Four generations later, Frenchy Givenchy VI
returned to San Onofre, with his son Toad,
for a cook's tour of the new State Beach, starting
at the eucalyptus plantation at Camp Pendelton.
"Well, Toad, this is where it all started "Over there,
on the right, is where the famous "Church" stood
before they demolished her to make
room for the Railroad. Beyond that is the old gate with a
padlock which you gave the Marines $5.00.00 for a key rental.
But, of course, that was then, this is now.

Written by Jack Schitt.
BRUCE SAVAGE SAND ASSOCIATES

Frenchy the Frenchman, prostate in the sand could
barely open his eyelids. As he did he couldn't
believe his eyes. All he could see was the pack of
coyotes joined by a few stray wolves. Dear Lord,
if my numbers up please give me one more chance.
He felt the hairy beasts moving in for the kill,
their breath filled with the taste of fresh blood.
Suddenly, the sky filled with ominous black clouds.
The snarling animals balked, their ears pointed
toward the heavens. The waters behind Frenchy
receeded as if a tidal wave had emerged. A
boom that would have filled the "Throne
of God" over San Onofre. You wouldn't
believe this, but the Frenchman was
in the middle of a tsunami. The wolves
and coyotes headed for high ground. The
first wave sucked out to the third reef. Faster
than you could say "Jack Robinson" a wall
of water twelve feet in height rumbled onto shore
pulling a newly resucited Frenchy, catapalting him
onto the sandstone bluff 40' above the beach. He
landed with a thud. Before he realized ehere he was,
a familiar face nuzzled him. It was Oyster. He
was alive. He was alright. "Oh, thank you Great
Kahuna. This will be a great Thanksgiving after all."

Written by Bob Cratchet.
BRUCE SAVAGE SAND ASSOCIATES

Single file, the pack decsended the sandstone bluff
zeroing on the dying Oyster. Unable to move he
lay their waiting. Tears filled his big eyes. Alpha
Male was the first to strike the jugglar. Blood
soaked the moist sand. It was awful. Vultures
circled above. Frenchy saw The distress. While riding,
he lost his balance, falling off his kook-box into the
ocean. That's when the hemp leash took effect,
dragging Frenchy to shore, however, in doing
so salt water flooded his nasal cavity, rendering him
unconconcious. Finally, what seemed an agonizing
lifetime, the massive kook-box beached itself.
Frenchy, unable to move, lay still, salt water in his
lung cavity. The pack, bellies filled with Oyster's
intestines, headed for Frenchy still attatched
to his rope leash. It seemed the jig was up for the
Frenchman.

Written by Carly Simon.
BRUCE SAVAGE SAND ASSOCIATES

Oyster, tears filling his weeping eyes,
sensed something was awry. Fiddle Crabs
swarmed around his helpless, quivering
body. The west wind didn't make matters
better. It's been said animals know when
the jig is up. Anyways, the pack of coyotes
poised on the bluff ready for a plump
evening repast. The Alpha male was ready,
awaiting Oyster's last gasp. Oyser's Master
took one last beach scan, watched as
the pack of coyotes single-file trapsed
down the sandstone bluff. l