High above the Manhattan skyline, Olive D'Oyle looked over a geologist's report. She had changed. For years she had endured the hairbrained schemes of a sailor that promised her the moon but never made any money. Surely Popeye couldn't keep her in the lifestyle she was accustomed to back in Sweetwater. Bluto had gone on to bigger and better things too. He was elected to public office (under the usuall conditions of threat of bodily injury)the congressman from Sweetwater. She grew tired of being the damsel in distress. To secure a future for herself she went into investment banking and made millions. She looked over the project report for drilling on Skull Island. Only one person stood in the way a little old lady named Cleopatra Hagee. (C Haggee for short) It was her island and she wouldn't budge. "I'll have to get her off the island myself", Olive said to herself. "Get me Peepye, Pipeye and Poopye my attourneys" she yelled out her office door to her secretary. "Yes mam, right away" "Nothing's gonna stop me from getting that oil",she said, "Or nobody either".

A few days later Cleopatra Haggee or C. Haggee as most people called her noticed a ship coming to Skull Island. Sal Luto looked through his telescope he could see why they gave it that name. Nobody lived there but a witch, some goons, maybe a jeep or two and of course an environmental nut. But that didn't matter he had a note to evict C. Haggee so that oil could bew drilled for. RC3

Always during dinner! It's always during dinner. She'd just settled down to a nice, quiet meal of karei shio-yaki, even turned off her cell phone, and still she was interrupted.

She stomped outside, the door making a satisfying crash behind her as she skittered on the worn-down stone path. Lightning arked and rain pelted the ground as she made her way to the sandbar. Dark and stormy? Interrupt her meal and learn just what that meant!

As she approached the ship, she noticed it had run aground. Hmmm ... maybe she shouldn't turn off the lighthouse light during dinner. She'd hoped it was just a desperate telemarketer, but she realized it was far worse, worse than a Carrot Top commercial, worse than even a FOX "Reality TV" special - a power so dark even she dared not traffic with it.

It was a lawyer.

The lawyer squared himself up - probably the only time he was square with anyone - and presented her some papers. "How do you plead?"

She ripped the paper from his hands. She'd show fear to no one, not even to a hell-spawned maggot like this. "Young man, I do many things; I laugh, I yell, I even turn idiots into toads on occasion - not that it would make a difference in your case - but one thing I do not do is plead." She poked him with a chopstick, forcing him to take a half-step back. "Is that clear, you slack-jawed, thick-headed, pea-brained, defeathered chicken?" She punctuated each word with another vicious, chopstick poke to his chest, driving him back to the gang plank.

"But, madam - "

"I - do - not - plead!" She flung her arm at the ship, cackling as he dodged her arm. "Now, you turn this little tugboat of yours around or you'll be doing the begging and the pleading."

He gaped at her like a fresh-caught fish. "But the papers ... "

"I have a paper-wrapped salmon recipe I've been dying to try for ages. This will come in very handy." She whipped around and started back up the path to her house. "That's your cue to git, boy," she called behind her.

She grumbled as she trudged up the path. Jelly-spined lawyers and their evil ways! All her years, and they still gave her problems. A sigh rattled through her, only to be swallowed up by the wind. She felt the weight of her years descend upon her. She was afraid she'd finally found a situation she couldn't fix: the recipe called for lemon zest and she was all out.

RC 5

The next morning C Haggee woke to a terrible noise. It seemed like wild animals were out on her front lawn and there was a terrible racket, sounds of hammers pounding and saws cutting steel pipes. There was a bulldozer pulling down her picket fence and digging up her flower bed. "Hey", she screamed frantically wavbing her arms "Gets offn my property" A short, but rather rotund man, came up to her" Are you Cleopatra Haggee?" he asked. "Who else would I be screaming out here like this" "Mam, you are not the rightful owner of this property. The owner has sold it to OO oil and gas." "I'm not the owner? What are you talking about?" I've lived here for more than seventy years." "Mam it seems the Goonichi clan has the deed to the entire island, Mr. Daniel Goon sold the property in the best intersts of his family". "I ain't even heard of a Daniel Goon." " None the less mam, You have twenty-four hour to gather your belongings and then we start to tear down the house." In the background two men were busy putting up a large sign. On it were painted the words "Condemmed" The goons for owning the island (ha) fared no better. In the evening Sal's men position themselves around the goon camp. At seven that morning they started lobbing sticks of dynamite into the woods by the camp. The thunder of the exploding dynamite and the crashing trees surprised the sleeping goons, who didn't know what to think. They panicked running every which way in a confused daze. From the top of a bulldozer, beneath a hard hat,head, and heart, Sal laughed as they scattered in total terror. Sal had won this round, but the battle was not over. About an hour later Peter Goon met with his friends by the Goon Lagoon. They were furious and started looking for anything that could be used as a weapon to ward off the men encroaching on their peace and quiet. C Haggee stood looking as an oil derrick started going up in what seemed like seconds, where her petunias has been. the steam shooting from her ears. RC6

