This story starts with the assumption that you know who *He* is. If you
don't, shame on you. Where have you been the past fifty-six years? :Mutters
incoherently:
Once upon a time in a land far, far away, Gumlick, Rickmaniac, Megan, and Wil all decided to go on holiday to Iceland. They all sat it Rickmaniac's bedroom finishing off their packing when suddenly Wil looked up from under the bed. She had been looking for a stray sock when she had the misfortune to bump her head, and had been lying unconscious under the piece of bedroom furniture for over three months.
"When are we leaving?" she asked obtrusively, startling Megan and Gumlick, who hadn't realized she'd gone.
"Get out from under the bed, you silly twit. We're leaving now, and we are going to Iceland," Rickmaniac ordered. Wil looked frankly flaccid.
"Why Iceland? *He's* not there," Megan protested.
"We need a break from *him*," decided Gumlick, packing in a four-foot-by- six-foot poster of the said Alan Rickman, a mug and a t-shirt emblazoned with pictures of her idol, and a tiny bottle containing nothing in particular which she swore was a strand of his hair.
"Capital 'H', you fool!" Megan reprimanded, and was regarded with an icy stare. "We'd better leave now or we won't make the check in time."
"I haven't packed!" Wil complained loudly.
"Here," Rickmaniac tossed her a handbag which was by her feet. Wil frantically grabbed the nearest three items, which happened to be knickers, her passport and her ticket, and shoved them in the bag. She then rolled out from under the bed and dashed after the retreating figures of Gumlick, Megan and Rickmaniac.
A forthrightly ridiculous car journey ensued, in which they changed taxis eight times and hit six others for insulting their 'Give Me Alan Rickman or Give Me Death', 'I Hate Luvvies (Alan Rickman Is Definitely Not One)' ' Heaven is not a Halfpipe - It Is Alan Rickman Coated In Chocolate' and 'Kiss Me, I'm a Rickmaniac' T-Shirts. After much fighting in the back seat they finally got to the right terminal and stood at the end of the queue for the check-in desks.
"'MYT-9976' Flight to Gerona," Gumlick said, reading the ticket. There was an inconspicuous silence in which Wil went extremely pale.
"What is wrong with you, girl?" Megan suddenly asked, seeing Wil's face go the same colour as fusty custard.
"Gerona is in SPAIN, not ICELAND, you fools!" she exclaimed, jumping up and down and almost knocking over the avid map-reading backpacker and accompanying trolley behind her. "Which idiot booked the bloody tickets?"
"You did," Gumlick, Rickmaniac and Megan said in unison. Wil looked exasperated until they reached the check in desk, where she glared unceremoniously at anyone who decided to look at her. The Rickmaniacs handed in their luggage - which thankfully wasn't much - and proceeded to the departure lounge where they went to the arcade to see if anyone had invented a Galaxy Quest game yet.
"I don't actually mind going to Spain," Rickmaniac mused, staring into space. (Or the rather geriatric Space Invaders game that clung to the wall like mold which a group of small German children were clustered around) "How do you know about Gerona anyway?"
"I went there once with my family. It's quite near Barcelona," Wil said, absent mindedly kicking the game machine next to her, which just happened to have a picture of Kevin Costner on it.
"I like the sound of Barcelona," Rickmaniac decided, immediately launching into 'Barcelona' by Queen and Monserrat Caballe with Gumlick and Megan. Wil wandered off unnoticeably, hoping no-one would assume she was with the singing trio, which now had a rather large crowd gathered around them. However, the wandering off backfired and Gumlick, Rickmaniac and Megan made $6 that day and now currently launch into song when requested, much to the delight of onlookers.
The Gate number was soon announced and the Rickmaniacs hurried to the room, rushing to be the first. On finding the right door, they sank into the not- so-comfy seats and waited for their seats to be called. Suddenly, Megan jumped three foot off her chair and landed on the floor.
"What was that for?" Gumlick asked incredulously. "The woman at the check in desk - she looks like Alan Rickman!" she squeaked. The other three looked in the direction she was frantically pointing at, where a blond-haired woman stood leaning against the desk. She did look surprisingly like the Rick-meister, with a long, aquiline nose, narrow, accusing eyes and a long face. "My God," Wil said, aghast.
"It's Alan Rickman in disguise!" Rickmaniac proclaimed. There was a confused silence, in which the Rickmaniacs sat in thought.
