"Who gave them permission to film in OUR STUDIO?!" and John slammed his fist on the desk.

"I don't know," said George, tuning in his guitar, "But when we do find out they're going to get it."

"No one gave them permission you guys," said Paul, sitting across the other side of the room, "And why do we have to meet up in John's house anyway. It smells of cats."

"I like cats," said John, and suddenly, the telephone rang.

Ringo picked up the phone.

"Who is it?!" asked Ringo.

"This is Liverpool Fire Department..." said a gruff voice at the other end of the phone, "We want to speak to you regarding the incedent at Abbey Road Studios."

"Ok..." said Ringo, "We'll be right there," and he hung up the phone.

"Who was it?" asked George, who had finally tuned his guitar.

"DAMN IT GUYS IT'S THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!!!!!" yelled Ringo, "I THINK THEY KNOW WE SET FIRE TO THE STUDIO!!"

"OUR studio," Paul corrected, "And what can they do anyway, WE'RE THE BEATLES. How many other people do you know who are the Beatles?"

"Yeah," said John, "We can just use our fame to get us out of this like everything else, but just to be on the same side, I'm going to go out and dump all this gasoline somewhere."

"Yeah, you do that," shrugged Paul, as John rushed outside into the garden.

John opened the door of the dusty shed in the corner of the garden, and pulled out the gasoline.

"Damn it!" yelled John, "These are too heavy to lift!"

When suddenly, John heard a noise behind him.

George was driving a fork lift truck.

"Thought you might need some help lifting those!" laughed George.

George picked up all the gasoline and depostited it into the truck which was parked in the driveway.

Then, the four set off to dispose of the gasoline any way they could.