"No, that guy had a bruise across his eyes like a 2x4." 

     "It was a 2x4," the bushes spoke. 

     "How do you know?  Did you finish up takng the drops?" A tall, dark-haired woman went and looked over the bushes.  "Dammit!" She said.  "I need a medic over here." 

     "A bloody mess," one father told another father. 

     More authorities arrived for what was supposed to be a breakfast where people talk about liaison-ing.  It had seemed like a quiet throughout the mountains after a chaotic season.  Neither was really true. 

     A Himalayan boy knocked over a canping chair standing and getting ready to run.  "That's a chief," he chin jutted and put his hands in his armpits.  "NOT TODAY," the man roared, "Just a POP to the PICS." 

     "Are you looking for me?" 

     "Did you impregnate my daughter?" 

     "Ew, no way.  Or maybe I should answer (i)yes, with an alien baby(i)." 

     "On your knees, hands up and out in front of your person." 

     One young mother pulled two children towards her as the other (i)whole mess of children(i) scattered.  "Is there no end to this misery?" A man in fatigues and a black tee-shirt slung his weapon around onto his back and hand-gestured the others with him to also (i)vahmoose(i) and "Don't let them get away." He smiled and there was a tooth missing in a movie star perfect face.  He stopped smiling when he saw a couple people not on knees with hands out.

     He'd come across the (i)Pissed Off Parents(i) in another range of mountains.  Over macaronis and a can of nacho cheese sauce they'd fessed up.  They were (i)afraid of their own children(i).  He was going to talk to Mr. Shwartza-negger about that and a few other things.  (i)It's good to consult with a variety of people(i).  The parents were tired.  Most had bags under their eyes and sore feet.  But they shared their food with the stranger.  After finishing her seven bites one woman sang a song of thanksgiving.

     Now, here they were: confronting.