"D'you think it is him? I mean, he can't exactly travel overseas, even in VIP class without someone recognizing him and wanting to snog him," Megan mused. "Jesus, Alan in drag.." Gumlick muttered, looking imperturbably at Wil as she got up off the seat and addressed the woman. Rickmaniac and Megan soon followed their friend, and Gumlick felt obliged to go with them.
"Excuse me, I don't meant to be rude, but are you a man?" Wil asked brusquely. Rickmaniac's and Gumlick's eyes widened at her frankness. "I beg your pardon?" the woman asked.
"Well, me and my friends here just noticed you had an uncanny resemblance to the actor Alan Rickman," Wil continued. The woman was staring at her assailant. "Just what, exactly, are you saying?" She asked, but Wil wasn't listening. She was watching an old woman walking across the room.
"Good God, it's *Him* !" She muttered, walking off to accost the pensioner. The blonde-woman's attention now turned to the remaining Rickmaniacs.
"Uh...us? No, we don't know her, nothing to do with her," Rickmaniac assured the stranger, grabbing Wil as she chased after the now galloping pensioner and shoving her through the gate door.
"Jesus Christ, three months and six hours without Alan Rickman and she's seeing him everywhere!" Gumlick groaned, handing all four tickets to be befuddled air hostess at the door. Wil was unceremoniously thrown into the window seat to prevent further attacks on strangers, and started reading through the in-flight magazine.
"On behalf of British Airways we would like to welcome you abroad this flight to Gerona. We hope your time on this plane is pleasant, and if there is any way we can further enhance your travel, please let us know. Duty free, along with details of in-flight entertainment can be found in the pocket in front of you. There is currently a safety demonstration, please watch it even if you are a regular flier." The tannoy said.
Suddenly, there was a loud, groaning, squeaky noise from Wil and she threw the in-flight magazine into the air in frustration. An awkward silence ensued until Megan picked up the abandoned and maltreated magazine.
"Blow Dry me down," she exclaimed. "I'm going to complain to the management!" She stood up, unsuccessfully, because she had neglected to remember she had put her seatbelt on. She snapped it off in frustration and tried to stand up again, but forgot about the low ceiling and promptly knocked herself out. Gumlick took hold of the magazine, which had now turned into a sort of feeble Olympic baton.
"Excuse me," she yelled loudly, interrupting the demonstration. "There is a gross overlook in this magazine. I don't know if we can start the flight without it!"
The nearest air-hostess looked stuffily at the four Rickmaniacs and took the magazine out of Gumlick's flailing hands.
"What?"
"There is no Alan Rickman in it anywhere. Not a speck, smidgeon, fleck, fragment, spot, dot, scrap or iota of *Him* to sustain the normal Rickmaniac. It's simply not amenable to our demands!"
"I'm sorry, madam, we can't stop the flight for that. We have to make the time slot," the hostess apologized.
"Not even the 'In Demand' video?" Rickmaniac questioned meekly.
"Afraid not." The hostess waited for the news to settle in, maybe even an answer, but all four Rickmaniacs unexpectedly started shuddering and foaming at the mouth. The hostess was frightened and managed to fall backwards on to the lap of an extremely fat, greasy businessman who leered at her. Fortunately, there was a doctor on board who advised them what to do, and hence the Rickmaniac's flight to Spain was one with them wrapped up with industrial strength duck-tape and locked in the hold. Upon arriving in Gerona, they went around the luggage carousel forty-three times before jumping off and getting a confused Japanese tourist to untie them all.
"That is the last time I travel BA!" decided Wil.
At the resort, the Rickmaniacs all decided to go out for a meal, leaving their baggage in their rooms. There was a nice little restaurant down the road where you could get paella, so Megan and Gumlick shared paella, Rickmaniac bought some Pringles, and Wil got some mashed potato, and they sat outside watching the other tourists.
"I have something to say that may shock and amaze you," Megan said. "The waiter looks exactly like Alan Rickman." Gumlick groaned and went head- first into the paella, and spent the next hour getting bits of spaghetti out of her hair.
"I think we all need to go see a psychiatrist," decided Rickmaniac. "It's more manic obsessive than just plain disturbed."
"Hey look!" Wil yelled suddenly, standing and pointing at the untouched mashed potato. A few people from the nearest tables bent to see, and Megan started screaming. "It looks like Kevin Costner!" exclaimed Gumlick.
"Kill it! Kill it! It's got no dick!" Rickmaniac yelled, being splattered by mash seconds later as Wil took a meat-axe off the wall and executed an excellent blow to the offending plate. There was a silence, and a low whine emerged from all the Rickmaniacs before they fled the scene.
