Everyone ready to continue our trip through the desert?

Mike: No. I wanna go home.

Peter: We'll find help Michael, don't worry!

Micky: Not really. :P

Davy: Let’s just get out of 'ere. :P

(We open as "Papa Gene's Blues" begins, with Mike and Micky hiking across the desert, Mike angrily kicking up sand with every step.)

(Cut to Peter and Davy, as they hike in the other direction. Peter is more cheerful. He whistles along with the song, grinning.)

*Davy keeps an eye out for help, but does join in on the song here and there.*

(Mike jumps aside - and just barely pulls Micky aside - as the two are nearly flattened by a familiar coyote chasing after a beeping road runner. The coyote runs halfway off a cliff before he realizes he's not on ground anymore and falls.)

*Micky continuously points out various mirages.*

(Peter grins and points out a rock formation that looks a bit like the Monkees’ faces.)

(Mike sits on a rock, fanning himself, and asks Micky to give him a soda and a sandwich. It's hot out here and he's starving!)

*Micky gives a wary grin and shrugs. He ate everything.*

(Mike whacks him with the bag and storms off.)

*Micky follows, trying to explain.*

(Peter tries to approach what he thinks is two women wearing flowered hats, but when we see them in close-up, they're really two cacti with flowers on top.)

(Peter trips over what he thinks is a rock and starts wailing. He put a hole in his pants! Davy goes over to see what's wrong. They both finally see what Peter really tripped over when Davy helps him to his feet - the white-scoured skeleton of what was likely once an ox or bull. Both boys almost trip over each other trying to hurry away.)

(The camera returns to Mike and Micky as the music ends. Micky still has Mike's jacket; Mike's ditched his tie and has opened his shirt a bit.)

Mike: Mick, I can't BELIEVE you ate the last sandwich!

Micky: I'm sorry, but I was hungry and it was the only thing keeping me from seeing things. :P

Mike: Well, what's gonna keep ME from seein' things now? (Storms ahead, ignoring Micky.)

Micky: Oh, come on, Mike! *glances out into the distance* Hey, Mike? Mike!?

Mike: (Turns around) What, Mick? Another mirage?

Micky: No, it's a diner! :D

Mike: Out here? Mick, you're sufferin' from worse heat stroke than I thought.

Micky: It's really a diner! Look!

Mike: Mick, we're miles away from any street, highway, or even pioneer wagon ruts. What would a diner be doin' out HERE?

Micky: *aggravated* Michael, LOOK! *spins Mike around and makes him look*

Mike: What the...man, tell me this isn't another mirage!

Micky: I think I know a REAL diner when I see one! :D

Mike: Well, I guess there's only one way to find out if it's open. (Nods at the shack) Let's go.

(They head up to the "diner," which is really little more than a rusty train dining car with a "Diner" sign on top.)

Mike: Well, it don't look promisin', but...

Micky: But it's FOOD! :D

Mike: But we both need to get out of the sun, I need to eat, and you need to keep from gettin' dehydrated.

(They head in the diner. It's the diner set from "The Malibu Beach Amateur Hour," but a lot more dilapidated - seat upholstery is ripped, a fly buzzes lazily around a dusty container of old pastries, the "menu" is a faded paper detailing what's cooking today, and a scratchy old jukebox plays an instrumental country tune.)

Mike: Other than good taste in music, this place is real excitin'.

Micky: About as exciting as watching paint dry. :P

Mike: (He sits on the creaking counter stool and rings a not-exactly-in-tune bell) Hello? Anyone home?

Old Man: (He ambles out of the back, looking only slightly less rusty than the building; in what is definitely a southern accent, but not quite Mike's Texan) Yup, Sonny? Whaddya want?

Mike: We'll have whatever you can make that's filling and fast, and the two biggest sodas in the joint.

Old Man: Hmm. Well, there's always my burger, jus' the way my mama showed me how to make it on the grill...'course, I could make fish, if there was any fish near here...chicken's always good. I got some chickens in the back of my place. My mama used to raise chickens. Raised the biggest durned chickens you ever saw. Why, they were so big, 'took four troughs of corn just ta feed one of 'em! (Long pause) Then again, there's always barbecued pork. Could shred an old pig...

Mike: Two burgers and two sodas, please!

Old Man: What's your hurry, sonny?