Popeye was lying in a hammock puffing his pipe and basking in the sound of crashing waves as he thought about the day he found paradise. He used to love Olive and had a few fond memories, but after 20 years of chasing her, tagging along to yoga classes and shopping sprees (at his expense), it was time for a change. So Popeye said goodbye and set sail in search of his dream. To live off the land, caring for wildlife. He found his paradise and a new, unforeseen responsibility, because the big company oil drillers found it too, and they were set on drilling everyone and everything off the Island. Including the beautiful Black Orchid which was thought to be extinct and had survived undetected until Popeye discovered it growing near his spinach patch. He heard many tales and saw many paintings of the Black Orchid, but nothing could prepare him for the most beautiful plant he had ever seen. That was when he vowed to protect the black orchid with his life. He surrounded the plant in a bamboo fortress and covered it with foliage so it resembled a large bush. When he wasnt protecting the Black Orchid, he found time to care for injured wildlife, but his medical skills were somewhat lacking. Popeye was taught first aid as a young sailor, which involved fashioning peglegs from logs, removing fishhooks, and making casts from plaster, but he could only remember the latter. When Popeye discovered an animal he felt was injured, he would wrap it in a cast and let the animal go about its business. The only problem with this system was that the animals were very difficult to recapture. One day Popeye planned to round up the whole lot of the hundred or so animals and remove all their casts, but there were more pressing matters at hand. BOOM! A casted cockatoo landed on Popeyes head breaking the cast and setting the bird free. Popeye rubbed his head feeling dizzy and said, Holy mackerels. That was too loud to be from C Hagees kitchen. Must be them dern oil drillers! Then he heard the Goons gathering near the Goon Lagoon. He had to do whatever he could to save the island, and more importantly, the Black Orchid. Goons were sometimes hard headed so he grabbed an armful of coconuts to get their attention. Listen up you Goons! Popeye got no response so he bounced a few coconuts off their heads. It worked. Now settles yerselves down Goonies. You can get all fussed up and start fightin, but it aint gonna save the island. If you want to win this war, put down yer fists and let yer mouths do the fightin in Capital City! RC7

Peter Goon, the only member of the "Lagoon Goons" with a head, had naturally become, well, head of the Goons. It wasn't his aspiration in life, but destiny seemed intent on it. Trying to lead this eclectic group of misfits had nearly robbed him of his hair and sanity. A curious crinkle crossed his lips as he remembered an old saying--"Hair today, Goon tomorrow". Peter Goon faced his motley crew and calmed them down with a complicated hand/arm movement that confused Popeye. Having gained a reprieve from the cacophony of cries calling for combat, Peter spoke to his cantankerous crew. "This is not the way to settle this problem." He spoke quietly and sternly. He now had the attention of all the Goons save one, Loonie Goon, who was holding a coconut in his hand while searching the sky for its origin. "Popeye's right." Peter knew he had to convince the Goonies to go to Capital City. But it would take just the right words. "I say we take our argument to Capital City and convince the Council of Complaints that this corporate conspiracy that contrives to control our island should be constrained." Peter looked to see if his opening remark had had any effect, knocked the coconut out of Loonie's hand, placed a hand to either side of Loonie's head and gently pulled it into place so that he was focused on Peter's words. He noticed the slight irritation of the other Goonies at the thought of handling a problem with words instead of violence. "AND, if we can't convince the Capital City Council of Complaints to comply completely with our complaint of corporate corruption, we can certainly take care of it OUR way." Having gained some discernable level of agreement from the Goonies, Peter turned to Popeye and suggested he accompany them to Capital City. And that if he did, perhaps, it might be prudent to pack a few cans of spinach. RC8

