It was a hot, dry day in Zimbabwe. Rael the ostrich liked hot, dry days - in fact, he liked them so much that there was only one thing he preferred, and that was sandals. "Mm, sandals," he didn't say (since ostriches can't talk). "I'd love to munch on a nice sandal right now..." Rael sighed. "I wish," he didn't continue, "that I had a sandal RIGHT NOW."
Rael's expectations were nicely gratified as Al Bundy popped into existence, four feet away from his face. "Not again," Mr. Bundy groaned, holding his black fedora tightly to his head. "This stupid piece of junk... what're you looking at?" he snapped at Rael. Rael was looking at Al Bundy's feet. Al Bundy was wearing sandals...
Rael lumbered to his own, more ostrichy, feet. "Sandal!" he would have said, but, as has been said before, ostriches can't talk. Al Bundy raised an eyebrow. "That's silly," he muttered to himself. "Ostriches can't talk..." He backed away nonetheless. "How did you get here, my beautiful sandal?" Rael didn't ask. "My time and space travelling hat," Al Bundy replied automatically, then blinked. "Am I ... talking... to an ostrich?" "Give me your sandal!" Rael didn't yell, and ran towards the glorious piece of footwear. Al Bundy yelped, for whether or not ostriches can talk, they can certainly run, and wouldn't you run if the worlds largest bird was running straight at you?
"What the--?!" cried Al, twisting his fedora around on his head in a desperate attempt to escape. "Sandal," Rael didn't moan. He was catching up... "Sandal!" he most certainly did not triumphantly squawk as he dove forward, his beak latching onto Al's sandals, just as Mr. Bundy's fedora glowed dark puce. The fedora squeaked and wiggled, and then the hat, the Bundy, the ostrich and the sandal all flashed a lighter shade of puce (with just a touch of sea green), and were suddenly not there, much to the surprise of a little frog sitting on a log nearby.
Al and Rael both let out a yelp (Al's more deep, Rael's more a squawk) as they found themselves in Romania, in 1834. How they knew this, no one knows, but perhaps one of them was psychic. Or maybe one of them was adept at reading trees. Or maybe there was a handy plaque.
"Ostrich, I don't think we're in Zimbabwe anymore," groaned Al. He paused a moment to make sure the hat was firmly on his head, then thought a second. "And could you possibly get off me before you crush my ribs into the ground?" The ostrich's lunge had carried a bit too far.
Rael quickly got up, and as Al was about to the ostrich saw his chance. As Al sat up, Rael bent his head down, his beak latched onto a sandal, and ripped it from Al's foot.
"Ouch!" cried Al, and he glared as the ostrich quickly ate the sandal. "NOW what am I going to wear?" he demanded.
"Mmmm," Rael didn't say, savoring the taste.
Al Bundy sighed, and began looking around with amazement at the trees, the fog, the... more trees. The fedora suddenly exploded into a shower of sea-green/puce octagon-shaped bits of confetti. "How am I going to get home now?" Al yelped, beating at his flaming hair. But that was no concern of Rael, the ostrich who certainly couldn't talk. After all - he had a sandal. He was content to live happily ever after, wherever and whenever he was.