Once upon a time in a land far, far away, Gumlick, Rickmaniac, Megan, and Wil all decided to go on holiday to Iceland. They all sat it Rickmaniac's bedroom finishing off their packing when suddenly Wil looked up from under the bed. She had been looking for a stray sock when she had the misfortune to bump her head, and had been lying unconscious under the piece of bedroom furniture for over three months.
"When are we leaving?" she asked obtrusively, startling Megan and Gumlick, who hadn't realized she'd gone.
"Get out from under the bed, you silly twit. We're leaving now, and we are going to Iceland," Rickmaniac ordered. Wil looked frankly flaccid.
"Why Iceland? *He's* not there," Megan protested.
"We need a break from *him*," decided Gumlick, packing in a four-foot-by- six-foot poster of the said Alan Rickman, a mug and a t-shirt emblazoned with pictures of her idol, and a tiny bottle containing nothing in particular which she swore was a strand of his hair.
"Capital 'H', you fool!" Megan reprimanded, and was regarded with an icy stare. "We'd better leave now or we won't make the check in time."
"I haven't packed!" Wil complained loudly.
"Here," Rickmaniac tossed her a handbag which was by her feet. Wil frantically grabbed the nearest three items, which happened to be knickers, her passport and her ticket, and shoved them in the bag. She then rolled out from under the bed and dashed after the retreating figures of Gumlick, Megan and Rickmaniac.
A forthrightly ridiculous car journey ensued, in which they changed taxis eight times and hit six others for insulting their 'Give Me Alan Rickman or Give Me Death', 'I Hate Luvvies (Alan Rickman Is Definitely Not One)' ' Heaven is not a Halfpipe - It Is Alan Rickman Coated In Chocolate' and 'Kiss Me, I'm a Rickmaniac' T-Shirts. After much fighting in the back seat they finally got to the right terminal and stood at the end of the queue for the check-in desks.
"'MYT-9976' Flight to Gerona," Gumlick said, reading the ticket. There was an inconspicuous silence in which Wil went extremely pale.
"What is wrong with you, girl?" Megan suddenly asked, seeing Wil's face go the same colour as fusty custard.
"Gerona is in SPAIN, not ICELAND, you fools!" she exclaimed, jumping up and down and almost knocking over the avid map-reading backpacker and accompanying trolley behind her. "Which idiot booked the bloody tickets?"
"You did," Gumlick, Rickmaniac and Megan said in unison. Wil looked exasperated until they reached the check in desk, where she glared unceremoniously at anyone who decided to look at her. The Rickmaniacs handed in their luggage - which thankfully wasn't much - and proceeded to the departure lounge where they went to the arcade to see if anyone had invented a Galaxy Quest game yet.
"I don't actually mind going to Spain," Rickmaniac mused, staring into space. (Or the rather geriatric Space Invaders game that clung to the wall like mold which a group of small German children were clustered around) "How do you know about Gerona anyway?"
"I went there once with my family. It's quite near Barcelona," Wil said, absent mindedly kicking the game machine next to her, which just happened to have a picture of Kevin Costner on it.
"I like the sound of Barcelona," Rickmaniac decided, immediately launching into 'Barcelona' by Queen and Monserrat Caballe with Gumlick and Megan. Wil wandered off unnoticeably, hoping no-one would assume she was with the singing trio, which now had a rather large crowd gathered around them. However, the wandering off backfired and Gumlick, Rickmaniac and Megan made $6 that day and now currently launch into song when requested, much to the delight of onlookers.
The Gate number was soon announced and the Rickmaniacs hurried to the room, rushing to be the first. On finding the right door, they sank into the not- so-comfy seats and waited for their seats to be called. Suddenly, Megan jumped three foot off her chair and landed on the floor.
"What was that for?" Gumlick asked incredulously. "The woman at the check in desk - she looks like Alan Rickman!" she squeaked. The other three looked in the direction she was frantically pointing at, where a blond-haired woman stood leaning against the desk. She did look surprisingly like the Rick-meister, with a long, aquiline nose, narrow, accusing eyes and a long face. "My God," Wil said, aghast.
"It's Alan Rickman in disguise!" Rickmaniac proclaimed. There was a confused silence, in which the Rickmaniacs sat in thought.