Sweat Pea threw his guitar in the back of the beat up ol truck. He didn't play it much as he, more or less, screamed the words into the microphone... I'm Sweet Pea; Don't Like it? I'm Sweet Pea; Better Like it Cause if ya don't it's wham and it's bam; Understand? I'm Sweet Pea; And my fisks are like steel I'm Sweet Pea; Don't need spinach to be real... He danced on the stage as the crowd jumped up and down to the truth of his tale, that name had gotten him into more fights...and he grew up one mean junkyard dog. He didn't need anyone cept'n the fair Anita Haggee. She just showed up one day at one of his concerts.They had been an item ever since. But this week they were going to go to meet her mother. Sweets had never met Anita's mother. She lived on skull island, some sort of recluse. The only problem is they couldn't get to ther island they needed a boat. Anita jumped in the seast beside him planting a lip sandwich square on his nose. "I've got some bad news" RC9

"My sweet Sweet Pea," Anita quivered beside him, "I's all worked up and settin' to steam!" Sweets looked in her eyes all big and worried, "What be the problem, darlin'?" "My Ma's in a fix and ready to blow! They came with a notice to force her to go. They's threatenin' to tear the house to the ground all for some oil they think might be found. On top of all thet the goons are astirrin', an all out ruckus seems to be brewin'. So tell me Sweet Pea, What're we to do?" Anita stopped, catchin' her breath holdin' tight to her sweetie's arm. He shook her loose and started to drive, slouched over the wheel his thinkin' cap on. "We's got to git a boat!" He stomped on the gas speeding on to Wimpleton Motors. Anita's large eyes were fixed on him with awe and excitement started to grow. They'd tell those oil drillers a thing or two and save her momma's place. Wasn't Sweet Pea the greatest beau a girl could have? RC11

Sitting behind his desk overlooking the showroom floor of Wimbleton Motor Emporium was J. Carlton Wimbleton, heir to the fortune of his father, J. Wellington Wimbleton. Well, that was the story he told everyone, though in reality he had only inherited a vast hamburger debt. He did own the company, though it was buoyed by a huge cash float and creative enronomics. Carlton popped the last bite of his under-six-grams of fat Subway sandwich into his mouth and headed for the door as he saw the pickup pull into the lot outside. A couple stepped out. The young man looked vaguely familiar, Carlton thought. Carl! the young man exclaimed, stepping through the open door. Sweepea? My, youve changed! How long has it been? Not since the funeral, I guess. Great to see you again, anyway. What can you do for me? Carlton asked with a wry grin. This is my squeeze, Anita. We need some transportation, and fast. Figgered you were the man to see. My boy, youve come to the right place. In spite of the lowfat sub, Carlton could feel the grease starting to lubricate his tongue. Weve got anything you could want. Lets tour the showroom. He grabbed them each by an arm and steered them toward a Rolls Royce he had recently acquired. Let me tell you about this baby... Sweet pea managed to interrupt after about five minutes. Carl, really, thats not what we had in mind. No problem! Ive got anything you need. Ive got a Volvo 960 here for you, driven by a little old lady on Sundays only. I know, its boxy, but safe! No, not your style? Too conservative. How bout a Chevy 320 SUX convertible? Maybe a shiny new Bug? Plenty of Fahrvenen there. Whaddya need? Sweet pea stopped at the bright red Beetle. What do you think, hon? Ive always thought they were cute. She punched him in the arm. Well, not as cute as you. She punched him again, harder. You idiot! We didnt come here for this. Great. Lets you and him fight, Carlton said. He watched as Sweepea and Anita argued. Look, if he doesnt have a boat, were outta here. We need a boat to help Mom! she yelled and stormed toward the door. Well why didnt you say so? Carlton asked. I told you, Ive got just what you need. He hustled out the door to the lot. Follow me. Carlton took them out back behind the showroom to a warehouse. There on a boatrack rested the SS Minotoo. He clambered up a ladder at the stern and gave the boat a few good stomps. Shes a solid old boat. Take you anywhere you want to go. Ill give you a great deal. Just 20 grand. Anita turned to go. Hey, youre as good as family, right? We can talk about the price. I was hoping to trade our pickup for a boat. Whaddya say, Carl? Well, let me think about it. Ill have to go check the paperwork. Carlton left the warehouse and returned a few minutes later. OK, Ill gladly take your truck today and deliver the boat Tuesday. We need the boat today. This is an emergency! Alright, alright, just come in and sign the papers. Ill even have one of the boys hitch the boat up to your pickup and drive you outta here. Get the boat in the water, and hell bring back your truck. Deal? Deal. Shortly thereafter, Sweepea and Anita were on their way, with the motor of the SS Minotoo chugging happily. By then, J. Carlton Wimberton had already sold their truck for more than he paid for the Minotoo.

