Everyone ready to begin this month's story?

Mike: As long as I'm human, sure.

Peter: Yeah! :D

Micky: Ready!

Davy: Mick, I know you just saw "Wild Hogs."

*Micky just grins.*

(We open with a long tracking shot of the desert, somewhere in Utah in the daytime. The camera follows a non-descript van as it speeds along the highway as "Last Train To Clarksville" blares. Mike sits in the back, playing his guitar, trying to work on a song. Peter is in the center seats, meditating.)

*Micky drives. Davy does his nails in the passenger seat.*

(Mike calls up front, asking where they are and when they're going to hit LA. He raises an eyebrow as Peter actually appears to levitate for a few minutes.)

*Micky makes a face and replies he'll let them know when they get to LA, as has been his response the last five times Mike asked that question.*

(Peter complains that everyone should take some time out and breathe deeper, because their auras are getting fuzzy. Mike grumbles about what Peter can do with his "auras.")

*Davy ignores everyone, including Micky asking for him to check the map.*

(Mike grabs the map from Davy and reads it himself. Peter lets out a yelp when Mike practically climbs over him to get to the map.)

*Micky cranks up the volume on the radio.* :P

(Peter turns the volume down. It's disturbing his meditation! :p)

*Micky turns it back up and sings along.*

(Mike plays along.)

*Davy puts in ear plugs.* :P

Mike: (As the music ends; stops playing) Mick, are you SURE we're goin' the right way?

Micky: For the umpteenth time, YES! :P

Mike: We woulda been home already if I was the driver, like I said back in Utah. Why didn't we go with the rest of our handlers, anyway?

Peter: Michael, it's not like a thousand screaming fans are going to recognize us out here.

Micky: This is far more out of the way.

Mike: That's what worries me.

Peter: Michael, we're in the middle of the desert! What could go wrong?

Mike: Have you read the movie script?

Peter: Michael, I don't think we're going to run into wandering nomads, a giant Victor Mature, empty Coke Machines, or Italians with tanks. That's fantasy.

Davy: You of all people should know that, mate.

Micky: *smirks* Davy speaks! ;)

Davy: Funny, mate.

Mike: Guys, I know the desert. Mick, you do too. It does weird shit to you.

Peter: Michael, stop being paranoid. We're just driving home.

Micky: I think it's doing weird shit to you right now, Mike.

Peter: Why don't we find some soothing music on the radio? That might help our auras.

Mike: Will you shut up about our damn auras? I swear Pete, if you get any flakier about that bullshit, they're going to sell you at a luncheonette counter and drizzle icin' on you.

Peter: (Lip quivers) But Michael...

Mike: Don't start, Pete. You're in your late 20s. You're too old for this bawling crap.

Davy: 'Ow about everyone being quiet?

Micky: Are we breaking your nail filing concentration, Dave?

Davy: *points the nail file* Watch it, Mick. :P

Mike: (Throws the map at Davy) Why don't the cute little teen idol actually do somethin' useful for a change?

Peter: Michael, be nice!

Mike: Since when were you my mother?

Micky: *mutters* Since someone needs to keep the school yard bully in line.

*Davy tries to not laugh, but still snorts a bit.*

Peter: Guys, stop it!

Mike: So I'm a bully?

Micky: You sure ACT like it sometimes!

Mike: I'm statin' facts.

Peter: You're being mean!

Mike: Unlike you, who'd rather hide under the covers and ignore facts.

Peter: I don't ignore facts! I just...

Mike: Hide from them.

Micky: Mike, would you STOP picking on Peter?!

Peter: (As a roar is heard in the distance) Would everyone just stop getting angry?

Mike: I ain't pickin' on him! I'm tellin' him not everyone wants to hear about how our auras are fuzzy.

(A huge band of bikers in black leather whiz past them. The leader, an ugly, hulking, pockmarked fellow, smirks and makes sure to leave plenty of fumes in his wake.)

Mike: Those son of a...

Peter: What was that?

Micky: Something I am NOT gonna put up with! *stomps on the gas* X(

Davy: Uh, Mick, is this such a good idea?

Mike: YEEEHAAWWW!!!

Peter: I think I'm gonna be sick.

