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A mighty keen Spitzsauer's railroadin' 'round the track; the land has opened up, he fell right through the crack. He bruised his chin and shins, asked: ''Where the Hell I am?!'' He tore his tough blue jeans yet didn't give a damn. Here, a hammer and the anvil, a sign stood by, all loose, and there - a horny devil - the rare Icelandic Moose. ''Must have fallen deeper, to the Other Side of Moon, maybe 'ere life's cheaper, 'less ruled by an uptight goon.'' His thoughts were such and ponderin', his brow untouched by fear, he spent a whole month wanderin', railroadin' neath the Sphere when finally at night he reached the final stop - what there was in sight? A little village shop: ''Kind Spitzsauer, Sir, care for souvenirs?! There's tobacco and liqueur, all throughout the year, and back behind the bar the sweetness you admire from normal to bizarre - all that you require: will you stay with us or not?!'' But his mind was elsewhere wrought: his vehicle he shook away from all