Haggee looked around at the mess in dismay. She most certainly did not order a trellis to be put up in her petunia patch. Idiots! Didn't anyone know anything about gardening?

"Madam, you're going to have to move," called out one of the inept gardners in an oversized lawn mower.

She pointed a finger at him, briefly considered a lightning bolt, then smiled a wicked grin. "Sonny, I run a respectible house. I've been out of the business for years, though I wouldn't mind a bit of pocket change, if you're interested." She licked her lips.

His eyes grew wide and his skin turned dead white. He vaulted out of the mower and ran off into the distance.

The lead gardener stormed over. "You've got 5 minutes to get your stuff out before we tear this claptrap down. If you're not out in 5 minutes, then you're going down with it."

"Give me 10, these old bones don't move so fast." She went inside the house. "Some people just go too fast nowadays." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "And some people are just too slow." She headed upstairs into her bedroom and fished out her secret weapon - one of several, actually.

Her hands trembled as she unwrapped her weapon. She sighed as she remembered a time when she used it in quite a different way.

"2 minutes!" came a male voice.

"I'm ready." She flung open the door. "The house is open for business once again." She flaunted secret weapon number one: Victoria's Secrets catalog number 666.

As the dust settled, she remarked, "If I'd known the Olypic track team was here, I'd have done this sooner." She cackled and threw her dress on overtop the lingerie.

She heard an explosion off by the docks and saw a rising pillar of smoke. Damnit! This was getting ridiculous. She raced inside and yanked one of her Encyclopedia Magicas off the shelf. "T ... T ... Transformations." She fingers quickly traced the last entry in the volume. "Transform to butterfly, transform to dog, transform to lawyer - no, already have one of those ... where's the transform to toad?" She flipped to the last page. "Continued in volume 24." She looked at her shelf in dismay. She only had the first 23 volumes! She screamed in frustration. She told everyone that she should get the whole set, but no! Everyone told her that she already had more than enough spells and how many spells were there at the end of the alphabet, any way?

She threw the book down in disgust. "I'll just charcoal the lot of them, promise or not!"

She raged the entire length to the docks, imagining the wonder aroma of burnt flesh, picturing the graceful swirl of ash as it was carried by the ocean breeze. She stopped short as she heard two voices arguing; one was an unfamiliar female voice, but the other was a voice she recognized well, even if the spoiled brat didn't call home enough.

"Sweat Pea! Or are you still calling yourself Ice P?" She planted her hands on her hips. "I haven't had a call from you in months! And who is this one and why don't I see a ring on her finger?"

"Aw, c'mon Auntie."

"Now don't you Auntie me." She turned to the girl beside him. "And what's your name, dearie?"

"Anita."

"Well, I supposed I'll forgive you for not calling since you're here now. And what's the special occasion?"

"Auntie, you're in danger. They're drilling for oil here."

"Now that's ridiculous. I never liked Olive, but if I were going to kill her, I'd make sure they couldn't find the body. Besides, the last I heard, she was getting some of her implants redone. Third time this year."

The girl made a choking sound.

"Umm ... oil, o-i-l, Auntie."

