"Looks like we're passing over Chicago about now," one of the guards on the prison transport plane said his partner, staring out the starboard side window.

"Yep; looks beautiful," his associate nodded, "That means probably about another three hours to California."

"It'll go by in no time, and then we can dump this bunch," the first guard pointed to the set of prisoners shackled in holding cells around the plane, "where they'll never come out again."

He and his colleague walked off, not noticing that their exit was being intensely watched by the man in the cell on the far left wall with the red hair and mustache. "Finally," he muttered softly, a dark grin spreading on his face, "I'm coming home, Ferris, and it's not going to be pretty..."

He glanced around to make sure no guards were visible before lifting up his tongue, revealing the lock pick hidden underneath it. He bent down to grab it, then jammed it into the locks to his restraints. He'd waited two months for this moment. Two months stuck in maximum security in Washington, D.C. after that filthy brat had gotten him arrested on attempted murder charges. Two months of having to endure a sentence of fifty years to life with a large, hairy cellmate who, from the look in his eyes, had been very eager to make him his boyfriend. But then had come his reprieve: the judge had ordered him transferred out to the West Coast to serve the rest of his sentence there, well away from those whose blood he now coveted. He had realized after heavy thought on the matter that the plane's flight would almost certainly take him over Chicago. He had then spent several hours in the prison library, studying the layouts of the type of transport plane that would likely be used for the trip, ultimately finalizing his plan down to the last detail. And now that they were over the Windy City, it was time to put it into effect.

And that would mean curtains for Ferris Bueller. Because absolutely no one made a fool out of Edward R. Rooney and got away with it.

In about a minute and a half, he'd managed to unlock all his restraints. He then twisted the pick against the bolts on the back of the lock to the cell door, unscrewing them. Houdini, he knew, had escaped from a safe this way many a time, and he was determined to do the same. Once the back of the lock was off, he grabbed hold of the springs and pulled them hard in different directions until a loud click signaled he'd unlocked the door with one of his guesses. Now speed would be his game, to get to the rear cargo ramp as fast as he could...

He shoved the door open and took off running towards the stern to cheers of the other prisoners traveling with him-which unfortunately signaled the guards that something was amiss. "Hey, Rooney, get back here!" came the furious shout from the other end of the plane, followed by a shot ringing out. Rooney ducked out of its way and charged rapidly down the stairs to the lower level. Only one guard stood between him and the door to the cargo hold. The man was taking a drink of coffee and not paying full attention to his surroundings. Rooney plowed into him before he could react, knocking him down. He grabbed the keys off him and started turning them in the lock to the cargo hold. "Rooney, freeze!" came another guard's shout behind him, right as the correct key turned in the lock. Rooney ducked the bullet, threw the door open, and jumped inside in a flash. He relocked the door from the inside, shoved several nearby crates against it to block the guards from coming in, threw the lever to open the bay doors, and grabbed a parachute off the wall. The guards pounded on the heavy door, trying to break it down. "So long, suckers!" Rooney shouted through the window at them, flashing them an obscene gesture as a parting shot. He rushed to edge of the ramp and stared down at the lights of the greater Chicago metropolitan area below him. "Here I come, Ferris!" he shouted down at the city before jumping off and free falling downward. After ten seconds, he pulled the ripcord, opening the chute with a snap. Rooney laughed hard in triumph. His plan had gone about as flawlessly as it could have. Now he could concentrate on his revenge.

He glanced at the ground below him. Judging by where Lake Michigan seemed to be on his right, it looked like he would be coming down in Northbrook. This was not a problem, he knew, as Northbrook was no more than a ten minute drive from Shermer. He could easily catch a ride there from someone, even at this late hour. The descent to the ground took about three more minutes before Rooney came crashing to a landing in a tree inside a park in downtown Northbrook. He unhooked himself-falling rapidly to the ground, given he had not bothered to brace himself on anything. Groaning, he got up and dusted himself off, then glanced around. No one seemed to be around. Perfect. He trudged out of the bushes and down one of the paths in the park. His best bet, he reasoned, would be to hail down a cab, have it take him into Shermer, and go from there, as long as he could figure out how not to pay the driver when...

