Drew woke up Saturday morning and said, "Dur." Then he drooled on himself, all over his pegged, acid-washed jeans. Richard, alerted by the piercing sounds of ineptitude from the next room, got down from his keg stand, wiped his face, and shook his head.

"It looks like my fellow Emperor has caught dumb," he thought, as he entered the next room to find Drew trying to get his head out of a plastic bag. "Drew, what’s wrong? You haven’t caught dumb now, have you?"

Drew looked at Richard, punched himself in the nuts and said, "Dur." Then he ran into the wall. Four times. Richard was perplexed by this extremely un-imperial behavior, and looked up "Dumb Gland" in his Gray’s Anatomy. Then he grabbed the thermometer from the bathroom and asked Drew to bend over. While they were waiting for the results, Richard sitting down, Drew not sitting down, Richard had a few motherly words for Drew.

Drew Eastman Richard later hurt himself attempting to filet this bottle.

"You see what happens when you stay out all night, carousin’ and such?" He took a nip off his flask of Jack. "Stayin’ out late, talkin’ to girls?" He popped some Nicarette Patches under his armpit, replacing the old ones. "Runnin’ from the cops, playin’ hooky, swingin’ dead cats?" He snorted some coke. "Well, you got what you were askin’ for." Richard checked the thermometer. "Just like I thought. One hundred point dumb. That’s it, young man. You’ve got dumb."

Drew said, "Dur," and ate a paint chip.

Richard consulted his Farmer’s Almanac for home remedies for dumb. There were a plethora of suggestions. They spent the next half hour trying all sorts of remedies; hanging Drew from trees by his feet, bathing Drew in milk, shaving the word "smart" in the back of Drew’s head, selling Drew’s soul to the devil, wrapping Drew in hot towels and throwing him in pig shit, and an enema. "Dur," said Drew.

Richard sat back in his chair, cracked open an ice-cold Olde English, and swore by the malted juice that he would cure Drew of his dumb. "There’s only one thing left to do," Richard said (out loud, for dramatic effect), "I must feed Drew a fish caught and gutted in the Inland Empire." Now, if Drew had not caught dumb, he might have noticed that it is very difficult to find fish in the Inland Empire, as it is very inland. However, he just said, "Dur."

Drew Eastman Over the legal limit: Caperton catches, releases.

We hopped in the car and headed for the fresh mountain streams of Mt. Baldy. Now, Richard was so drunk he had already put three lampshades on his head and had ruined the magic of Christmas for at least two little youngsters. And it’s much less legal to drive drunk than to drive dumb, so Drew took the wheel, straddling the double-yellow line the whole way to Mt. Baldy Trout Pond. We took Mills north and took a right on Mt. Baldy, taking it to the pond. It’s quite a ways, and Drew decided that it would be much more efficient to drive it in reverse. "Dur."

The first problem we encountered was that the trout pond is open for exactly one hour a week. And the owners stand outside the locked gates with shotguns and dogs. Drew walked up to the owner named Gus and tried to stick his finger in Gus’ belly-button. A dog bit off Drew’s hand. Drew said, "Dur." (As a side note, Richard failed to "get some of that.")

It was obvious we weren’t welcome here. So we crossed the street to the cold mountain stream to try our luck at catching Drew some brain food. Drew didn’t look both ways. Richard couldn’t wait to get to the ditch on the other side in which to pass out. But he didn’t pass out. He was on a mission. His fellow Emperor had caught dumb, and at the moment he was trying to insert a stick into his ear. Richard grabbed the stick and tied some twine to it. Then he wrote out a sign that said, "Fish come here,"and stood by the bank of the creek. Nothing happened (except for when Drew choked on some plastic six-pack rings). So Richard pulled the 40 from his Olde English holster, polished it off, and littered. Like a dirty, filthy litterbug. Then he put on a mesh-back cap that said, "Just another sexy, bald fisherman," and tried again. Again, nothing (except for when Drew set his alarm for the PM instead of the AM). Then Richard tried some spear fishing, with his spear. Nothing. Then he put some dynamite in the creek, just like wild grizzly bears do. Nothing. There were no fish in this creek. Richard strapped Drew into the child leash and led him to the car, head hung low.

"Drew," Richard said, back in Claremont, "I failed you. I’m so depressed, I must find solace in some sort of escape that will not solve my problem, but merely perpetuate it." He opened a 40. Then, just like in some collegiate fairy tale, a splash of O.E. fell on Drew’s domepiece and he was cured of dumb forever. The end.