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of Santa Rubia, separated from the mainland by the Santa Rubia Straits. Although there are twenty-one other purple wannaby subspecies, only on Santa Rubia Island does the Santa Rubia Island purple wannaby reside.  The second thing that jumped out at me about Gorgonzola was that it is the world's sole source of Santa Rubia Island pink coconuts, prized everywhere for their rubbery flesh and oily oil.  Only on Santa Rubia Island are the famous Santa Rubia Island pink coconuts grown and harvested.
      Another thing I couldn't help observing about Gorgonzola before it was obscured by the smoke from the fires was that it supplies the rest of Central America with Santa Rubia Island coral, long considered to have the finest quality of the world's corals and quarried only on Santa Rubia Island. Gorgonzola is home too to the Santa Rubia Island coral crab, an important species which lives only on Santa Rubia Island coral, and which is the main food supply of the Santa Rubia Island salty tern.
      Gorgonzola is well known as the prime breeding ground for the Santa Rubia Island blue termite, which during February is ground up into a high-protein powder and exported to neighboring El Samole, but what is less well known about Gorgonzola is that the fastest growing industry there is the making of Santa Rubia Island weed necklaces. These beautifully-crafted necklaces are woven by Santa Rubia Islanders from only the most delicate and supple of Santa Rubia Island weeds.
      I hope you've enjoyed this whirlwind tour of Gorgonzola, and will not be afraid to join me for our next excursion with the hydrogen laser spotlight, invented by Sir Horton Measely, my dad. However, if you plan on going to Gorgonzola, I suggest you wait until the burned areas are replanted, and you probably shouldn't mention anything about knowing me.  Ciao.

WOW!  DID YOU KIDS EVER THINK THERE WAS SO MUCH INFORMATION TO KNOW ABOUT GORGONZOLA?  THAT IS SOME PLUCKY LITTLE COUNTRY.  AND THE SPOTLIGHT DIDN'T BLOW UP EVEN ONCE!  WELL, SEE YOU NEXT TIME.
By Bill Measely, son of Sir Horton Measely
 
Editor's note:  Sir Horton Measely's hydrogen laser spotlight has been undergoing extensive repairs since its last unfortunate outing, and we now feel guardedly confident that we have solved many of its problems.  The buckets of sand and fire extinguishers placed around the room are just a precautionary measure, and the reader should not infer from their presence that we think the spotlight is unsafe. Nor is our recommendation for the use of asbestos suits for everyone in the spotlight control center an indication that we lack faith in the spotlight. We are 60-65% positive that this time it will not swing around without warning and burn anyone severely with its 1250° beams.  So without any further ado, we will carefully grasp the focus knob, and if everyone will put their visors down, we will gingerly flick the power switch to ... on.
  
 
      
High athwart the rugged ramparts of the Chiquita Mountains overlooking the watery Gulf of Mexico is the tiny and almost unnoticeable Central American nation of Gorgonzola, which was the unenviable assignment given me last week by publisher Arnett Putney, III and executive editor Widen Lundale, Jr. Since I had never heard of Gorgonzola before, and in fact thought it was some kind of cheese, it took me several hours just to find it, and several more to focus the hot beam of the spotlight on its diminutive surface area.  By then small conflagrations were springing up all along the Isthmus and I had to let the spotlight cool down, but during the brief period it illuminated Gorgonzola, I was able to make out quite a few things about this plucky little country.
      The first thing that I noticed about Gorgonzola was its large population of Santa Rubia Island purple wannabies, which occupies the heavily-forested island
 
 
   REPORT FROM THE FIELD
    By Eric Scotmeister Fleiglehaus
 
Greetings from North of Nepal!  You probably don't even know where Nepal is, let alone North of Nepal, but that doesn't matter since I do, and I'm here.  So sit back in your favorite chair, kick off your shoes, grab a Guinness and enjoy, because this is my.....“Report from the Field.”
      I arrived here on Tuesday at the North of Nepal Primate Station, established some months ago by the eminent Indian Dr. Poon Sanddandtundra, and located deep in the heart of an area that can perhaps best be described as being north of Nepal, and I've been hard at work writing my “Report from the Field” ever since. The bruising of my spine due to the elephant ride up over the Bangla Kush fortunately necessitated bed rest for only a couple of days, and I was assured by several wiry native porters that I would have been in far worse shape had I tried to bring my car.  I was not surprised to be told that Dr. Sanddandtundra was away in the mountains searching for primates even larger than the one he reported sighting last week, but I was promised a meeting with him upon his return.  After being released from the Station's medical facility, I wandered around as best I could on the crutches and attempted to determine just what it was that Dr. Sanddandtundra and his international team were researching, but it seemed to be a closely guarded secret.  I got the impression that no one liked him very much, and there seemed to be a general feeling that he was loopy.
      After lunch on Saturday, Dr. Sanddandtundra staggered through the back gate of the Station, gasping for breath, and claiming that he had just sighted primates even larger than before north of where the first ones had been seen.  The Station's medic was quickly summoned, and discovered that the eminent Indian had a bug of some sort in his eye, casting doubt on the reliability of his report.  That evening, he asked me to join him on the veranda for some Nepalese fire brandy, and he used the occasion to defend his record, saying that he had sighted giant monkeys, and was not in his tent as has been suggested. Since I had to leave the next day, I unfortunately couldn't accept his invitation to accompany him on his next outing, scheduled to begin Monday week.
      That's about it for this issue. I had hoped to have more information for you, but it looks like we're going to have to wait for future issues to more productively plumb the depths of the giant monkey mystery.  Anyway, next time we'll take a deep breath, hitch up our pants, and visit the Professor Mitsuo Ohhohoho Primate Language Institute in Hellmouth.  Either that or we'll go somewhere else.  So until then, I'll just say “So long.”
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