"Hey, you, give me a dollar," came the call to his left. A man was stumbling towards him from a bench with his arm extended. "Forget it, pal, I don't have time!" Rooney barked at him, trying to stomp away.

"Look, just one dollar, I'm not asking for...!" the man grabbed his arm...and frowned. "Ed!?" he asked incredulously.

"How did...Richard!?" Rooney gasped himself to see that the newcomer was in fact his former boss, the former Shermer School District Superintendent-albeit now much thinner and with a beard, "What are you doing here!?"

"I could ask you the same question, Ed. I thought you were in maximum security for what happened in Washington?"

"I was, but not anymore. Edward R. Rooney found the way out of the problem," Rooney snickered, "But what's happened to you, Richard?"

"I lost the house in the divorce; the judge gave Irene everything," his old friend muttered in disgust, plopping back down on the bench, "I had to plea bargain with Johnson's family, otherwise I'd still be in jail now. I got thirty days, but the judge fined me for every cent I had to my name, and when I got out, Irene had filed for divorce and gotten everything awarded to her. I've been living in my car since then, begging for money like this. And you don't know how much it hurts for Richard P. Vernon to beg, Ed...!" he growled, rage crossing his face. "I know it was that filthy John Bender's fault; he turned Johnson and everyone else against me! If I could just get my hands on him and the rest of those little...!"

"I can give you that chance, Richard," Rooney sat down next to him, "I escaped to extract my pound of flesh from Ferris. Join me, and we can do the same to John Bender and the rest of his dirty Lunch Club, or whatever you said they started calling themselves. We'll take them all out, teach them a cold, hard lesson about crossing us."

"Ed, are you suggesting cold-blooded murder?" Vernon looked unsure, "I want John Bender to pay, yes, but..."

"Then why not have him pay the ultimate price? Come on, Richard, you know you want to. Give in to the hate; he needs to be taught his cold, hard lesson that men like us are not to be crossed. Come with me, and get back your self-respect. Make sure the world doesn't have to suffer having him, or any of the rest of them, in it," Rooney urged him.

"Well..." Vernon thought hard. A dark look then spread on his own face. "Yeah, yeah, you're right, Ed," he said coldly, rising to his feet, "Those kids need to pay for ruining our lives and disrespecting the system. Besides, we've got nothing left to lose right now anyway, and if we win, we rid the world of a bunch of undeserving lice; once people realize it, maybe we can even get reinstated."

"I'd rather burn Shermer High down or blow it up," Rooney muttered, "But, glad to have you aboard, partner," he shook Vernon's hand, "All right, where're you parked?"

"Other side of the park, Ed," Vernon waved the former principal to follow him. "But Ed," he turned back towards him, "If I'm doing this with you, we start with John Bender first. He needs to pay the most out of anyone."

"Well, if you insist, Richard. But we burn down the Buellers' house before we're done with our mission, preferably with all of them in it; I want no trace of him or his family to remain in this town at all."


And so, a half hour later, Vernon pounded loudly on the door of 666 Fern St. "What's the plan again?" he asked Rooney with a frown.

"I don't know; we'll see what we've got inside," Rooney responded, ringing the doorbell repeatedly. The door finally was flung open. "What the hell do you want!?" a furious-and clearly still drunk-Mr. Bender shouted at them.

"Richard Vernon and Ed Rooney, Art; we need to talk about John," the former superintendent told him.

"Go away; it's four in the morning!" Mr. Bender snarled, closing the door. Rooney jammed his foot into the doorframe, blocking it. "Art, we're not leaving until we see John, so get him down here," he ordered the man.