"Now that's the way it should be spelled, but that girl never was too bright. The only smart thing she ever did was that Lazy Sick thing so she could see straight. Of course, then she broke up with Popeye and started that whole, awful, compulsive plastic surgery nonsense, but the eye surgery itself was a good idea."

Pea started to say something, but the girl punched his arm and interjected. "Why don't we get our bags from what's left of that boat and we'll talk?"

Haggee patted Pea's hand. "My bones are too old to carry things nowadays. And this breeze is cutting right through me." And even with the dress, the lingerie was very drafty. "I'll just go up ahead and get a pot of tea going."

Pea and Anita looked at each other with pained sympathy. "Okay, Auntie. We'll be up in a few."

Haggee whistled innocently as she walked back towards the house. She was begining to worry that Pea would never show up to comfort poor, crackled little Auntie. She let a grin twist across her face. It was so amazing what those computer crackerjackers could do these days! Just a few numbers here and a few false readings there and you could get companies to jump through all sorts of hoops. Mr. J. Carlton Wimbleton might have the personality of a greasy doorknob, but give him a computer and he was Mr. Wizard.

She stumbled over one of the ripped up flagstones at the edge of her garden. No one took any pride in their work these days. Well, when all this was done, she was going to call up that landscaping company and give them a piece of her mind!

RC13

Meanwhile, back in Capitol City... Next! The booming voice rattled the glass in the door. The aide jumped up, opened the door, and hurried the lobbyist in. Mr. Seamus Eadog, to see you sir. Of the Friends of Maritime History. Congressman B. Luto blew a huge cloud of smoke in their general direction, to dismiss the aid. Mr. Eadog quickly stepped forward, as the door closed behind him, extending his hand across the massive walnut desk. Just call me Seam, Mr. Luto. He offered a big smile. B. Luto grunted and tapped the ash of his cigar into the outstretched hand. Yeah, Sam. So, what can I do for you? The man sat down, tentatively, in the chair across from the desk. Well, sir. I hope you've had a chance to read the proposals we sent to you. On the museum. A truly worthy cause sir. And you being an old sailor yourself, I'm sure we can expect support for funding from you, when it comes up in Committee? Hmm, support? He gnawed on his cigar. Well, that's what they elect us for, ain't it? To help out the folks at home? Relief washed over Mr. Eadog and his smile returned. That's what democracy's all about, B. Luto went on. Helping each other. You help me, I help you. Bailey! Mr. Eadog nearly leapt out of his seat at the booming shout. The door flew open and the aide jumped to. Sir? Tell me, Bailey, how much did the Sons of History here... Friends of Maritime History. Mr. Eadog nervously corrected. Whatever. How much did they contributes to my last re-election campaign? Baily rushed from the room. He was back in a flash, thumbing through a pile of loose sheets of ledger. Congressman Luto winked at the now nervous Mr. Eadog. The wheels of democracy needs lubricating, ya know. Well! he boomed. Papers flew everywhere. B. Luto shook his head in disgust. Bailey dropped to his knees and frantically searched through the papers strewn before him. Ah! Yes? Nothing. What? Their contribution, sir. They gave you nothing. B. Luto's eyes narrowed on the now squirming lobbyist. Sir, I assure you, it was a mere oversight. I'm sure. I'm sure. B. Luto agreed, raising from his chair. He reached down and yanked the lobbyist from the chair, turned him head over heals, and shook him hard. B. Luto grunted at the paltry petty change that fell from the man's pockets. Well, the wheels of democracy needs lubricating, and your axle's looking kind of rusty, he barked. He marched the man towards the door. Now, I'm an honorable man, says so on the door, so go back to your office and see what kind of oil you can dig up, so's I can give your proposition consummate consideration. And don't let the door hit you in the arse on the way out! He slammed the door on the man's heals. B. Luto turned and looked at the papers on the floor in disgust. Clean that mess up, Bailey. I swear, I don't know why I keep you on. Yes, uncle. Bailey scooped up the papers and scurried from the room just as fast as he could. Next! -------- RC14

