A Moose of a Different Color

One night in late 1989, however, Steve was awakened by an urgent telephone call from Georgia. "We need color!" the Moose's voice roared at him from the receiver. Steve began to wonder if someone had spiked the Moose's trough, but he listened politely as the explanation continued.

It seems that the Moose had gone to Atlanta to interview for a CMN (Cable Moose Network) anchor position. There he overheard that Red Burner had mysteriously acquired a print of The Moose-bow Incident, a film presumed destroyed in the Great Fire of '66. Further investigations by the Moose had revealed that the film had been colorized and was slated for world-wide distribution in the spring. Fearful of what that kind of competition might do to his commercial viability, the Moose had hatched his clever plan to go color on the Macintosh!

Becoming instantly infected by the Moose's visionary plan, Steve cranked up his new Macintosh IIcx the instant he hung up the phone. By breakfast time, he had the rough workings of a color moose on his screen, and within three weeks the transformation was complete! (NOTE: Sadly, The Moose-bow Incident was never re-released. It seems that Burner's new girlfriend thought the film was a cheap rip-off of some old movie her father had been in.)

It's A Wonderful Moose

The color Talking Moose proved to be an even bigger success than either Steve or the Moose had dared dream, and the Moose's royalty checks grew bigger and bigger. One night a strange little man appeared at the Moose's lavish new penthouse cave in darkest Saskatchewan. The man seemed horribly fidgety and had a bad habit of saying, "Yeah, that's the ticket." But the Moose thought he was nice, albeit a bit greasy, and agreed to let the man invest all his money in the Potter Savings and Loan in Potter's Field, New Hampshire

The Great Moose Pyramid Within a matter of weeks, a team of U.S. banking regulators arrived at the Moose's penthouse, flinging tear gas canisters and congressional aids through the windows and ripping the door from its hinges. They stormed the building in exemplary G-man fashion and fired a few rounds over the Moose's head for good measure. The senior regulator, brandishing a length of rubber hose, began barking questions about the Moose's financial dealings and his relationship with a guy named Louie. When the Moose pointed out that U.S. agents really didn't have any jurisdiction in Canada anyway and asked for their names, the men exchanged sheepish glances and then ran from the room.

The Moose was no fool, and he quickly put two and two together. Leaving his penthouse with his bank shares in hoof, the Moose caught a train for the States so he could get the real story about the condition of his investment. As luck would have it, he arrived just in time for a federally mandated auction of the small Savings and Loan's assets. The Moose trotted right up to the senior regulator (who had prudently ditched the hose) and demanded his money. The regulator, sweating profusely at the sight of the Moose, explained that the Savings and Loan didn't have any money, but that the Moose could bid for an equivalent share of the assets if he would promise to keep quiet about the little incident in Saskatchewan. The Moose agreed and took up his position at the rear of the auction floor.

Carnival Knowledge

Item after item was sold at the strike of a gavel-paintings by Dali and Picasso, handwritten memoirs of Abraham Lincoln, a set of six Elvis jumpsuits from the Las Vegas years-but someone would always outbid the best offer the Moose could make. It almost broke the Moose's heart when the next to last item, a pair of copper-plated cufflinks that had belonged to Rip Taylor's paternal grandmother, sold for a mere fifty dollars more than he could bid. The only item remaining was the title to some dilapidated old traveling carnival, and the Moose knew that even it was out of his price range. His head falling in utter defeat, the Moose began sobbing deep, mournful sobs while huge tears streamed down his snout. People nearby started shying away from him because they thought he was drooling.

And then a miraculous thing happened. The crowd somehow sensed the Moose's anguish (if you've ever been around a moose having a nervous breakdown, you'll understand why), and momentarily forgot about the auction. When the Moose realized that no one was bidding, he sniffled twice, raised his head, and looked around the room. Every eye was on him. Then the Moose rallied his courage and went for broke, bidding everything in one fell swoop! "Two hundred and seventy dollars, Canadian!" he cried out with his antlers held majestically and a mystic gleam of hope in his eye!

Needless to say, the Moose's bid was never bested. There are some who claim that no auction-goer could bear the thought of robbing this proud animal of his tiny victory. Others suggest that bidders were hampered by trying to make adjustments for the currency exchange rate. And there are those who are pretty sure that if anyone had been able to stop giggling long enough, it would have been a different story entirely.

Regardless of the reason, the Moose had become the proud owner of the Ding-a-ling Brothers, Barnyard and Baling Wire Traveling Carnival. He got himself a spiffy red coat and a ringmaster's top hat, and he quickly joined his new employees out on the road near Phoenix. He has been traveling with them ever since. Perhaps they have even visited your town.

But if you are not among the privileged few who have seen them in person, do not despair! For now, through the miracle of Macintosh, everyone can experience . . .