Mike: We've been out in the hot sun all afternoon. We need to be wet, or you'll get the amusement of watchin' my buddy here pass out.

*Micky makes a face.*

Old Man: (Looks at Micky) That could be amusin'. Ain't I seen you boys before?

Mike: Maybe in a mirage.

Old Man: Yeah, that coulda been it. Those mirages will get to ya. You'll see anythin' out there, if you look long enough. (He goes out to what's assumably the kitchen; Mike sniffs)

Mike: I smell rust, chickens, and meat. Old guy weren't lyin'. He's probably just sufferin' from too many years alone in the desert and old age.

Micky: Poor guy. Still, though, that isn't a good enough reason to think that me passing out would be amusing. *pauses* Don't say it, Mike.

Mike: Sure. ;)

(The old man comes out with two huge plates of big, fat burgers, heavy grease-laden French fries, and tall sodas.)

Mike: Hey, thanks.

Micky: Thanks!

Old Man: Don' t mention it. Jus' happy for the company. (To Mike) Hey, fella, where you from? Don't often hear that accent 'round these parts. I ain't heard a voice like yours since I passed through San Antonio on my way to the San Diego stockyards.

Mike: (Between bites) From Houston, originally, but I grew up mostly in Dallas.

Old Man: Good country, Texas. I once met a girl from Dallas...

*Micky rolls his eyes and digs into his plate. Within a few bites, nearly half the burger and a quarter of the fries are gone.*

Old Man: That's amazin'! Ain't never seen no one with an appetite like that!

Mike: That's because there's only one person in the world with an appetite like that, and you're looking at him.

(Fade out on Mike and the old man gaping at Micky gobbling his food. Fade back on a long shot of the desert as Peter and Davy run.)

Peter: (Looks over his shoulder) I think the bones are gone, Dave! (Wipes his brow) Boy, was that scary! That poor animal! I'll bet he's been out here like that for years

Davy: I don't think 'e minds too much. :P

Peter: We have to get out of here, Davy. This place is scaring me.

Davy: We can’t 'ave much farthah to go.

Peter: (Sighs) I have to admit, it is beautiful out here. A guy could get lost in that sky. (Smiles) Literally and figuratively.

Davy: Speaking of, I wondah 'ow Mike and Mick are doing?

Peter: I hope they're ok. Mike was acting awfully cagey back in the van. (Closes his eyes) I know he's been upset lately, what with the movie running over budget and schedule and all the time we've been putting in at the recording studios...

Davy: And I'm sure Micky isn't 'elping any.

Peter: (Grins) He never does. He means well, but, well, he gets a little crazy sometimes.

Davy: As long as they don't kill each othah.

Peter: I'm sure Michael wouldn't do too much damage, and where will Micky get a chemistry set in the middle of the desert?

Davy: You'd be surprised, Petah. ;)

Peter: (Grins as they pass another rock formation) Hey, look at that one! It kind of looks like Mr. Babbit coming through the door.

(Peter trips once again as he goes in closer to look at the formation...and stops halfway before he can get back up, his brown eyes huge.)

Peter: D...d...d...

Davy: *turns* Petah, wot...

Peter: Sc..scorpian...

(The camera points ahead to the little, poisonous insect with pinchers who is currently engaged in a staring match with Peter.)

Peter: Oh...oh my...his aura isn't too happy. I woke him up.

Davy: Petah, stay still! I'm gonna use the blue light to 'elp you out!

*Davy concentrates. A blue light appears between Peter and the scorpian.*

Peter: (Reaches out; his hand hits something invisible but solid) Thanks! (He gets up quick enough to avoid the scorpian's lash when the shield goes down) What are we going to do? He's still angry about his nap being interrupted!

Davy: Why don't we sing a nice ballad for 'im?

Peter: (Nods and opens his banjo case) So he'll go back to sleep! How about "French Song?"

Davy: *grins* Sure!

(The two launch into "French Song," with the rest of the orchestration eventually joining in and over Peter's banjo. The scorpian does seem to gradually drop off to sleep, or at least it's tail falls. When it seems to be asleep, Peter sighs and turns to Davy.)

Peter: Whew! That was close! (Frowns) And where did the full music background come from?

Davy: I 'ave no idea.

Peter: (Puts his banjo back in it's case) Let's get moving. We really shouldn't be out here for much longer, and we should be able to find someone soon.

(The boys head off again as we fade out.)