This world we live in is a pretty grim place. It's tough to make a living. At any moment we may get blown up, down or sideways by the atom bomb. The day after tomorrow may never come, and on top of all this, TV commercials are getting worse and worse. It seems that our only salvation is a sense of humor, so we give you "The Sloths ..." a very unserious yarn.
and continued the practice since. "We Are Up Against It!" he went on. "The Fate Of The World May Be At Stake!"
"What's wrong, chief?" asked Brad, jauntily.
"Plenty!" roared Metternich. "Nobody's Attacking The Earth--That's What's Wrong! Nobody Is Out To Conquer The Universe! How Come, May I Ask?"
Brad gulped. Could he believe his ears? No one attacking good, kind, old Earth? Was there nothing in which a man could pin his faith, let alone his ears? Were they, indeed, his ears?
He turned to his best friend, Ugh, who stood beside him. Would he stand behind him? Did he realize they were on the verge of A Mission? Ugh was a pastiche, or intermezzo--a cross between a Martian and a Texan--as loathsome and stupid a combination as one could wish. Why he was Brad's best friend was a mystery. Squarely, he met Brad's gaze, which left him an eye to spare. It winked, and Brad shuddered.
It was a