-Roxanna- nervously walks down the street look over her shoulder at every turn,
the winds are blowing cold and the stench of blood and decay still looms in the air,
her mind is racing with so many thoughts, she stops by a garbage can laying turned
over in the street, leaning over her voice echos in the depth of the tin.

"Barry are you in there??.. You crazy ass Monkey, where are you.!"

Raising back to her feet -Roxanna- lets out a deep sigh, approaching a tree she pulls
her bag up infront of her and quickly tacks up yet another missing poster, as her bag
falls back onto her back as she sways into a dark alley, searching every crack and crevice
for her little friend, she sees something small moving in the corner near some trash
rushing over she quickly grabs it and swoops it up into her hands, -Roxanna- quickly
lets out a gasly scream.

"AHhhhhh.. Just another Damn Rat.." She flings the rat to the ground growling. "Barry
You little bastard, I just might kill you myself when I do get my hands on you."

Dusting herself off she continues on her endless journey, hoping soon Barry might find
his way to the candy dish she left on the window sill for him, growing tired she ducks
inside a local bar to see if they will hang on of the missing posters in the window,
while there she decides to still down and have a good stiff drink..

To be Continued.

He goes by the name of "Sherminator".

Don't listen to anything this idiot says.

No no no Barry is a tiny money, he only goes by Barry..

Matterhorn is just jealous. My rides last longer than his and go wayyyyyyyyyyyyy faster.

More people ride me on a daily basis and appreciate my rustic curves.

"Monkey I mean he is a tiny Monkey.. "

-Roxanna- Can't help but think of all the money little Barry has hidden that she desperatly needs to find."

You're all worn out and need to be "put out to pasture".

I heard you break down quite frequently due to shoddy craftsmanship.

I buy my seats from the best seat dealers around. I heard you are using old sofa cushions in yours.

Your mother was a submarine ride and your father was the Teacups.

To be honest, a lot better than my mother as the swings and father as the nacho vendor.

Word on the street is that you have been a little premature in your launches recently.

Mr_Black was heading out to his car when he sees a poster on the small tree beside it.  He approaches the tree and looks over the poster, reading about a lost Monkey named Barry.

"A flippin Monkey?" he thinks to himself.  He's seen people with odd pets, but never a Monkey.  Nodding to himself he pulls out a pad of paper and jots down the contact information, just in case he happens to see this monkey.  "Gotta be an interesting person to have such an interesting pet" he thinks to himself.  Placing the pad back into his pocket he gets in his car and drives away.

Word on the street is that you can't even maintain a launch.

The Matterhorn doesn't have "launches." The Matterhorn has "pleasure cruises."

That usually end up as someone sinking and going home unsatisfied.

It is a scientific fact that people enjoy riding my wooden rails rather than your futuristic space garbage.

My "futuristic space garbage" entertains millions of folks each day. Your wooden rails send children to the emergency room.

I am very proud of that fact, thank you very much. I wouldn't call it "entertaining" when your rails are only a few inches long. I span thousands of feet, lad.