"Go to hell, Rooney!" Mr. Bender slurred, spitting at his feet, "And wait, weren't you and he canned?" he pointed at Vernon, "That means I don't gotta do anything for you...!"

"Art, either get him down here now, or we're coming in!" Vernon threatened him.

"No you're not! A man's home is his castle, and I'm not letting you in without...!" Mr. Bender started to tell them off. In a flash, Rooney shoved him to the floor and threw the door open. He and Vernon rushed inside and up the stairs to the second floor. "John, this is Richard Vernon, wake up and open up!" the former superintendent pounded hard on Bender's bedroom door. There was no response from inside. "John, either open up, or we're coming in on three!" he ordered, "One, two, three!"

He kicked the door open and barged in-only to find the room empty. "Where the hell is he!?" he shouted, glancing around.

"He must have been in here before and sneaked out," Rooney gestured at the wide open window near the desk, the light of which was on, "He must have...what have we here?" he picked up a folded map from the desk, one on which the section facing up had a location circled. "Lake Olafsson?" he mused, staring at it, "Very interesting, wouldn't you say, Richard?"

"Hmm, look at this too," Vernon picked up a piece of paper that had been laying next to the map and stared at it, "Do these names look familiar, Ed...?"

"Oh yes indeed," Rooney grinned, recognizing all the names on it, each of which had check marks next to them, "It looks like everyone we want's going to be all together in one..."

There came a cocking sound behind them. Both former educators spun to find themselves staring down the barrels of a double-barreled shotgun. "All right you two, I want you out of my house right now!" Mr. Bender roared at them, "And if you're not out by five, you're leaving feet first in an ambulance!"

"Please, Art, don't kid us," Rooney laughed, unfazed, "If you really think you're a threat to us when you're clearly as drunk as you are..."

"I'm sober enough put you two in your graves!" Mr. Bender bellowed, swaying drunkenly on his feet, "And don't think I won't do it...!"

"You know what, Art, just shut up!" Vernon shouted, "It's your fault the little cretin ended up the way he did! I have you to blame for him making my Saturdays miserable, as well as making every other teacher in the Shermer School District miserable! You really deserve to pay the price as much as he does!"

"One, three, five!" Mr. Bender pulled the trigger, but the gun misfired. Vernon grabbed it away from him, reared back, and smashed him hard across the face with the handle. He then grabbed Mr. Bender by the collar and hurled him hard down the stairs, then rushed down after him and continued pummeling him with the shotgun handle until the man's face was a bloody mess. "And if he comes back, Art, tell him he's got the same coming for him!" he shouted at his visibly unconscious victim.

"He's probably not coming back, Richard; he's probably going to Lake Olafsson, for whatever reason," Rooney called down from the top of the stairs, "So that's where we're going; if we hurry, we can beat them there."

"So where are you going!?" Vernon protested, seeing Rooney rushing down the hall to Mr. Bender's room.

"Getting his clothes to wear; I can't very well go out in a prison uniform!"

"Well hurry it up, Ed; the neighbors are bound to have heard all the ruckus in here and called the cops!" Vernon urged him on. "Oh well, Richard, you wanted some excitement back in your life again," he mumbled to himself, pacing impatiently in a circle, "And if it does mean getting the last laugh on that creep John Bender, it'll be worth it..."


"I can't believe you actually talked John Bender into coming along for this," an amazed Sloane Petersen admitted again to Ferris from the passenger seat of their Ferrari, now weaving its way towards the rendezvous point at the James Hill Supermarket in the early morning light, "But do you really think he and the rest of his new circle are going to come along in the end?"

"I don't think, Sloane my dear, I know," Ferris assured her.

"How?"

"I could see in his eyes that I'd convinced him. And besides," Ferris glanced into the rearview mirror, "If they didn't say yes, this would be an awfully short story."

He eased to a stop at the last red light before the supermarket and stroked Sloane's hair. "And of course, I'm so glad the most important girl in my life was able to come along too," he told her warmly, giving her a kiss on her cheek, "It wouldn't be the same without you along for the ride."

