One day we needed to buy more popsicle sticks and glue for the lifesize model of the MonkeeMobile we're building, as well as specific, designer shampoo (at a low price), and a new pair of shoes. We searched for a locale that would accomodate our purchasing needs, and the only thing that turned up was a strip mall in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

So we went.

Imagine our surprise that right between the Sally's Beauty Supply and Michael's Arts and Crafts store sat another business called Videorach. Of course, we recognized the name as being the keeper of all things Michael Nesmith, a big FUCK YOU to Virgin Megastore.

We went inside. Instantly, we were greeted by two rows of cubicles, grey office carpeting, drop ceilings and at the very back, a gleaming gold wall with a massive door that featured a doorknob of diamond.

We were greeted by a young Navajo gentleman named Little Running Crick who was wearing a red smock.

"What the hell is that gold wall?" we asked, completely puzzled.

He whispered something inaudible.

"WHAT?" Allison yelled, startling a nearby woman carrying three stacks of million dollar bills on a platinum-plated tray.

He said something a little louder, but still un-recognizable.

"YOU HAVE TO SPEAK LOUDER!" Beth said, leaning over his desk and intimidating the poor Native American.

"Here, allow me to write it down for you," Crick said. He took a Post It from a drawer that we noticed was filled to the brim with various forms of Liquid Paper and wrote "Nez's office."

We screamed "NEZ!" and the employees fell deadly silent. No one moved. Suddenly there was a loud rumbling noise that grew louder and louder, like the hounds of hell stampeding towards us. The door to the gold wall flew open and there He was.

Crick whispered to us nervously, "you've angered him."

"WHAT THE GOOT GOT DAMN HELL BULLSHE-IT NOISE IS GOIN' ON OUT HERE?! SUM PEOPLE TRYIN TO GET WORK DONE."

Then the door slammed shut and he was gone like a mist in the night.

We turned to Crick. "Was that..."

"Yes," Crick said. "Consider yourselves lucky to be one of the few people to witness the beauty and glory of Michael Nesmith in his natural habitat."

"Can we talk to him?"

"To talk to Nez, you must pass a test of strength, endurance and wit."

"Can we just skip it and go talk to him?"

"Congratulations, you just passed the test." Crick slowly pressed a button and somewhere, ever so softly, the opening lick to Mama Nantucket played. "You may enter into his majesty's domain."

We strode back to the gold wall and entered a long, dark hallway. Midway down the hall, the Cowardly Lion was startled by a noise and bolted, and dove through a plate glass window, never to be heard from again.

Finally, we came to a room that was deafeningly silent. We looked at each other for a moment before a gigantic blue head appeared before us that looked uncannily like Michael Nesmith circa 1998.

"Oh come on," Allison said, "that's not even what you look like now."

"Where is the train conductor neckerchief?" asked Beth.

"WHHAT ARE YOU DOING HUR?" Asked the head.

"Dude, I'm not talking to this face," Beth said, turning to Allison.

"LOOK!" Allison said, pointing to a dark velvet curtain in the corner. Together, we went over to the curtain and on the count of three, pulled it back to reveal Michael Nesmith sitting in a Lay-Z Boy reading the San Antonio Times. No controls, no nothing.

"What are ya doin'?" We asked in unison, shocked.

"Congratulations," he said, his head turning slowly to us. "You passed the ultimate test. Come with me."

"Um, okay," we said as Nez pulled the lever on his recliner to reveal a trap door just below his loafer-covered feet. He slid down into the hole and squealed. We shrugged and and followed Nez in falling into a vat of peanut butter and bacon bits. But magically, we were not sticky when we climbed out.

He led us into a labyrinth of recordings, t-shirts, and a massive stockpile of Timerider DVDs ("No one wanted those," he explained). Nez's eyes filled with tears of joy as he gazed upon the remnants of his career. Magically, another Lay-Z Boy appeared and Nez took a seat, kicking back and opening the footrest.

"After all these years, Ah've fahnally found someone who cud pass every test. And now Ah want to ask you girls to take over Videoranch." His eyes glistened. Obviously, this offer was not betowed lightly and to Nez, it seemed to be a huge honor.

"No, thanks," we said.

His face dropped. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO," he said. "SUM NA MA BITCH."

Suddenly, we were transported back to the sidewalk.

"What in the hell was that?" We asked, looking puzzled.

"Apparently, a Chinese buffet," said Beth, gazing up at the neon sign that had formerly read "Videoranch" but now read "Master Wu's Won Ton House."

"Interesting," said Allison.

Suddenly someone bumped into Allison and she turned, ready to cuss out the mofo. She saw that it was Crick, still wearing the red smock and smiling. He handed her a slip of paper and confused, she opened it. What it said will live in our minds forever.

"Thanks for nothing, assholes. Love Nez."

We grinned and walked off into the sunset.