"D'you think it is him? I mean, he can't exactly travel overseas, even in VIP class without someone recognizing him and wanting to snog him," Megan mused. "Jesus, Alan in drag.." Gumlick muttered, looking imperturbably at Wil as she got up off the seat and addressed the woman. Rickmaniac and Megan soon followed their friend, and Gumlick felt obliged to go with them.
"Excuse me, I don't meant to be rude, but are you a man?" Wil asked brusquely. Rickmaniac's and Gumlick's eyes widened at her frankness. "I beg your pardon?" the woman asked.
"Well, me and my friends here just noticed you had an uncanny resemblance to the actor Alan Rickman," Wil continued. The woman was staring at her assailant. "Just what, exactly, are you saying?" She asked, but Wil wasn't listening. She was watching an old woman walking across the room.
"Good God, it's *Him* !" She muttered, walking off to accost the pensioner. The blonde-woman's attention now turned to the remaining Rickmaniacs.
"Uh...us? No, we don't know her, nothing to do with her," Rickmaniac assured the stranger, grabbing Wil as she chased after the now galloping pensioner and shoving her through the gate door.
"Jesus Christ, three months and six hours without Alan Rickman and she's seeing him everywhere!" Gumlick groaned, handing all four tickets to be befuddled air hostess at the door. Wil was unceremoniously thrown into the window seat to prevent further attacks on strangers, and started reading through the in-flight magazine.
"On behalf of British Airways we would like to welcome you abroad this flight to Gerona. We hope your time on this plane is pleasant, and if there is any way we can further enhance your travel, please let us know. Duty free, along with details of in-flight entertainment can be found in the pocket in front of you. There is currently a safety demonstration, please watch it even if you are a regular flier." The tannoy said.
Suddenly, there was a loud, groaning, squeaky noise from Wil and she threw the in-flight magazine into the air in frustration. An awkward silence ensued until Megan picked up the abandoned and maltreated magazine.
"Blow Dry me down," she exclaimed. "I'm going to complain to the management!" She stood up, unsuccessfully, because she had neglected to remember she had put her seatbelt on. She snapped it off in frustration and tried to stand up again, but forgot about the low ceiling and promptly knocked herself out. Gumlick took hold of the magazine, which had now turned into a sort of feeble Olympic baton.
"Excuse me," she yelled loudly, interrupting the demonstration. "There is a gross overlook in this magazine. I don't know if we can start the flight without it!"
The nearest air-hostess looked stuffily at the four Rickmaniacs and took the magazine out of Gumlick's flailing hands.
"What?"
"There is no Alan Rickman in it anywhere. Not a speck, smidgeon, fleck, fragment, spot, dot, scrap or iota of *Him* to sustain the normal Rickmaniac. It's simply not amenable to our demands!"
"I'm sorry, madam, we can't stop the flight for that. We have to make the time slot," the hostess apologized.
"Not even the 'In Demand' video?" Rickmaniac questioned meekly.
"Afraid not." The hostess waited for the news to settle in, maybe even an answer, but all four Rickmaniacs unexpectedly started shuddering and foaming at the mouth. The hostess was frightened and managed to fall backwards on to the lap of an extremely fat, greasy businessman who leered at her. Fortunately, there was a doctor on board who advised them what to do, and hence the Rickmaniac's flight to Spain was one with them wrapped up with industrial strength duck-tape and locked in the hold. Upon arriving in Gerona, they went around the luggage carousel forty-three times before jumping off and getting a confused Japanese tourist to untie them all.
"That is the last time I travel BA!" decided Wil.
At the resort, the Rickmaniacs all decided to go out for a meal, leaving their baggage in their rooms. There was a nice little restaurant down the road where you could get paella, so Megan and Gumlick shared paella, Rickmaniac bought some Pringles, and Wil got some mashed potato, and they sat outside watching the other tourists.
"I have something to say that may shock and amaze you," Megan said. "The waiter looks exactly like Alan Rickman." Gumlick groaned and went head- first into the paella, and spent the next hour getting bits of spaghetti out of her hair.
"I think we all need to go see a psychiatrist," decided Rickmaniac. "It's more manic obsessive than just plain disturbed."
"Hey look!" Wil yelled suddenly, standing and pointing at the untouched mashed potato. A few people from the nearest tables bent to see, and Megan started screaming. "It looks like Kevin Costner!" exclaimed Gumlick.
"Kill it! Kill it! It's got no dick!" Rickmaniac yelled, being splattered by mash seconds later as Wil took a meat-axe off the wall and executed an excellent blow to the offending plate. There was a silence, and a low whine emerged from all the Rickmaniacs before they fled the scene.