Meeting At The Forty Niner Mine

Following an eight second engagement which left a Bronco bucked, from the tournament created couple competitive setting, Dr. Drake departed snowy mile high confines craving good vibrations. Deciding a western directional path, proper strategy, the Boston health care patriot continued the stagecoach swing adventure, destined endpoint plotted San Francisco, ‘where things could find themselves shaking and baking’.

Hours north, despite finding a winning distance, defeating Matthew with the staff, Too Darn Old still seemed frustrated, not being a bald eagle ring bearer, filled with brotherly love. Knowing, a new plan had to be hatched, the Seahawk left the nest, commanding 12th Man defense to watch over all the action and enjoy the weeklong bragging celebration.

Gliding above purple majestic mountains Too Darn Old peered down spotting the New Englander travelling across the nation’s beautiful terrain, providing healthy environments wherever the caravan rested.

“Where is he going?” Too Darn Old wondered, swooping around friendly blue skies, flanking life’s beautiful landscape.

When the continent expanse feature came to a dead-end, Dr. Drake’s escort halted and the driver stepped down, unlocking the door,

“Dr. Drake welcome to the big game.”

“Health care is not a competitive marketplace,” Dr. Drake corrected, “one should enjoy rich happy lifestyles.”

“Go get your gold, Dr. Drake,” the chauffeur signaled their red, white, blue professional client, ‘go forth and build a new dynasty’.

Landing safely, assuming military position, Too Darn Old surveyed the area concluding mother nature’s creature had every right, claiming the victory platform.

“This is my land, Sammit,” Too Darn Old declared.

“This is our land,” below a voice reported.

Twitching eyes Too Darn Old caught the vocal invader, interpreting the interruption, identifying the disruption as a mouse, searching for Kraft cheese. Quickly, the predator initiated a flight plan then went on attack, zeroing on the target.

Suddenly, lunch changed appearance and Too Darn Old realized it was not mice scurrying around, instead men loitering. “Whoa,” the fowl slowed, transitioning into a pedestrian, “if you do not mind, my friend, if I ask who you are?”

“Dr. Drake,” responded the white jacket lab rat, "and you are?”

“Too Darn Old, the supersonic seahawk, of course,”

“Soaring like Boeing jet?” Dr. Drake commented, conjuring a new scene character.

Wearing dusty old Levi blue jeans, prop esker Stein Beck handling security detail, braved icy conditions came out leaving the golden gate behind, “I am Stein Beck, the border guard agent, what are you two planning here?”

“Take home championship trophy honors,” Too Darn Old and Dr. Drake together announced.

“And the gold?” Stein Beck journalistic tone, inquired fairly, impressing the two competitors.

“Gold, no,” the Seahawk answered, “we are here to win.”

“Have a better score than the other team,” Dr. Drake added, understanding the event’s true purpose.

“Once that is determined, financial gain will be handed out,” Stein Beck reminded, “and you two can improve your product.”

Confronting the truth, they both confessed, “I guess we could have a better aeronautic industry,” Too Darn Old conferred, “and I can purchase new emergency room equipment,” Dr. Drake pledged watching Stein Beck open the golden gate, “just do not get any blood on the turf,” the part time author requested.

Upon exiting the tunnel nothing referenced panhandling behavior, allowing Too Darn Old and Dr. Drake, a contemplating opportunity that they reached a pinnacle and could not go any further.

“We’ve taken over the place,” Dr. Drake observed.

“Better us then the bald eagles,” Too Darn Old mentioned, “by the way, Dr. Drake when you perform a rabbit test, what do you use?”

“A very bad bunny,” Dr. Drake confirmed, proceeding towards the assigned locker room.