It is early morining, sometime in the summer of 1969. The Partridge Family has begun its rise to mega-stardom, but has yet to organize into an armed cult.
Tracy Partridge walked swiftly along a path that wound its way up to the summit of Mount Ararat. In her right hand, she held a tamborine -- the symbol of her might. In her left hand was a bag of skittles.
She glanced quickly down at the LCD display that the doctors had bolted onto her right forearm. The tracking sub-system indicated that Oscar was close. She thought for a moment then ran a full diagnostic on her robotic-tenticle sub-system. She was in perfect condition.
Tracy had reached her destination. Now, she would hunt her prey. She bit her lip and immediately her mouth tasted salty. She attached her cyborg-chainsaw-hands. They were beautiful in their simple killing potential.
She sighed softly, then let out a bloadcurdling cry "Come get some, Oscar!" There was an sudden clap of thunder and Oscar Wilde emerged from a puff of pink smoke. He wore a great long velvet coat that draped across his large frame. A large rimmed felt hat perched upon his head. In lace gloved hands, he clutched his sonic-war-cane, already glowing pink with killing energy. On his feet were a pair black flip-flops.
"Why do you disturb my slumber, pissant?" he bellowed. Tracy was intimidated, but still confident in her cybernetic enhancements. She held her chainsaw hands in front of her and rushed directly towards Oscar, screaming a rainbow of uninteligable profanities. Oscar aimed his cane directly at Tracy's chest and fired a beam of energy at her. Instantly, her cybernetic enhancements were disabled.
"What am I going to do now?" exclaimed Tracy, somewhat disappointed by her obvious defeat.
"Fight for my amusement!" cried Oscar as he raised his sonic-war-cane to the sky and pressed the little orange button.
There was a clap of thunder, and instantly Gretl Von Trapp appeared before them. She had a strange look in her eyes -- like Tracy wasn't among the few of her favorite things.