the haiku master's big vegas caper, pt. VIII

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CHAPTER VIII

Haikunestro's temporal displacement procedure complete, I found myself whisked back in time to 1960... and as I would later learn, then-popular entertainer Joey Bishop was sent to 2005 to fill the void left by yours truly! How and why did this switcheroo happen? Don't ask me; my areas of expertise are crimefighting and haikuing, not advanced temporal theory.

Try As He Might, The Haiku Master Couldn't Figure Out What The Hell Goes On With Time Travel

Either way, it turned out that sending the Sultan of Syllables to 1960 was akin to throwing Br'er Rabbit into the Briar Patch -- 'cause frankly, I loved it! Men were men, women were women, and one could drink as much as one wanted without risk of being labeled an alcoholic by the future's small-minded society! Plus, you could smoke wherever you wanted; even in nursery schools and doctor's offices!

To make the pot even sweeter, the displacement gave me a once-in-a-lifetime chance to meet the most legendary rabble-rousers of this or any time: the one-and-only Rat Pack!! Knowing they headquartered at The Sands, I raced over there to make their acquaintance after recovering from the inevitable bout of time travel sickness.

They were rehearsing in The Sands' main lounge when I found them: Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., and Peter Lawford... everyone except Joey Bishop!

From Left: Peter Lawford, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, And Sammy Davis Jr. Were In Full Swing Until The Haiku Master Interrupted Them

"When the clock strikes... half past six, dear..." Frank was cooing, and then: "Hey!" he barked, pointing at me. "Who's this Clyde?"

The band screeched to a halt, and the other Packers peered over their microphones to get a look at the source of their leader's displeasure.

"The name's not Clyde," I said. "It's Master... The Haiku Master."

"Haiku Ma..." said Sammy. "Say, what is this? Some kind of joke?"

"Yeah baby," slurred Dino. "It's gotta be a prank; I know I haven't drank enough to see cabbage where I should be seeing hair..."

"Oh that," I said, thinking on the fly. "Yes, I'm uh, Dutch. That's right, Dutch."

"Dutch?" Frank asked.

"Yeah, Dutch."

"I'm sorry, but I've been to Holland," said a clearly distrustful Peter Lawford. "How does being Dutch explain having cabbage for hair?"

"Well, not that it's any of your business, but as a child my hair was torn off in a tragic windmill accident. The local doctor was also a respected cabbage farmer, and having no stock of replacement hair onhand, he chose to make do with the cream of that year's bumper crop."

"Wha..?" they said in unison.

"Never mind that, though. Who's ready for some good ol' fasioned ring-a-ding-ding?!?"

"Pally, you just said the four little words we love to hear most!" Frank bellowed with glee. "The Rat Pack's always ready for some ring-a-ding-ding! Let's go men! Cock-a-doodle-doo!!!"

The five of us then streamed out of the lounge and into the unsuspecting casino, ready to fly ourselves to the swinging moon of our choice!

"Man, I'm buoyant!" Frank insisted, wrapping his arm around my shoulders as we took over a craps table. "I feel about eight feet tall!!!"

"So say we all, Frankie!" Dino yelled, rubbing two dice in his sweaty hand. "Let's get this action going, huh? C'mon, seven!"

Seven it was -- the first of many hot rolls that would keep our gasser going long into the night! But whether or not I'd be able -- or would even want -- to return to my own time is a matter that will have to wait for later!


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