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Teddy-Ricky

Teddy-Ricky had one very important job. For 24-hours at a time, three days a month, he sat deep below society, in a government bunker, watching an empty radar screen for incoming nuclear weapons. His desk had three things: His radar screen, a red folder of instructions for if he ever saw a blip, and a twin-tube tungsten-filament desk lamp. Most days were uneventful. But the dimmer knob sure was fun to play with.

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Ralphie

Raplhie was the schoolmate who always seemed to be melting Crayola’s on the classroom radiator. He was one of the nicest kids in the class. As his evergreen and navy crayons slowly melted, the intercom kindly asked— “Ralphie, please come to the Principal’s office, and bring your things.”