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The long sleep and the three men.

The last time we saw Ralf, he was sleeping in a forest after a rigorous game of Swingball with a strange German duck called Florian. Ralf won 5-1. Hurrah!
Ralf and Florian both fell asleep.
The next morning, after a fitful sleep due to his Swingball humiliation Florian woke up very early, at the crack of dawn in fact. He decided to get his revenge on our hero.
Out came the Hoover and he was vacuuming all around Ralf, banging into trees, bumping Ralf's legs; but all the while Ralf slept.
Little did Florain realise that Ralf was dreaming sweet dreams of a beautiful girl duck called Pammy. They were frolicking in the sea, having swimming races, even surfing. Ralf even hung ten. Whatever 'hang ten' means.
Ralf's dream was so nice he just didn't notice Florian's Hoover-based antics.

"Scheisse!" exclaimed Florian. And even people who can't speak German know what that means.
I will translate the rest of what he said with a comedy German accent, "Zis damn duck is not vaking up. I am not very happy about zis. Vot can I do to vake him from his lufly slumber?"
Florian sat down for a moment to think about it. His brain even made a clicking noise he was thinking that hard.
"I haf it!" he shouted, at the same time jumping up so high he hit his head on a branch with a loud THUNK!
He fell to the ground and was unconscious for a few moments.

When Florian woke up, he'd forgotten all about his revenge plan, and just walked off, singing a song about long German roads.
Ralf's dream continued. On and on. On and on. Through the whole of the summer. Through the autumn (the leaves made a cozy little duvet for him). Through the winter (thankfully, not too harsh). Through the spring and the next summer too.
When the autumn arrived and the first leaf in the forest fell, it fell on Ralf's head.

Ralf woke up, looked around in a disorientated fashion, his hair all sticking up on one side of his face, and creases on the other side, from where he'd slept on a twig.
"That was a nice sleep," Ralf yawned. "I wonder where Florian is?"
Little did Ralf know that Florain was long gone by now, somewhere in western Germany singing a song about robots.
Suddenly, Ralf felt alone.
All together now: Aaaaaah.

But hark! What's that sound from yonder?, Ralf thought. "Who's there?" he croaked (his mouth was a bit dry, you see).
Three men hovered towards him. Two with beards, one without.
They spoke in unison, "We, young fellow, are Billy, Rusty and Frank. Collectively known as-"
"Zee!" said Billy.
"Zee!" said Rusty.
"Top!" said Frank.

"What the heck is a ZZ Top?" asked Ralf (and anyone reading this under the age of 20).
"Well," said Billy, "we're a rock band from the United States of America. And we got word from a little squirrel that you might need some help here, good buddy."
Ralf smiled. Albeit in a slightly confused manner.
"That's right," continued Rusty, "we thought you might need a little good ol' Southern cookin' to get you back on your journey to the seaside."
Ralf smiled again. Albeit in a slightly less confused manner, and with a hint of "ooh, these chaps are nice."
"So," said Frank, "we brought you some breakfast."
Ralf smiled again. "Blimey!" he said.
Billy, Rusty, and Frank all swished their right hands and pointed left, and there under a spotlight that a roadie had just put up in the trees, was a tray full of eggs and toast. And a nice glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
Ralf ran over and jumped up and down with glee. "Yippee!"
"Thank y-" he started to say, but as he turned to look at the ZZ Top, they were gone. As was the roadie. And the spotlight.
This is strange, thought Ralf. But not for very long, because he was too hungry to think.
He scoffed down the food, let out a little burp, and said, "Oops, excuse me!" even though no one was there to hear his burp.
Right, he thought, now I'm ready for the next part of my journey, but hopefully next time Craig'll do me the honour of drawing it.