DILLON, STILL GROGGY FROM HIS FALL INTO A CANYON, WANDERS ABOUT TRYING TO FOCUS.

What the ... ? Where am I? HELLO!?

SUDDENLY HE GETS TO THE EDGE OF THE FOG AND BEGINS TO HEAR MUSIC.

STEPPING FULLY INTO THE CLEAR, HE FINDS HIMSELF STANDING AMONG SOME MEN DRESSED ALL THE SAME WITH OTHER MEN BEHIND THEM AND BESIDE THEM, ALL PLAYING MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS.

This doesn't look like the bottom of Dry Canyon! What the ...?

MR. LAWRENCE WELK WALKS OVER TO DILLON, DRESSED VERY INAPPROPRIATELY IN WELK'S OPINION, TO ADMONISH HIM.

Excuse me, sir. You must-a be our fill-in bari-a sax player for this rehearsal. Are you-a going to get-a your horn or what?

(puzzled)

Get-a my horn?

Come on-a, man. Let's-a get with it. You're on-a my time now.

Where am I? What is that?

(points to guitar amp near him)

What? Now, listen. You get-a your horn out or we'll just-a have to get the union over-a here to settle this.

MATT JUST STARES AT WELK, STILL NOT KNOWING WHERE HE IS OR WHAT IS GOING ON.

I thought I was in a canyon.

WELK WALKS OVER TO A STAGE PHONE.

Hello? Local-a 54? Please send-a over a bari sax-a player right away. The guy here now is-a killing our tempo... Yes... No. I don't know where his-a horn is. Wait a second, I'll ask.

Sir? Where is your horn?

What? Horn?

Bari sax. Your horn?

WELK WALKS RIGHT UP TO DILLON, WHO TOWERS OVER HIM.

(screaming)

Your-a HORN!!

I don't know who you are or where I am, but you better back off!

What? And-a where is your gig-suit? We dress-a for rehearsal around-a here. Nobody said anything about wearing-a the western out-a-fit tonight.

(beat)

Or did you-a forget that?!

Chester?? CHESTER??

MYRON FLOREN WALKS TO WELK AND WHISPERS SOMETHING TO HIM.

(to Floren)

Really?

Excuse me, sir. I believe-a you are in another-a dimension.

Another what?

Dimension.

(condescendingly)

Oh, well, why didn't you say that earlier? I'll just wander about and try to find another rip in the fabric of this here universe I have gotten myself into and try to worm-hole myself back to my jail house.

Well, now-a you're talking.

DILLON JUST STARES BLANKLY AT WELK.

I'll-a bet your-a horn was a rental anyway!

ALL BAND GUYS YUK IT UP.

As a matter of fact if I WAS living in this dimension I would have not a two-bit 70's Conn like these clowns here have.

(pointing)

I would have had an Eppelsheim or Keilwerth. How does that grab you?

(beat)

Oh, and by the way, I'd lose the fake foreign-a accent. Lame.

DILLON DRAWS HIS GUN AND SHOOTS WELK'S CONDUCTOR WAND OUT OF HIS HAND.