Popeye and the Goons march into Capital City and into Congressman Blutos office. They are met by Blutos staff assistant who feeds them a bunch of confusing jargon and a foot high stack of forms, which they are instructed to complete, sign, and return before their request can be considered in six months. The Goons lock arms to start a sit down protest when Popeye says, This is me final straw! Popeye opened a can of spinach which he downed in one gulp. Spinach was Popeyes source of strength, but he had a few other tricks up his sleeve. He reached into his pocket, removed a head of garlic and a bunch of carrots, and swallowed them down. He felt the strength surge from his toes to his head to his forearms and fingers. He took a deep breath and blew out fire. Then he scanned the building with his X-Ray vision. He could see Bluto sitting at his desk standing over a man gathering papers off the floor. You Goons were right! I should have never stopped ya. Now lets save our island! Yuk yuk yuk. Im strong to the finich, cus' I eats me spinach, garlic, and carrots. Im Popeye the all seeing firebreathing ex-sailor man! Popeye bashed through the door of Blutos office and grabbed him by his tie. Stop the drilling on our island you congressman you! I cant its too late. You have to complete the request and then wait six months while we consider it. Its too late for you Bluto. Your'e going to Pluto! Yuk yuk yuk. Popeye breathed fire on Bluto charring his suit. Then he grabbed Bluto by the neck and the ankles stretching him like a rubberband before letting go. Bluto shot through every floor and then some before landing on the roof. He saw stars swing around his head then passed out. Lets go save our Island Goons! The Goons rob the office candy jar then storm out of the office chanting Hi Ho Hi Ho the oil drillers must go! RC15

From there things got out of hand... Peter Goon got back to the island and grabbed a large club. "Crash...bash" says he, and the other goons started grabbing clubs yelling to crash and bash. The oil drillers ran for their lives while Sal was on the phone yelling for someone to send in the National guard. Tear gas cannisters flew and Sweet Pea threw on his guitar in protest singing "All we are saying is give goons a chance" while the goons sat around chanting "Hell no we won't go" Smoke rose from skull island as total disruption of island services began. Sal decided to fight back looking in the mirror he oiled his eyes and tied a dew rag around his head. Peter too did the same. He knew his quarry. Pulling on some leather gloves with studs he grabbed a 45 caliber club and slinked into the woods, each warriors totally believing they were in the right, a couple-a dueling rambos. Olive read what was going on in an IM from Sal and was furious "get me my chopper" she screeched, "I will go to skull island". All thirty-something residents of skull island were in revolt. It made the evening news back in Sweetwater and people started calling Congressman Luto's office. The phone wouldn't cease ringing and it even woke the Congressman up from his nap. RC16

B. Luto opened a blackened eye and growled at the phone. His head was pounding and the phone jangling in his ear did nothing to improve his mood. Bailey! Yes Sir! Bailey popped in at double time. I thought I told you to screen my calls! B. Luto shouted as he smashed one of the window screens over the hapless aide's head. This has got to stop! Get me the National Guard! The Air National Guard! Bailey waddled from the room, the screen tightly encircling his arms. Yes sir! Within an hour B. Luto and Bailey were in the air aboard a C-130, heading towards Skull Island. B. Luto was on his cell phone, calling in contingency plans. If he could not knock sense into some heads, he was prepared to call in the Marines. Sir! An Airman stood before him. We are above Skull Island now, Sir! Great. Then bring us down. Sir! We cannot land on Skull Island, Sir! The air strip is too short for us, Sir! You'll have to jump, Sir! He pointed to a row of packs stacked along one wall. Well blow me down! B. Luto stormed, none to happy. But there was naught to do but strap on a parachute and sky dive down to the island. With any luck he'd land on that pipsqueak Popeye and smoosh him good. Come on Bailey, we's got business to attend to! He jumped up and and threw on a pack. Looking back, Bailey seemed terrified at the prospect of jumping. He snarled at him again, Hurry up! Then he squared to the door just as Bailey tried to grab him and shout something into his ear. But with a heave B. Luto jumped, shouting, Geronimo! But... Sir! Bailey shouted after him, That's my laundry bag! B. Luto held out his arms and legs like he'd seen sky divers do on TV a thousand times. The wind whistled through his clothes and he found he actually enjoyed skydiving. He laughed heartily and pulled on the rip cord. The pack broke open and all manner of dirty laundry came tumbling out! He grabbed a shirt as it drifted by and clutched it desperately. Well I's been had! he bellowed. He held the shirt over his head by its tails and sleeves. It billowed out in the wind made by his fall, but did little to slow him. So he huffed and puffed great quantities of air into the shirt above him, to try and break his fall. Somehow, sky diving now seemed to be a lot less fun. -------- RC17

