Bill and Ted sat on their recording stage, bored.
"Whatdya wanna do?" Bill asked.
"I dunno, waterloo?"
"Good thinking, dude!" they got up and jogged over to Bill's house, where they kept their booth. Climbing in, Ted started to dial, but Bill tripped on his shoelaces and crashed into Ted, causing him to misdial.
Their booth plummeted through the canopy of trees, screeching as the branches scraped against the glass. They landed with a thunk.
Man, it's hot! Ted thought, ten minutes later. They had figured out that the antenna had been broken off sometime during the fall. Bill was perched atop the booth, struggling to , once again, fix the booth.
Ted, bored, wandered off through the trees. All of a sudden, his foot caught on a root and he fell face first into a thick mud puddle.
After trying uselessly to brush himself off, he decided he was going to have to wash himself off in the river he saw earlier. Coming to the edge of the river, Ted proceeded to strip off his clothes. He then descended into the cool, refreshing water, goose bumps breaking out on his tanned body. After submerging himself, he shook his hair out of his deep chocolate brown eyes, spraying droplets of water flying through the air, sparkling like diamonds in the sun.
Grabbing his mud-encrusted clothes, he then leaned over a rock and began to scrub the dirt out, muscles working overtime under his well-tanned skin. His shoulders rippled from the effort. As he stood up, the sun glinted off his buttocks, outlining him like an ancient Roman god entombed in marble. Just then, Bill's voice rang out telling him it was time to go home.
Ted pulled his shorts back on, walking back toward the time machine, the muscles in his chest set off by the redness of the setting sun.