Last night that candy-colored clown they call the Sandman brought me: the beginning of a new Buckaroo Banzai film.
Perfect Tommy was in the desert, pursuing psychogeology, searching for quartzite veins. Across an exposed rock face, weathered arches of stone, he had outlined the veins with black Sharpie marker, wrote little notes next to them.
“Did the minds of the inhabitants affect the formation of the veins, or vice versa?” asked Buckaroo.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” answered Perfect Tommy.
An alert came in. Fissile material was on the loose. Buckaroo and Perfect Tommy reported to the Banzai Institute Supertrain, a rolling fortress. A conference was called in the briefing car. Buckaroo was sure he knew the responsible parties. The enemy was there, and he would strike at him. A Blue Blaze heavy weapons team, bulky in rubbery new battle armor, scrambled for the attack.
Perfect Tommy knew Buckaroo was mistaken. Deep in his past lay a terrible secret that gave him insight Buckaroo didn’t have. He wanted to say something, but Buckaroo had a full head of steam up, filled with righteous hubris. Besides: how do you tell Buckaroo Banzai he’s wrong?
And that’s where I woke up. I like to think in some other world, this film exists. I don’t plan to write any more of it. I like it just as it is.