“…a monkey!” I screamed.

“Naw,” Buster said, squinting at the small, dark creature climbing through the Tesla’s moon roof. “I think it’s Muhammad al-Mahdi, the twelfth imam. I recognize him from my studies of Shia eschatology. The Tesla floating in the troubled waters of Arthur Kill is a symbolic representation of the well at Jamkaran, Qom.” He paused for another look. “Or it could be Keith Richards, co-founder of the Rolling Stones.”

For you boys and girls who missed the last episode, I had just saved Buster from a speeding Tesla that tried to run him down in the apparent mistaken belief that he was Stevie Wonder O’Bannon, Buster’s look-a-like, at the waterfront in Perth Attaboy to disrupt the groundbreaking ceremony for the OFA’s new tunnel to Staten Island.

“Good guesses,” I said to Buster as I got a better look at the dark, hairy biped resting on the Tesla’s roof, “but we’re both wrong. It’s Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, former President of Iran, now heading up the Great Satan division of the Axis of Weevils.”

“Great Satan?” Buster asked. “They want to kill Stevie Wonder O’Bannon?”

“Absolutely. The Great Satan division is the international leg of the triumvirate working to bring down the United States. It includes Iran, North Korea, Russia, China, Berkeley, and Washington DC.”

“Someone in a beret is climbing out now,” Buster said, pointing at the Tesla.

There was no doubt about the identity of the long-faced French-looking guy emerging from the moon roof. It was former Secretaire D’Etat Jean Kerry, in the same full-body baby-blue bunny suit condom that he wore in 2004 when he crawled out of the hatch on the space shuttle Discovery at NASA during his presidential campaign.

Jean slid off the roof into the cold water and French poodle-paddled to the trunk of the Tesla, which he popped open to pull out a windsurf board and a coil of rope. Jean pulled his long French legs onto the board, tied one end of the rope to the mast, and tossed the other end toward Ahmadinejad. The former Iranian President, hanging by his prehensile tail, swung from the roof of the Tesla and tied the other end of the rope to the bow of the kayak in the trunk.

Jean deftly maneuvered the windsurf board to pull the tethered kayak out of the Tesla trunk and into the water. Mahmoud swung by his tail into the small vessel.

“What’s it say on the side of that monkey’s boat?” Buster asked.

“That’s not a monkey,” I said, “and that’s not a boat. The monkey is the former Iranian President, and the vessel is the PMS (Persian Military Ship) Death To America, the flagship watercraft of the Iranian Navy, just recently returned from patrolling the Straits of Hormuz. It’s the watercraft they used to capture those weepy sailors aboard the US Navy gunboat that blundered into Iranian waters.”

“Oh, yeah. Now I recognize it.” Buster said, then gasped. “What’s happening?”

The Tesla began to smoke and sizzle like a Samsung Galaxy Note 7.

“Captain, she’s going to blow!” I said in my best Star Trek engineer Scotty brogue. “The Tesla’s lithium batteries are reacting to the water.”

Jean screamed at the Tesla in French, and little people began boiling out of the moon roof like clowns out of a VW Beetle.

“There’s four of ‘em,” Buster said. “I think they’re Munchkins.”

“You mean WV Senator Joe Munchkin and Big D’s new Secretary of the Treasury, Steve Munchkin?”

“No,” he blurted. “I mean from Oz.”

I strained to identify the four little people swimming toward the PMS Death To America. They weren’t from Oz. They were from the Demagogue Party, the second leg of the Axis of Weevils triumvirate. I knew the four little provocateurs very well: 4’10” Debbie Wassamatter Schultz, 4’11” Barbara “Don’t Call Me Ma’am” Boxcutter, 4’11” former Secretary of Labor Robert “Third” Reich, and finally the Goliath of the bunch, 5’5” Henry “Turtle” Waxman, his flared nares safely above the frothy water.

“They’re from the DNC division,” I told Buster as the Tesla blew up.

“I thought the long-faced guy in the beret was heading up the DNC division.”

“No,” I said, “he’s leading the third leg of the triumvirate, the culture warriors of Hollywood, Europe, and Nordstrom. They hate America and Judeo-Christian values.”

Buster and I watched Jean at the mast, artfully leaning left, then right, to capture the wind and tow the Iranian watercraft out to sea. Mahmoud rode proudly in his seat, periodically using his tail to slap the four DNC Munchkins in the water, holding on to the side the kayak for dear life.

Poignant? Yes. But I knew deep in my heart I had not seen the last of them.