By this time both Otis and Otis were sealed in corn-dog batter, midscream, like waxworks Fay Wrays melting down the Empite State Building. I closed one eye and let the last dart sail. The pod spurted red cottage-cheese blastula against the pegboard in a horrible smack.

"That's a deadeye!" both Otises belched, through the cold batter, in stereo. I eyed the carnie who was picking up the darts.

"Well, Coke and a handshake or what?"

"Oh, si, you wins somtheen like jellyfeesh meester."