The machine hummed its blithe jollities, and the party roiled along, especially in that part where the famed jello pit had been filled with red and green jello and then sprinkled with white marshmallows, resulting in a wobbly spectacle not unlike a bowl of Santajabba the Hut.

In another corner, the Mudcat 2001 Calendar was in its final editing process, mostly involving MattR peeling off the little pieces of black censor tape to check out what was underneath.

At the bar, the bartender was astounding the assembled patrons with new varieties of layered drinks, of which the most potent appeared to be what he roundly referred to as "A Burgess Shale" -- one drink and go extinct for 500 million years.

Meanwhile, at the corner of the bar graced by the presence of JenEllen in what initially appeared to be an elegant shotsilk gown, but which upon closer inspection was an habiliment in shreds that seemed to have served as a scratching post for demented Siamese cats, the dubiously dishevelled tinkerer was succumbing, in order of Sirenitudinosity, to (a) the aroma of her perfume which, if bottled and sold under the name, let us say, of "The Smell in the Back Room At The Vets Where They Put Your Dog For the Weekend When You Go Away", would challenge the market supremacy of Charlie or Obsession; (b) a desire to spread jollity even further throughout the Mudcat Arms, somewhat like the desire of Oprah Winfrey to engulf the world in Grand Old Oprahdom, as most recently evidenced in the production of the Oprah Winfrey Swiss Army Knife; (c) a related curiosity as to just what would happen if, as Catspaw49 1/2 had suggested to him in an unguarded moment, "Put 'er to the floorboards, and let all the horses whinny, Chucky babe."

He was just reaching out his hand to do the deed, when the voice of his good angel came on the line -- "Remember that your call is important to us. God is not mocked. Technology stocks are just like other stocks except that when they crash they do not reboot. Please leave a detailed message at the tone."

Once again, he hesitated. Christmas Day was fast approaching. Somewhere Peggy Lee was singing "Is That All There is?", and closer to home he was becoming more and more aware that the striated garments of the lady at his right also revealed at intervals, especially as the door to the Mudcat Arms opened and shut allowing a not unpleasant cool draft to waft past, striated flesh. He was at long last forced back to his most elemental principle, yeah even touchstone of his being -- What would Tom Edison have done?