and I’m like, “wow, I haven’t seen you guys since I forgot how to operate a VHS player!” They did not recognize me. Uncle Elephant is responsible for most of my nightmares: his uncanny stop-motion movements paired horribly with his penchant for trumpeting and kidnapping. When I tell him I remember him as a villain, he tells me a group of elephants is called a memory, and looks despondently over his clay trunk into his Schlitz. Babe, the obvious star of the three, is backed up by 45 other piglets who also played Babe. I ask if any of them are animatronic puppets. One of the Babes tells me yes, and if I correctly guess which one, they’ll buy me a shot. I walk through the Babes trying to unzip them at the neck until finally I come across one emitting a high frequency each time it tilts its head. Beneath its silicone skin is a black metal skull with gold hinges at the jaw and gold lids over plastic eyeballs. I shoot tequila and robot-Babe short circuits. Dinah is quiet, two-dimensional. She is shamed by Alice’s perceived inability to communicate with her. Dinah’s purrs had meant something, but it was insufficient for Alice. I lift Dinah onto a barstool and lay on the floor, looking up at her. I’m dizzy at this point, the air swirling around me like a hot party full of pigs and nostalgia, I insist: “do the wave Dinah, do the wave.”