The RodneyMobile starts up. The car complains and grumbles over the boucey roads in the Roughs.
"Rodney must be having a good day," the
Weenerman comments, "Today he is just complaining and grumbling, usually he by now he is raising griping and cussing."
"Must be soothed by the murky green pop," I suggest.
"Or Rodney might be too sluggish to act up," Weenerman adds.
"Sluggish? I thought came with Pounder-pancakes," I observe.
"No, with the pounder-pancake affect, Rodney would be pulled off into the ditch and emitting moaning noises," HM explains
"How true," I comment, "So Where’s to now?" I ask between jolts.
"I’m pointing the Rodneymobile for somewhere outside these roughs, no telling how long we can last in here," HM Weenerman scrunches his brow as Rodney bounces through on his way out of the Roughs, "Maybe head North."
"The roads out of these Roughs are better to the South of here," I point out.
"But that would take us back to the Water-Bridge," WeenerMan frowns, "And I’ve had enough of persons in white lab coats for one day."
But then the RodneyMobile pulls up to a sign that has been only recently staked on the side of the road. The sign is on a piece of sheet metal and has sprayed-painted on it in bright-orange (much like the parking markings in Burdock Center) this warning: "Bewaer-Skwirrls!!!" with arrows pointing upwards.