"You know I live for the thrill of the adventure as much as you do," she teased him. Ferris nodded knowingly and turned left into the currently abandoned supermarket parking lot. The sun was just starting to rise in the east as he eased into a parking space. Cameron, driving the second Ferrari now registered in the Buellers' name, pulled in next to him. "Do you think we'll have to wait long, Ferris?" he asked his best friend, climbing out of the car.

"I told them six o'clock, so it shouldn't be too much longer," Ferris checked his watch, "Now it looks like we..."

His attention was distracted by the wailing of sirens on the road behind them. A police car and an ambulance were screaming down the road in the direction they'd come. "Hmm, wonder what that's all about?" he mused out loud, then shrugged. "Oh well, probably not our concern. Nothing's our concern for the next week..."

"That's the best kind of trip; no need to worry about anyone breathing down our necks," Sloane agreed. "The cover is in place, though?" she inquired.

"When John called to confirm everyone, it was my understanding it was," Ferris told her, "We'll confirm when they arrive, of course..."

"Of course," she nodded. "You know, I would have never thought back at the beginning of the year that I would ever see five people as disparate as John Bender, Andrew Clark, Claire Standish, Brian Johnson, and Allison Reynolds as an even remotely close-knit group of friends," she mused out loud, "What exactly do you suppose happened in that detention they all had to serve that brought them together like that?"

"Who knows, Sloane, but the important thing is, it did bring them together. And I like it," Ferris said with a smile, "The more walls that can be broken down in this world, the better. That's why I chose to invite them along; to try and break down a few more walls before we all have to go our separate ways. Sometimes the moments you can share with a stranger are just a good as the ones you have with friends."

"Can I have that in writing?" Cameron inquired, not completely convinced. He turned at the sound of a horn from the road. "Is that them?" he asked.

"Has to be; only the Standishes could afford a car that expensive in this town," Sloane told him, noting the sleek black convertible pulling into the parking lot.

"Yep, that's them. Cam, keys," Ferris extended his hand to his best friend, who handed over the keys to the second Ferrari. He approached the newcomers as they pulled to a stop next to his own car. "Morning everyone; who's up for a trip to the North Woods?" he asked everyone inside.

"Like I said, Bueller, no tricks on this or else," Bender warned him, climbing out of the front passenger seat.

"Word of honor, John, no tricks," Ferris raised his hand as if under oath, "And since you didn't get to go along with the rest of us on the senior class trip to Washington, consider this my way of making that up to you."

"Whatever. But remember, Bueller, I hate the president, and I'm not doing anything to kiss his backside, even for you, his new best friend," Bender grumbled. Ferris paid him no heed. "Claire so fair, with the lovely red hair, good to see you," he greeted the convertible's driver as she climbed out herself, "Just to know for sure, there's no chance the cover with the country estate could fail?"

"You don't have to worry, Ferris; there's no phone or computer service out there, and when we're not there, only Carlos the groundskeeper's on the property, and he doesn't speak English. So as long as we don't do anything stupid, or Dad doesn't come back from Vegas with Marcia too soon..," Claire abruptly growled and slammed the car door shut hard. "Everything OK?" Ferris asked, concerned.

"I can't believe he just...the divorce paperwork's barely dry, and he jumps for the first attractive woman he comes across and leaves me alone here!" Claire ranted, fighting to keep her eyes dry, "I know what it is: it's one last way to spite Mom on her way out the door, to tell her she's trash to him! And as usual, I have to get stuck in the middle, the collateral for everything...!"

"I'm so sorry you have to go through this," Sloane told her sympathetically, putting a hand on her shoulder, "Well, I hope this trip we're going on can take some of the pain away for you."

