Glancing north, Aldeau is shocked to discover the crystalline shore of the Beaufort Sea a mere kilomile away, a geographical improbability of insultingly huge proportion. The attendant crop circles, too, had been dragged to within yodeling distance of the shack. Could this topologic anomaly be attributed to the disassembled fusion energy device, or had the limeade concentrate come from critus fruit imbued with psychotropic properties?

A single Eskimo materializes beside the radio tower two-thirds in focus and holding a large Foodies Grocery Emporium bag. As he approaches Aldeau, his focal point wavers wildly, but at last he is close enough to share the same time-space configuration. The two exchange gesticulatory greetings and small cheeses, then the Eskimo withdraws from the bag a dwarf dogwood tree. Instantly the mining shack-bound fogdogs commence howling in long forgotten and forbidden keys that causes the earth around them to convulse. Grabbing his jerkin and adobe hat, Aldeau makes the Athabaskan sign for skedaddle, which they do. The Eskimo leads the way to the radio tower, which they hurriedly climb. Caught between two argumentative realities, the mining shack begins to slowly ooze into another dimension. The keening from the worms grows louder, more dangerous, and the parallel fifths evolve into minor sixths, tenths, and tritones. At the top of the tower, the two absquatulators jump in the Hudson, lock the doors, and hunker down. Beneath them, the world as they know it ceases to make sense, although the door to the shack manages to maintain a kind of proud rationality about itself.

As the bottom third of the radio tower follows the mining shack and surrounding terra infirma into The Unknown, the Eskimo instinctively starts the car and turns on the radio. The only signal he can raise is, oddly enough, a subset of this 128th episode of Kalvos & Damian's New Music Bazaar which had bounced off a distant supernova and now exists in that Klegmore time-space configuration. If only we knew this ahead of time, perhaps we could offer tokamakic advice, refrain from uttering le flambeau oriange, or at least play a request before really untoward events occur, events which may hopefully be assuaged somewhat by the imminently calming throat tones of Kalvos.