bucks he ever spent!”


    The next command of the remote dropped Phil and Smitty into a Kellogg’s commercial on the beach.  They stood and dusted the sand from their clothes.  Phil ran to the TV screen where he could barely see Drake.

    “Hey!” he called as he knocked on the glass.  “HEY!”

    “Hey what?” Drake answered, suppressing a giggle.

    “You’ve had your fun—Now let us out of here!”

    Drake rolled his eyes mischievously.  “Hmmm….well….”

    “Come ON, Drake!” Phil demanded.  “It isn’t funny anymore!”

    “It’s hilarious!” Drake retorted, grinning.

    Smitty joined Phil, staring angrily at the man with the remote control.  “Get us outta here, Levin.”

    “And ruin my fun?”

    “WHAT ‘fun’?” Phil asked, hands on his waist.

    “Well, you have to admit that it was pretty funny when Smitty ended up in the American Tourister ad.”

    “In place of the suitcase!” Smitty fumed.  “Yeah, a real riot!  Gimme that remote!”  He pounded against the glass, but to no avail.

    Drake held the device away from the set.  “No-no-no—Can’t have it.”

    Phil and Smitty were seething.  The more they pounded and charged against the glass screen, the more the TV began to slowly creep toward the edge of the cabinet.

    Drake backed away, startled.  In doing so, he accidentally dropped the remote.

    “Get us outta here!” Phil pleaded again.

    “Yeah, c’mon!”

    “How would YOU like it if you were stuck in here?”

    “Fat chance of that happening,” Drake chimed.  He retrieved the remote and pointed it at the TV again.  He pressed a button.




    “Guys….  Guys….  I can’t HOLD this thing!”  Smitty teetered under the weight of what had to be the largest accordion in existence.

    Phil, who was saddled with a clarinet, glanced at Smitty and brightened.  “Can you play ‘Lady of Spain’?”

    The bandleader looked at the two new members disapprovingly, but raised his baton anyway.  “Und a von und a two…”

    The band began to play.  However, its two newest members weren’t doing so well.


    “AAAH!  My ears!” Smitty cried.  He reached to cover his ears and immediately dropped to the floor, the accordion dragging him down.

    “I never had one lesson,” Phil laughed.

    “Yeah, and it SHOWS!” Drake called from a platform behind them.  He was seated at a piano and at a total loss as to how to play “The Champagne Waltz”.

    Phil gaped at him, shocked.  “How did you get here?”

    Drake shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  He held up the remote.  “I…uh…I pointed it the….ahem….wrong way.”

    Smitty unstrapped himself from the weighty instrument and ran to the piano.  He tackled Drake, all the while trying to get his hands on the remote.

    As the piano bench turned over, the top of the baby grand piano itself came pounding down…followed by the collapse of the entire piano.

    “GIMME!” Smitty screamed.

    “I don’t have it—You knocked it outta my hands, ya rube!” Drake argued.

    Phil caught sight of the remote as it slid across the slick floor.  He took a dive at it.  Drake and Smitty piled on top of him, both grasping for the device.




                “Holy dog pile, Batman!”


                The trio ceased their squabbling as they quickly realized where they were.  They were dressed in ridiculously loud, obnoxious costumes: Phil was some kind of psychedelic “dentist,” Drake was stuck in a tight, blue leotard with lightning bolts emblazoned on it, and Smitty looked like a human rip-off of Charlie McCarthy.

                “Should I tie them up, Batman?” the Boy Wonder asked anxiously.

                Batman held up his hand.  “No… No, wait, Robin.  We have to be careful approaching such nefarious evil-doers as the Mental Dental, the Blue Flash, and Little Louie.”  He posed dramatically.  “They could snap at any moment.”




                A stable.  A nice, quiet, normal stable.

                Phil was seated at a drafting table, posed over some blueprints.  Smitty, meanwhile, found himself seated on top of a palomino horse.

                “At least it’s quiet,” Phil commented.

                Smitty looked all around the stable.  “Yeah, but where’s Drake?  You don’t think he channel-hopped his way into oblivion, do you?”

                “Would you kindly remove yourself from my back?” the horse asked lowly.

                “Drake?!?” the other two men asked in unison.

                “Neigh-neigh,” the horse replied.  “Someone change the channel before Wilbur shows up decides he wants to saddle me!”




