Now the marvelous thing about being a marsupial, other than an astute command of elementary physics, is the built-in pocket. Our four-legged fuzzy friend puts his own pocket to very great use. He has devised a new Scheme of Epic Proportions, and as we watch him scribbling on his pad, we begin to wonder just what that scheme might be.

He whispers to himself, "Angle of inclination" and "muzzle velocity". Soon he taps his pencil thoughtfully against his fuzzy nose and says, "I must measure the mass of the projectile."

Time passes.

Wandering along the jungle floor, spaced at precise intervals, the wombat produces four objects from his pouch. Here, he positions a large cannon carefully beneath a tree. Further along, we see him remove a trampoline from his pocket and place it Just So at a distant point.

Even further down a gentle jungle slope, the careful marsupial, after carefully studying his notes, removes a beer bottle (a Shiners' Bock) and a funnel from his pocket. He places the bottle on an "X" that he has drawn in the rich dark humus of the jungle floor and inserts the funnel carefully into the opening of the bottle.

The denizens of the dark forest watch curiously as bub executes this operation. They speak no words. They watch in wonder and in silent anticipation.

As our fuzzy friend wanders back up the Jungle Path, he frets over and scribbles into his notes. A hush falls over the Jungle.

He turns to the monkey. "Would you have such a thing as a match about you?" asks the marsupial. The primate produces a match and the wombat, unfortunately, strikes it.

The fuse is lit. The cannon is live. The wombat is, as you would expect, a cannonball.

BOOM!

A fuzzy gray streak arcs through the sky.

BOING!!

The trampoline, at least, has been positioned at the correct coordinates. The fuzzy gray streak consults his notes. No breath is drawn in the Jungle at this time.

The projectile flips a page in his notes and finally, completely understands the Truly Epic Proportions of his scheme. "This may sting a bit", he murmurs. Only the Macaw, perched in a tree nearby, hears his words. THWUNK. That's the sound of a wombat being bottled. "Ow." That's the sound of a wombat who finally, glass enclosed, understands the repercussions of his actions.

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