A dove flies through the Jungle, looking down at the denizens of the dark forest.

She comes upon bub, staring at his reflection in a Languid Jungle Pool. Observing the wombat's lugubrious fuzzy face and hearing him sigh, she alights on a branch of a nearby tree.

She watches him look at himself and sigh. She hears him murmur to himself, "Perhaps if I were more aerodynamic, my experiments would be more successful".

"I am Far Too Stout", he says. And the dove's heart is heavy. She gazes down at the fuzzy, corpulent frame, and wishes that she could help him.

A dove is a gentle creature, the symbol of peace. She forms her words carefully as she speaks. "Maybe if you didn't carry around so much stuff in your pouch", she tells him, "you wouldn't be quite so... portly".

She instantly regrets her choice of words, but just as instantly, the chunky gray one claps his front paws together and bellows, "That's IT!!!!"

"I must reduce my payload!" He shrieks in the general direction of the dove. "That will make me more aerodynamic and reduce my wind resistance and ground-weight!"

"I must jettison any unnecessary ballast", says the hirsute aviator as he scratches his fuzzy butt, pacing to and fro by the edge of the pool.

The dove, observing unobserved, observes the marsupial as he begins to rummage through his pouch, removing anything he deems unnecessary to projectile motion. She watches amazed as he deletes from his stores an outsized wedding cake, complete with bride, groom and mother-in-law.

A grand piano.
A compact car.
A slinky.
A tourist with a camera.
The collected works of Professor Hazzard.
Elvis.
A unicycle.
The Statue of Liberty.
The kitchen sink.
Professor Hazzard himself, and his son each wearing a look of surprise and concern.

"Hmmmm", says the befuddled quadruped, "how did THEY get in there?"

25 sheets of carbon paper.
A tank of liquid nitrogen.
A pinch of salt.
And a partridge in a pear tree.

"Hmmmm", says the fuzzy one as he glances at his reflection in the pool, "I seem to have retained my girth". A quick examination of a bathroom scale (previously produced from the pocket of our pudgy protagonist) reveals that our hairy hero weighs exactly equal to his weight before the expulsion of extra cargo.

Careful measurement and in-depth consultation of the stocky scientist's notes bears out these conclusions in the obligatory black and white.

The dove, white as the driven snow and aerodynamic as, well a naturally airborne creature looks down on our friend in abject sympathy.

"I'm sorry to have lead you astray", she coos. "Maybe all you really need is a good luck kiss". She drops from her perch. She alights on a fuzzy shoulder. She delivers a soft peck on a fuzzy cheek.

The marsupial thoughtfully rubs the freshly kissed fuzz and fancies himself a lady's wombat.

We shall see in the next chapter what the results of this kind action, this kiss for good luck, will be.

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