Wordless Television Clem Tillion, RockWacker in hand, was towing a Radio Flyer wagon containing a big rock. Finding himself on stage before a cheering audience, he thought, "Thank goodness I'm wearing tow shoes."

With that, he dropped the wagon's handle and performed a series of pirouettes, around and around, the RockWacker held various ways to describe different arcs in the air.

Then he towed his rock to one side of the stage, dropped the handle again, and beckoned a princess from the front row to join him. Demonstrating, he wacked the rock, then handed the RockWacker to her.

After some hesitation, she gave the rock a mighty wack, unleashing surprising violence. Meanwhile, Clem was wordlessly waving others forward until there was a queue of people wanting a wack. He left them and crossed the stage to sit with Craig Ferguson.

No telling whether the crowd was cheering Clem, Craig, the RockWackers, or the guy holding the sign that told them to, but after quieting them down (the guy lowered the sign), Craig turned to Clem and said, "So...... I'm told you don't speak."

Clem stared with a grin at Craig, with bewilderment at the crowd, with perplexity at the skies. He laced his fingers together and stared at them. A balding man in a suit, tie askew, was wailing wildly with the wacker, punctuating the silence.

Craig spread his questioning arms, palms up. His eyebrows went up and down. Clem finally looked back.

"That's true," he said.

People laughed.

"Of him," Clem added, gesturing over his shoulder as Batum Schragg slid onstage.
Batum the breakdancer bellied and backed. Schragg spun on shoulders, elbows and fists. He hopped and he hooked. By the time he was done, people were cheering again. He made his way to the rock, and put on a display of unmatcheable RockWacking. The stick hung as he spun, then he snatched it out of the air and wacked one more time. Then he stood back and handed the RockWacker to the next in line.

Meanwhile, back at the desk, Craig asked Clem, "What can you tell me about The Wordless?"

"Nothing, obviously," Tillion retorted, "but I can show you something." With that he stood up, unbuckled his pants, and dropped them, thus displaying his Wordless boxer shorts, "How about you?"

"I know nothing about The Wordless," Ferguson fumbled, "and I'm not about to display what's under this kilt."

"Perfect truth," Clem countered, "and I know because I woke up inside your head this morning." He buckled up, but neglected to raise his zipper before sitting back down.

"Whoa, whoa wait a minute," freaked Ferguson, "I've woken up in some strange places, not knowing how I got there, but what were you doing inside my head?"

"Well," mused Mr. Tillion, "I guess I was just going with the wonder of it, and the terror."

"Terror I'm sure," Ferguson fumed. "You shouldn't just go around waking up in other people's heads, should you?"

"It hasn't happened to you?" queried Clem.

"I thought it did, a time or two," mused the host, "but it turned out to be just me."

"Just you!?!," exclaimed Clem, "In case you forgot, your head is a wondrous, terrible place to be. But I'll tell you, I want to make sure I don't do anything to make it worse, just in case I wake up there again."

"Well, I sairtainly appreciate that," declared Craig.

"And while I'm here, I'd like to do what I can to fix that guy's attitude," declaimed Clem, gesturing to a sullen speciman in the audience, "just in case I wake up in his head."

"Well, I've been doin me best as well," pronounced the pensive pundit.

"On the other hand," Clem claimed as he stood up (Wordless boxers bulging from his fly), "there's that guy way in the back there." He pointed to a ten year old kid. "Anybody would want to wake up in that little guy's head."

He laid his sleeping head to the side on palmed hands, then opened his eyes. "Music!" he exclaimed. "Another day in a world of MUSIC!"

Tillion ended up arms spread wide, head back and face to the sky. His Wordless Boxers bulged hugely from his open fly. In the audience there was tittering, a couple tiny screams. The RockWacker cracked, a man in a skullcap wacking for water with gusto.

That brought Clem back from his reverie. He craned to look down at his exposure. "Oops," he said, turning his back to the audience and zipping up. He snuck a guilty glance over his shoulder as he slunk back to his chair.

Cringing, hunching his shoulders, he smiled sheepishly at his host.

"Well, no harm done", said the Scot, "the camera stayed low."

"Maybe so," said Clem, "but our guy with the attitude there got some bruised ribs, from his wife's elbow. 'See that, honey,' she said, 'Do you think that's real?' and he had to say: 'No, I already told you, you've seen the best.'"

"At least I wasn't wearing The Critterthong," he added.

More cracking from the Wacker; this time a nun was having at it.

"Can I try to make up for it?"

"What do you have in mind," queried Craig dubiously.

"Well, I want to keep that kid rockin, but he needs a piano, and a teacher, and a place to play. So I'd like to auction off that RockWacker, now that it has so much audience juju in it."

"Lets do that!" Fergson enthused.

"OK," responded Tillion, "but Batum will conduct the auction, so it will have to be of the silent variety."

www.TheWordless.com  ¶ 11/20/2005 07:11:00 PM