"Thanks, I hope so. But it doesn't matter. One month from now, I'll be in college in Tucson, and I'm never coming back," Claire muttered, "It's time to be something other than Louis Standish's middleman daughter, and I don't care if I have money or not while I'm being whatever I am."

"Well, let us know if we can do anything this week. Andy, so fine and dandy," Ferris next greeted the ace wrestler, who had climbed out of the rear seat with the rest of the newcomers (Bender, at this, turned away and muttered under his breath, "Please God, don't let him rhyme all week long!"). "I hear you're going out of state too?" he continued.

"Iowa State, Ferris, yeah. That way, I'm far enough away from home so that Dad can't come out and...I can be myself, much like Claire can be herself in Arizona," Andrew nodded at the rich girl, "If he's not breathing down my back, maybe I'll actually start to like wrestling again for the first time in a long time."

"Here's hoping. Sometimes it just takes distance to give parents room to think more clearly," Ferris reasoned, "Any problems on your end in getting over here?"

"Uh, good news and bad news there, Ferris," Andrew winced, "The bad news is, my little brother caught me sneaking out; he'd gone the bathroom right before I got up, and he bumped into me and figured things out from all my suitcases. The good news is, I was able to buy his silence with eighty dollars and the promise he could have anything in my room after I go to college that I don't take with me."

"And can we trust him to keep quiet?" Cameron asked, skeptical.

"He knows I can twist him into a pretzel if he squeals, Cameron. And by the way, congratulations on winning the heart of the president's daughter," Andrew commended him, "I'd have never thought you of all people could have won over the most popular girl in the country as much as you seem to have."

"Um, well, um, I'm glad too," Cameron stammered nervously.

"Bet you're looking forward to getting to see her again."

"Uh, yeah, yeah I am."

"We all are," Ferris agreed. "And speaking of girlfriends," he took a few steps to his right, "I hear the future Mrs. Brian Johnson wanted to come as well-and is that for her?" he noticed the bag in the latest newcomer's hand.

"Uh, yeah, it is. I just had to ask her along for this too. But Ferris, I don't like hiding where we're going on this trip," Brian shifted about uncomfortably, "I don't like lying to my parents about anything, and..."

"Damn it, Johnson, will you just grow a spine and rebel for once in your life!?" Bender upbraided him, "Take the risk, embrace the danger...!"

"You know, Bender, not all of us hate our families with every ounce of our being!" the brain shot back, "Even after being blind for so long, my parents have done a lot of good for me, and I hate to mislead them! You do understand, right, Ferris?" he asked him with a pleading expression.

"I understand, Brian, but don't worry, the cover's foolproof, I have assurances," Ferris nodded at Claire, "Oh, and by the way, if you're still upset over finishing second in the Simmons tournament, don't be," he assured the brain, "That last round, with Shermer's epic comeback from the brink, will be remembered for ages to come, as will you."

"I know that now, Ferris, but thanks," Brian told him, "And the more I look at it, we earned as much finishing second as we would have if we'd won it."

"Good for you. And Allison my dear, glad to have you here," Ferris greeted the last new arrival, "So glad you could come along too."

"Nothing better to do around here right now, other than lie around in my room and count down the days till I go to Loyola. So thanks," Allison commended him, "And actually, I'm glad the president's going to be there at the lake," an unusual expression came over her face, "There's something I've been thinking of asking him lately that I hadn't thought of back in June when we were at the White House..."

"What?"

"It's, um, kind of a surprise," she mumbled, "But it's a surprise for a good cause, I promise you that. Something I'd like to do for someone I know that he'd be in good position to help with-I think..."

"Those are the best surprises of all. Hope it works out. Well," Ferris turned to the east, "The sun's coming up, so it's probably time to be on our way."

"Good, then; let's get going," Claire started towards the Ferraris.

"Uh, first though, Claire, one more thing before we go. John," Ferris approached Bender, "I must insist on no drugs on this trip. I want clean fun for all of us. So, for the time being, if you will," he extended his hand.