("Long Title: Do I Have To Do It All Over Again?" begins as Micky speeds past the bikers.)

*Over the music, we hear Micky yell "Eat my road grit liver lips!"* ;)

(The eyes of the lead biker nearly bug out; he and his buddies tip their bikes onto their back wheels and speed ahead again! Mike lets out a growl and tells Micky to make that guy eat pavement!)

*Micky does, but not because Mike told him to.* ;)

(Peter whimpers and drops down very, very low in the seat. He doesn't like where this is going, literally or figuratively.)

(The bikers fly past a sign that says "Road ends 1 mile." Peter tries to point it out to Micky, who isn't listening.)

*Davy does see it and scrambles into the middle seats with Peter.*

(Mike growls as the bikers bump them, trying to show off. He concentrates. The bikers suddenly all fly off-road and into a ditch that appeared out of nowhere. The lead biker shakes his fist at them as they fly by and the song ends.)

Mike: (Grins) Well, that takes care of them.

Peter: Yeah, but what about the road?

Mike: What road?

Peter: The one that's ending...(his eyes widen as he stares straight ahead)...now.

Mike: (Eyes also widen) Holy SHIT!

Micky: Oh shit...

(The van flies over a cliff, through a yard, and past angry cows and bulls, before finally coming to a stop in the middle of a rocky desert area. Cut to the interior of the van. Mike rubs his head, his eyes wide.)

Mike: Is everyone ok?

Peter: N...no. I think I'm gonna be sick.

Mike: Think I got whiplash.

Peter: Is everyone else ok?

Davy: *groans* I'll be fine once you get your foot out of my gut, Petah.

Peter: Oops! Sorry! (Does so)

Micky: Oww. Good thing I wear my seat belt, but I think I'm gonna have a welt on my chest from it.

Mike: Yeah, I did, too, but it didn't stop my neck from almost comin' off my shoulders.

Peter: Maybe we should get out and inspect the car. I already see smoke. I don't want us to go up in flames.

Mike: (Looks behind him...eyes get even bigger) No, guys! Stay in the car! Stampede! :o

(A giant heard of cows and bulls thunder past the van, knocking it from side to side and almost knocking it over, even running into it once or twice.)

Mike: (Peers out of the car when the last cow goes past) Ok, it's safe now.

Micky: What more could possibly happen?

Davy: Did you 'AVE to ask that, Mick? :P

Mike: (Peter goes to see where the cows and bulls came from; Mike looks over the car) Oh man, she's shot. Four blown tires, front end's busted to hell, the stampeded dented the back doors. Mick, check the engine.

Peter: (Walks a little beyond the group to see if there's anyone who can help them. He shades his eyes, looking for anything beyond a mirage or a cactus. He finally catches sight of what looks like a blurry spot that's getting more and more distinct; his eyes widen) Oh god! (he runs back to the others)

Mike: (Cut back to him and Micky) Well, Mick? Could we get the engine movin'?

Micky: *dusts his hands, shaking his head* It's fried. It's smoking more than someone on two packs a day.

Mike: Great. What the HELL are we gonna do now? I doubt a bus will be comin' through any time this decade.

Peter: (Runs back over to the others) Guys, they're coming! (He keeps running)

Mike: Whoa, Pete! Who's comin'?

Davy: *sees the advancing group* THEM!

(We hear the roar of car engines and horse hooves. The remaining three Monkees look over their shoulders...and the "blur" becomes a group of very angry cowboys, some on horseback, some in cars, all holding rifles, guns, and screaming unintelligible threats.)

Mike: Shit! Guys, get whatever you need and MOVE! (He reaches in the van and grabs his guitar case, Peter's banjo case, and a cooler; throws the cooler in Micky's hands and runs.)

Davy: I'd usually argue with throwing Mick the coolah, but we don't 'ave the time to argue! *grabs one of his own bags and runs*

Micky: *grabs one of his bags* Wait up!

(The cowboys thunder past the van, following the Monkees. The camera moves back up the ravine to two men, one a huge fat guy on horseback, the other an older Indian man.)

Fat Man: What a buncha idiots!

Indian: You said it, man.

(They ride their horses into the ravine and towards the van as we fade out.)