Enter A Stranger, Exeunt A Psycho

Garfer's buddy Cavalry Guy had managed to escape from the French who had captured the rest of the Canadians - he was asleep under a tree and lucked out.

But now, he was completely lost somewhere in the middle of Mexico. He didn't know where he was - and for all he knew, he could run into Sierra Charriba any minute.

After a few hours of searching, he tied his horse to a tree and dismounted, beginning to go to sleep. He was just beginning to doze off when he heard a rustling noise.

Cavalry Guy grabbed his saber and began walking towards the bush. He rose his sword, but stopped when he saw it was Sergeants Harriman and Kimmel! *squeak!*

"Sergeant!" Cavalry Guy sprung to attention.

"Who the hell are you?" Harriman asked.

"Dummy, he's one of the Canadians!" Kimmel responded.

"Oh," Harriman groaned, disappointed.

"Well, it's nice to see you losers too," Cavalry Guy murmured. "Is that Major's camp nearby?"

"How the hell should we know?" Kimmel asked. "We've been held captive by the French, and we're trying to escape."

"But don't tell anyone - shhhh!" Harriman added in a whisper.

Suddenly, there was a lot of Froggy babbling, and Cavalry Guy rose his saber.

"LEAVE EVERYTHING TO ME!" he shouted, rushing into the bushes and engaging the French in a lot of offscreen swordplay. There was a lot of grunting and screams of pain, but Harriman and Kimmel took advantage of the delay to steal his horse and ride off. They could hear gunshots now punctuating the air as the horse began riding into the distance. Problem was, they had no idea where in the hell to go. Even worse, they had no booze!

-

It was just about noon when the pickets reported to Groggy that someone was trying to enter the camp. Groggy ordered the camp assembled and prepared to receive an attack. Suddenly, a man on horseback - a man with a handbrace - emerged from the woods.

"He's not an Apache!" Groggy cried.

"You're damn right I'm not!" replied the stranger. He dismounted and followed Groggy into the latter's tent.

"Call me 'Fingers' McGuirk, outlaw, gunslinger, strong enough to crush a man's skull with my deformed hand," the stranger said, introducing himself. "I'm here to join your expedition."

"How'd you find us?" Groggy asked.

"Never mind that!" McGuirk said.

"What's wrong with your hand?" Groggy inquired.

The question embarrassed McGuirk. "Er, well, um. . . I'm not. . . master of my domain."

Groggy thought long and hard about this disgusting information.

"So, you're a Seinfeld-loving outlaw?" Groggy asked finally.

"Yeah, it's true," McGuirk replied.

"And you have a propensity towards. . ."

Suddenly, Joe Starbuck - one of the biggest Seinfeld fans on the face of the Earth - entered the tent. "Did someone mention Seinfeld?" he asked.

"Yes," Groggy said cautiously.

"Oh my God, I love that show sir!" Joe exploded. "I think I've seen every episode a thousand times! Come on, sir, I didn't know you liked Seinfeld. Let's talk about it!"

"Uh, okay," Groggy said, eyeballing McGuirk.

"Well, I've always been a big fan myself," McGuirk added.

"Oh well that's good," Joe said. "What's your favorite episode?"

"I always liked the Puerto Rican Day," McGuirk answered.

Joe stared at him quizzically. "Um. . . which one is that?"

"It was the one where they got into a traffic jam because of Puerto Rican Day."

Joe grimaced uncomfortably. "Uh. . . I've never seen that one."

"Then what kind of Seinfeld fan are you?" McGuirk asked menacingly.

Before Joe could answer, Tim entered the tent. "Sir, who in the hell is this?"

"This is 'Fingers McGuirk'," Groggy replied. "He's hear to join our expedition."

Tim took a good, long look at him, and then turned to Groggy. "Major, could I have a word with you?"

"Certainly." Groggy stood up and walked outside. "Excuse me, gentlemen."

McGuirk turned back to Joe with a broad grin on his face. "So, you call yourself a Seinfeld fan, eh?" he began.

-

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" Tim asked Dundee.

"What?"

"You just let some creepy guy who likes to whack off join us with no explanation or knowledge of who he is?"

"Well, come on, Lieutenant - that has to apply to half the people here!"

"Be that as it may-"

"Lieutenant, we need all the men we can get, and I don't see you coming up with any solutions to the situation."

"Your resignation and suicide seem like the obvious choice," Tyreen said dryly.

"I'll make a note of it," Dundee said sarcastically. He took out a notepad. "Captain Tim Tyreen O'Brien is an asshole. . ." Before he could finish, Tim took the notepad and pencil away from him.

"Major Groggy Dundee is a butthead. . ." he wrote.

Suddenly, Alex Starbuck interrupted this bout of intellectual repartee. "Sir!" he shouted.

"What is it, Alex?" Groggy asked.

"Sir, Dave Jenkins is missing, sir - he's deserted his post. He broke into your CD collection, and stole your soundtracks to Footloose, Doctor Zhivago, Lawrence of Arabia, The Good, The Bad and the Ugly, and Major Dundee! And he left you this note!" Alex handed him a sticky note, which read:

"You are a pathetic loser, Major - I mean come on! You like Kenny Loggins? I'm tired of hanging out with a dick like you - I'm gonna go home and listen to some Johnny Cash! I want to be in an expedition that actually does something more than once every six months!"

"THEN WHY IN THE FUCK DID YOU TAKE MY CDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?" Groggy screamed out loud.

"P.S.: I took your CDs to sell on E-bay to some pathetic moron like yourself."

Groggy crumpled up the note and threw it angrily to the ground. "SERGEANT CULLEN!" he shouted.

Cullen rode up. "Yes, sir."

"Find this fucker, Jenkins, and bring him back," Groggy said. "I want him alive."

"I'll try. . . " Cullen began.

"Cullen! ALIVE!"

"Yes, sir!" Cullen rode off furiously.

Groggy turned back to Alex. "You are dismissed, Mister Starbuck." Alex saluted and walked off to his tent. Groggy, still furious, turned to Tim and regained his composure. "Now, you were saying. . .?"

But Tim's mind was elsewhere. He couldn't let Groggy kill one of his own men - even a backstabbing son of a bitch like Dave Jenkins. But he was bound to Dundee by his word. What would he do? He was more worried about what his men would do if Dundee killed Jenkins.

"Don't worry about Jenkins, Tim," Groggy said. "Let's go inside and play some Scrabble."

Tim looked up and saw ominous storm clouds gathering overhead. Then he realized that he was allowing figurative language to take over his thoughts, and noticed that it was actually a bright, sunny day.