                  A bedroom.  Phil and Drake were side by side in a bed, looking like a stereotypical married couple—Phil was in red pajamas while Drake suffered the indignity of being dressed in a flannel nightgown…and with curlers in his hair.

                “This is soooo humiliating,” he groused.

                Phil looked around the room, finding no sign of Smitty.  Then he heard a tapping behind the water glass on the nightstand.  Smitty was crouched behind the box of Alka-Seltzer.

                “What’re you doing over there?” Phil asked.

                “Do you see this hat?” Smitty asked flatly as he pointed to the white cap on his head.  It said Speedy.  “This means I dissolve in water!”

                “But we’ll all feel better for it, right?” Drake joked.




    Phil, Drake and Smitty were all huddled close together in a tiny, dark room.  All of a sudden, a door opened and they slid out on a river of walnuts.

                When the nuts had stopped flowing from the closet, they met the befuddled, gape-mouthed stare of Rob Petrie.

                “Y-y-you’re not Laura!” he gasped.




                “Billy Joe!  Bobby Joe!  Betty Joe!  Uncle Joe!” Aunt Kate called out the back door.  “Time for supper!”

                “Supper?  Which way to the food—I’m starved!” Uncle Joe exclaimed as he hurried into the kitchen.

                “Joe, where are the girls?” Kate asked.  “They’re usually not this late for supper…”

                Smitty glowered at his two companions.  “Okay—Why is it that we keep ending up in DRAG in here?!?”

                “Quit yer beefin’ and let’s go get some vittles…uh….Betty Joe,” Phil snickered.

                Drake snatched the remote from Phil’s hands.  “Gimme that.”  He proceeded to switch channels again.

                Smitty grabbed at the remote just as Drake was choosing another button.



                “No, GIMME!”

                “Hand it over!”




                   They were in a cartoon forest.  Phil was holding a huge picnic basket and Drake was dressed as a Park Ranger.  While they argued about the remote control again, Smitty was busy flirting with Cindy Bear.  She patted him on the head.

                “You sure are a lot cuter than Boo Boo ever was…”




                “EL KABONG!”




                “It’s like sending your sinuses to Arizona!”




                “Take it off… Take it ALL off…”




                “You got five aces there, Tenderfoot!  If you turn over just one more…”




                “Nick, Heath, Jared!  There’s a fire in the barn!”

                “Another barn?” Phil groaned.

                “As long as I’m not a horse again, I’m happy,” Drake said with a nod.




                “You can tell it’s Mattel—It’s swell!”




                “Lemme take you where the action is….”

                Phil, Drake and Smitty did a double take as they ran past themselves.

                “Hey, guys, um…”

                “No time to stop now, Smitty,” Drake interrupted.  “One more button oughta do it!”





                “Oh, my head…”

                “Oh, my back…”

                “Are we home?” Phil asked.  He took in the surroundings and breathed a sigh of relief.  “There’s no place like home…”

                “Don’t say that,” Smitty warned.  “You might end up as the Scarecrow and I’ll be stuck as a Flying Monkey.”

                “Where’s the remote?” Drake asked.  He searched the living room, peering under the couch and the bookcases, and finally, the TV cabinet.

                “Here it is,” Phil announced with a heavy groan.  The little device was warped and smoldering.  “So much for my ten bucks.”

                Smitty stared at it.  “It’s dead.  Bury it….  DEEP.”

                “Well, it was fun while it lasted,” said Drake.  “You didn’t get ripped off completely.  Look at it that way.”  He smiled.  “It made TV a lot more interesting, right?”

                Phil dropped the remote on the coffee table.  “I think I’d rather read a book instead.”  He grabbed a random paperback from a bookcase and exited the room.

                Smitty followed behind him, but stayed back against the wall, as far from the little contraption as he could possibly get.  Wild-eyed, he scuttled out of the room quickly.

                Drake flopped onto the couch, staring at the television and then at the broken remote.  He picked it up and shook it a few times.  It rattled.

                “Ugh,” Drake said, cringing at the noise.  “What a waste…”

                He jokingly aimed the thing at the TV one final time, pressing a button.


                A brunette with twin ponytails was suddenly seated beside Drake on the couch.  She beamed.

                “Hi!  My name’s Mary Anne.  You want some coconut pie?  I made it myself!”

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