Peter was hiding in the bushes and the congressman fell right in front of him bouncing twice. The law of the jungle on Skull Island took over..Peter's forty-five caliber club came down..Crash, right on Bluto's head. The sky grew,pink, blue and black and was filled with stars. He woke being dragged down a tunnel, water dripping on his forehead. He was trussed like a roast ready for the spit. "You are our hostage" Peter hissed, as he threw him into a darkened corner. Outside the tear gas flew and the goons rallied. Sal was yelling that he had a court order for the goons to cease and desist with their crashing and bashing, that just started them up all over again. Overhead another chopper cut through the air. Olive had arrived.

She surveyed the island causticaly, her eyes huge with rage and disbelief, a small part of her wondering how things could get so, so Those goons were toppling her rig! That wouldn't do -- no sir, not at all. "Set me down there." She pointed to a slightly open patch of ground just south of the Goon squad that lumbered around the teetering rig. The pilot turned to her with a look of horror. "No, offense, ma'am, but those goons would just as soon do the same to a woman as pretty as you." Olive smiled her best smile, the one that had cost ten thou andtaken three weeks to learn effectively, and batted her eyes. He blushed, looked away a second, and then found himself staring down the barrel of a very large gun. "Honey, those goons haven't a clue what I am, so why don't you keep a hold of your life and your job and set this chopper down where I told you to." He dropped her down, and she stepped out of the chopper, a huge scowl on her face and the mauser in her hand. As her feet touched the soil, she bellowed, a trick she'd learned ages ago that had come in especially useful when she was still foolish and in love with that dolt of a sailor. "Who's in charge here?!" The goons stopped bashing, and looked around at each other, their faces slack and eyes puzzled, then almost as one they grinned strangely and somehow formed a circle of pointing fingers about a dirty, raggeddy, obviously environmentalistic recluse witha single eye, thick arms, a powerful ches, er, chin, and, and Olive's face sagged. Not nearly as much as it had once, but still somewhat obvious (the bone grafts hadn't been done yet). That pipe. The old nutso's mouth popped openm as well, followed by his eyes springing forth from their sockets to bounce up and down in front of her for a fraction of a second before rebounding back into his head, starts alighting the air around him like an angelic halo of lust. "P-p-popeye?" "Oyliv?" He growled. Just then a milling Goon milled a bit too hard, and the club struck her on her now very pretty little head, and she fell into darkness, her heart fluttering for some reason. She dreamed of him, of that horrible man who somehow stirred things inside her she refused to believe were possible any longer. Mostly because she'd paid for them to be surgically removed. In fact, she'd paid quite a lot to have them removed. She grimaced, and realized her dreams had ended not only when she felt the grimace, but also becuase of the smell in the air. A smell she had hated and despised, a smell that only one thug had ever had the obesity to wear -- B. Luto. She opened her eyes, to find herself bound and and lying beside him, the ropes strategically placed by the goons to show off what she had worked so hard to achieve. Their eyes met. "You! I should have known you'd have somethign to do with this! You cad! You miserable, yellow bellied, sad sack, corrupt, two timing, lecherous, toad! I'm gonna .." "You'll do nothing!" hissed a new voice. SHe looked over, and beheld Peter Goon for the first time. "You!" "Me." "How dare you take me prisoner!" Olive boiled over, causing all the extensions in her hair to frizz... ---

