This story was written one sentence at a time by six or seven guys over a few months in the late 1980's.

Once there was a family of rats who lived on a boat on the shore. They loved to watch the planes fly overhead from the Navy air station a few miles down the coast. Little Francis dreamed of one day flying with the Navy Blue Angels.

"Maybe you're smart enough to fly planes," said his teenaged sister Gladys, "but as for me, I can't even remember the jingle for the cranial nerves."

"But you have no reason to, since you're just a baby machine", said Francis.

Just then their counsin Herkimer, who was a secret government counter-terrorist, popped out of a nearby sewer and here's what he said:

"Help! Somebody help me please! I'm afraid Bork may get on the Supreme Court and it scares me so badly! I have nightmares you know."

"You read the Jessica Hahn interview too many times," said Gladys.

"Well, now we've discovered that 2,4-dinitrophenol uncouples oxidative phosphorylation in mitochondria", said Herkimer. "Right now I'm hot on the trail of a Russian terrorist who's about to put some in the water supply!"

Just then a loud "Squeek!" erupted from the sewer. The three rats ran to see where it was coming from. Deep, deep into the depths of the sewer they ran. There they found a Russian rat, with one of his paws caught in an old spring-style trap, and the other still clutching an attaché case full of 2,4-dinitrophenol.

Then the mother rat called out, "Supper's on! You kids get out of that dirty sewer and clean yourselves up!"

"Don't leave me!" pleaded the Russian, whose name was Ratsky. "I'm trapped!"

Francis, Gladys, and Herkimer scampered back to the boat, saying, "What's for dinner, Mom?"

"Half a bag of stale cheese popcorn from the Johnson's trash, and a couple of pieces of chicken from the grease bins behind Kentucky Fried!" she replied gleefully.

Just then an unfamiliar plane flew overhead and the rats saw something fall from the cargo hold. It struck the ground, and leaflets flew everywhere. They advertised the opening of a new chain of fast-food restaurants serving "Rat on a Stick". So disgusted were they by the pictures of frozen fruit-flavored rats, barbecued rats, and rats dipped in chocolate that they gathered up and burned not only the leaflets, but even the contained that had brought them crashing to earth.

Francis said, "If we just had a plane instead of this old boat, we could catch them and foil their evil scheme."

But Francis could do little more than go on wishing. Since the crash, Francis's finances had suffered a substantial setback. Gone were his hopes of purchasing the supersonic jet fighter of his dreams. Gone was any hope of his ever flying with the fighter pilots of the Blue Angels. Gone, in short, was any reason for Francis to go on living. With a sigh of fatal resignation, Francis trudged off to dinner, hoping only to choke to death that very night on a chicken bone.

After supper, Francis bedded down, only to be awakened late that night by the sound of female laughter. Through his tears, he saw Ratsky, with one of his paws chewed off, and the other down the dress of Gladys, who was enjoying herself immensely.

At first a great disturbance was occasioned in Francis by the sight of his sister having carnal dalliance with a foreigner. But then it gave way to an idea -- a brilliant idea! Here was his chance to recover the millions that he needed to become an aviator. Reasoning that Ratsky's plight must be common in rats of his occupation and hormonal levels, Francis set about to devise a special prosthesis fitted with assorted thing-a-ma-jigs to give spy-rat amputees an added advantage in foreplay.

Francis got up and made himself a pot of coffee. He sat down at his drawing board and went to work. Francis was a rat of singular motivation.

By morning, Francis had completed his design, and the next day, he and Herkimer made a working model at the secret government counter-terrorist machine shop, using the inner workings of an electric sander, a cheese- popcorn popper, eyelashes off a Tammy Faye Bakker doll (bought cheap), a feather duster, a can of aerosolized whipped cream, a nozzle to squirt grease from Kentucky Fried Chicken, and certain other items whose origin is strictly classified. "Gee, thanks!" said Ratsky, after he had tried it out on Gladys. "What can I do for you in return?"

Francis, thinking quickly, said, "My wants are twofold. One, Russian defense secrets, to influence my government to look favorably on my wish to become an aviator. Two, pictures of you and Gladys, strictly for my private viewing. Modesty and strict morals prevent my direct observation."

Ratsky thought for a minute. "The defense secrets are a piece of cake. I grew up as a rat in the Kremlin, and I've overheard just about everything. I'll be happy to tell it all to your government. But I don't know about those pictures. Last night Gladys almost died of sheer bliss. I don't want to lose such a delightful playmate, let alone generating evidence that would get me convicted of murder in a foreign country." However, inasmuch as the inventor of the marvellous device had asked, Ratsky gave his consent, and Francis went to rent a top-quality video camera.

Francis got so rich off the invention and the movies that he floated junk bonds and managed a hostile takeover of the Rat on a Stick corporation, converting their enterprise to the manufacture of 2,4-dinitrophenol for dieters. Ratsky defected, married Gladys, got a job on Wall Street, and raised a large family. Francis learned to fly the company plane, and because he was a national hero, they let him fly with the Blue Angels.