Weird Times have occured...
AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHHH
Dante could now see that he was no taller than Mini Phil.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
<END SNIP>
"So hang on." said Dean, sitting down on a cold hard sofa. "None of us are
who we thought we were? I'm not Dean Thomas... I'm not Dean Thomas!" He
brightened up at that thought.
"Yes, but I'm a smeggin' hobo." said Seymour, his voice guttural and
tramp-like.
"And I'm a midget!" said Dante, still looking in bewilderment at how close
teh floor was.
Just then, the nurse came back in. "Ok, here are the keys for your cases,
they're over there in the cupboard... just help yourselves. But we recommend
you don't leave the building until your memory comes back." With that, the
nurse left.
The three of them sat staring at the keys lying on the table.
"Who first?" asked Dean. Eventually.
"You." said Seymour, or the man who had been known as Seymour, "I can't face
teh prospect of my things."
"Ditto." said Dante, "Goat Porn galore..." he muttered.
"Ok." Dean got up, and reached for the keys and put them into the lock on a
case.
"This is for a Mister Neville Thompson." he said, and opened it up. The
odour of piss rose from a steaming coat inside it. "Yours I think Seymour,
sorry, Neville." he said, chucking it at the hobo's feet. "Bon appetit."
"Yak piss." said Neville, not daring to touch it.
"Right." said Dean, "Case 2. Mister....Matthew Philips." The case opened.
"Well, you were half-right Dante."
"Hmm?" said Matthew, coming back from his dream... "what?"
"You do indeed have porn. Not goat porn, but instead incredibly kinky and
disgusting, degrading porn."
"What's my name then?" he asked
"Matthew Philips."
"Great... same bloody initials as Mini Phil." he muttered, toddling, for
that's what midgets do, over to the case.
"Which leaves me." said Dean.
He inserted the key into the lock, and turned, and opened it.
"Bloody hell!" said Dean.
"Smeg! How come I didn't get that?" asked Matthew.
"Sure that's not my box?" asked Neville
"Fraid not. Passport looks like me. I think, that is, provided that our
faces haven't changed."
"They haven't." said Neville, bitterly, staring once again at his yak piss
odoured coat. "What's your name then?"
"John Retton." He took out all sorts, a gold rolex, an expensive PDA, a
mobile phone with all the latest features, and a wallet bulging with cash.
"The question is..." said John, "why would a midget, a hobo, and some rich
dude be playing a computer game together?"
"No." corrected Matthew, "the question is, where'd you get all that smeggin'
fantastic stuff from?"
"I'll tell you." said Neville, who was flipping through John's ID.
"Where?" asked John.
"Irony of ironies...look for yourself." he passed it to John.
"President of Mars?"
"That's right." said Neville
"Mars?" asked Matthew, "that's teh really, really, really, really, really,
really, really wealthy planet full of rich geezers isn't it?"
"Yup." said Neville.
"Smeg." said Matthew and John together.
Dean, no, sorry, John Retton
<OOC: Sorry about long gap in posting, been busy...>