How Hard Is Swimming?

The red parrot potato dreams of stardom.

How to inhabit the part?

All he knows is that the Bright Red Object is a sheep, swimming.....

And that Terence doesn't want the part because of the swimming.

But Terence is made of cement, while he is a potato.

It's sure to be fine.

Katherine speaks: I think Terence and I should head back to Adelaide right away.

Yay! says Terence.

Gaius won't like that, says Margaret. Ludwig and I are staying a bit longer. He could ride back with us.

That's very kind of you, says Katherine. I'll give him a buzz.

No, don't do that yet, says Margaret. We'll surprise him.

All right, says Katherine. But he's twenty k's down the coast. You might not find him.

We'll find him, says Margaret.

Is that Gaius Plinius Secundus? asks Grandpa Marx. I know where he is.

Of course, says Margaret. You seagulls know everything.

For Wittgenstein, this is the last straw.

He can't just storm off though.

He considers his options.

Storm off.

No, he has already discarded that option.

Go back with Katherine to Adelaide, leaving Margaret to do whatever it is she is planning to do with Gaius?

A better option.

I have just remembered an important engagement, says Wittgenstein.

He hopes the ladies won't think he has no social skills.

Come back with me then, says Katherine. I assume it's in Adelaide.

Um, yes, says Wittgenstein.

I shall be sorry to see you go, Ludwig, says Margaret. But perhaps it's all for the best.

THAT'S WHAT I HAD TO SAY! cries Terence.

Not when you played the Bright Red Object, says Katherine. That was when you played Doctor Pangloss. Doctor Pangloss believes everything is for the best in the best of all possible worlds.

Outrageous! says Wittgenstein.

It's meant to be, says Katherine.

I was in a sleeve, says Terence. My costume was too big.

Yes, you were swimming in it, says Katherine. You said you were an otter.

Did I? asks Terence.

He doesn't remember.

The red parrot potato is feeling confused. Is he a playing a sheep or an otter?

And how hard is swimming?

Grandpa Marx is still inhabiting his wise Marxist persona.

He sees the confusion on the wrinkled face of the red parrot potato.

You're worried about swimming, comrade? Nothing could be easier. Come, I'll show you.

Grandpa Marx picks up the red parrot potato and whisks him down to the sea where the waves are foaming and crashing.

Floshhhhh! Shurrrr!

I'll stay with you, says Grandpa Marx. Just let yourself go. That's it. Easy.

The red parrot potato floats easily. Up, down, up, down, his feathers and peduncles wafting.

Crashh! A wave breaks behind him.

He and Grandpa Marx surf gently onto the shore.

The potato is confident now that he can play anything.

Even, if necessary, Doctor Pangloss.