"Is that you Olive?" "Bluto what are you doing here" Bluto stirred in the other corner "I was just conimg to see you and was assaulted, viciously assaulted, by that shrimp and his gang of rebels." "Oh Blutoooh you poor, poor thing. I should have known that brute Popeye was behind all this. Do you still have my picture at your desk?" "A babe like you? Even the power suit and the grey hair doesn't make any difference." Upstairs Sweet Pea had cornered Sal, who was trying to sabotage a goon school and the two were rolling in the dirt. Sal wasn't much for hand to hand combat. Sweet Pea caught him straight up on the chin he rolled over to or three times before landing in the swamp. A few seconds later he emergerged covered with green muck. "I'll get you Pea", he screamed shaking his fist "You can't get away with this you'll be hearing from my lawyers" He went screaming into the jungle " Get me a cell phone, Get Pipeye, Peepeye and Poopeye on the line...I'll sue that's what I'll do I'll sue!" Sweet Pea turned to Anita who was watching all the events unfold as the drill continued clanging deeper and deeper into the depths of Skull Island, still dry, for the only oil on the island was deep in a cave tied up with Bluto while Popeye stood by laughing.

In all the confusion and thrashing about, Anita found herself far from her Sweet Pea's side. She swallowed the fear rising in her throat and wound her way through swinging clubs and swearing goons searching for the safe haven of his arms. Sal saw Sweet Pea and Anita swept apart by the havoc boiling about. She was quite a nice armful, that Anita Haggee! If only he could catch her alone and win her admiration, get her to dump that disgusting excuse of a boyfriend. He set off through the throng to find her. Sweet Pea was so riled up by the attacks on his fair Anita's ma that he hardly noticed he was alone amongst the bashing and crashing natives. He swung his own fist a time or too and was having a blast of a time when he ran smack into someone coming out of the goony school. "Dang it all! Whacher doin' runnin' like a loony?" He paused as he regained his balance and stared at a swaggering Sal. A grin split Sal's rather lumpy face, "Heya, Sweet Pea! I still don' unnerstand how a fine piece o woman like Anita could settle fer a worthless piece o flesh like you!" Sal quickly realized that he shoulda kept his thoughts to himself. Sweet Pea's fist, fueled by his love for Anita, flashed like lightning right into Sal's surprised face. The two of them were soon rolling in the dirt pummeling each other like schoolboys. Anita came upon them and cried out in fear. She soon saw that Sweet Pea was more than holding his own and with her heart thumping with pride she kept quiet and out of the way. With one hearty wallup Sweet Pea sent Sal head first into the swamp. Sal spluttered and splashed and swore. Threatening Sweet Pea with the wrath of the law he set off into the swamp, his interest in Anita chilled by the green goo and stinging cuts on his face. "I'll get you Sweet Pea! I'll sue you!" Anita rushed to Sweet Pea's side covering his face with kisses. "Anita, its time fer us to go!" he said catching his breath and calming his ire. "Go!? But Darlin', what about Ma? She's old and cantankerous, this island's a zoo, there's no telling what on earth she will do!" She clutched at his arm and pulled him along. "Yer ma's jes fine, lets git outta this mess. Sal's callin' the law and I don wanta be around when they show!" Urgent and firm he pulled the other way only to pause at a chilling sight! Popeye was fighting a group of armed men. Bluto had succeeded in calling the National Guard who were swarming the island in full force, knocking out goons and oil men alike. They were doing there best to subdue ole Popeye but his spinach generated strength was at full throttle. "Good heavens!" exclaimed Anita "The whole place is insane!"

C Haggee heard something through all the ruckus and made her way to the dock. The sound came from the midnight black caves that dotted the shoreline. Tracking the noise to one of the smaller caves, she lit a match to see what the sound was. Boom.

That's putting it mildly. Bodies flew everywhere C Haggee flew threw the air like a comet on fire. Bluto shot straight up like a rocket landing about half-a-mile away. Goons scattered finding themselves floating in the water. Sal was never seen again. Popeye floated to the surface like a cork and held on to a piece of wood that had once been Popeye's shack. Over in the distance he heard a scream "Help I can't swim", and saw first one finger go up, then two. He reached into the water and pulled Olive out sputtering. "I couldn't let you go down with the island, Olive" "But I'm ruined, she said."By the time I pay off all the workman's comp and lawsuits from the goons I'll be penniless" "Don't worry about a thing Olive I've been saving all the royalties on our stories since 1929. I've got a little island called Bermuda that you and I can retire to if you'll have me..." Olive felt that stirring for the one-eyed sailor again as she looked at him blushing "ohhh Popeeye", she said as they floated away on the outbound current.