"What drugs? I don't have any drugs on me, Bueller, so stop being...!" Bender started to protest.

"Bender, just give it to him so we can get out of here," Claire told him wearily. Growling, Bender dug out a bag of pot from his pocket and put it into Ferris's hand. "I'm going to have to insist on all of it," Ferris shook his head.

"Fine, fine, have it your way!" Bender roared, producing an additional six bags and giving them to Ferris. "You'll get it back, I promise," Ferris assured him, "I'll just put it in a safe place where no one else can find it."

He walked over to the nearest manhole cover, lifted it up, and dropped the pot bags down the hole. "Hey, hey, hey!" Bender bellowed, rushing over, "What the hell are you doing, Bueller!?"

"Relax; unless it floods while we're gone, it'll be there when we get back," Ferris told him, "Easy to remember where we left it, and no one'll think of looking for it there. And with that said, I think we're ready to roll, so let's get on the road!"

The rest of his party cheered. "Here you go," Ferris handed Andrew the keys to the second Ferrari, "Just don't scratch it; this one's Jeannie's, and she'll kill me if she finds any damage." He then bustled over to Brian and asked, "Lake Forest, right?"

"Lake Forest, yeah," Brian nodded, "The address is..."


"Nice place," Ferris remarked, pulling front of the house in question a half hour later. He honked the Ferrari's horn twice. Ten seconds later, the front door swung open, "Well, well," he exclaimed with a grin at the sight of the figure now skipping towards the cars, "I'd heard you'd hooked a pretty one, Mr. Johnson, but I had no idea she was this pretty," he leaned backwards to commend Brian in the second Ferrari. "Greetings," he leaned towards the girl skidding to a stop next to his Ferrari, "You must be Melissa."

"I am, and you must be Ferris Bueller," she shook his hand, "I've heard a lot about you. Good to see you're feeling better; I'd heard you were in bad shape back in the spring."

"All better now," Ferris told her with a wry grin. "Prepare yourself for a week amidst the thralls of nature, punctuated by the thrill of co-mingling with our nation's highest leaders. And did you bring a couple of the rockets I've heard you've been working on?" he eyed some of her suitcases.

"I did; I figured maybe if I got to show them and some of my designs for rockets to Mars and beyond to the president, maybe I'd get the chance to..." Melissa took an excited breath, "You know what I mean, right?"

"Absolutely. Hop on board, and we'll get rolling," Ferris gestured at the second Ferrari. Melissa skipped towards it. "Good morning," she greeted Brian with a smile, climbing in and giving him a warm hug, "Thank you so much for inviting me along on this-is that for me?" she noticed the bag at his feet.

"Uh, yeah, I figured that since we were going to the lake, and the skies would be darker and all..." he hesitantly held it up.

"Oh, a new professional level telescope!" she pulled out the box that was inside the bag, "This is a better model than I'd ever dreamed of using!"

"With hydraulic lift and computerized focusing," Brian explained, smiling to see her happy over it, "It was almost a hundred and fifty dollars, but you're more than worth it, Melissa."

"This'll really come in handy, especially with the Perseids peaking this week. Thank you so much, Brian," she gave him a kiss on the cheek, "You know how to make a girl happy."

"By buying her everything he can including the kitchen sink..." Bender muttered under his breath in Ferris's Ferrari. This, however, triggered an elbow in the ribs from Claire. "And since he means it from the bottom of his heart, it really means something-maybe something other people ought to consider for the people they care for!" she hissed at him.

"Hey, haven't I...!?" Bender started to protest. Ferris held up a hand to silence him. "Yep, we're glad to have you with us, Melissa," he called back to the new girl, "On trips like this, the more the merrier. And to be in the presence of an aspiring rocket designer for this trip is an honor I feel proud to have. And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is approximately a hundred and thirty-five miles to Lake Olafsson," he told all his fellow vacationers, "so prepare yourselves for the beginning of what hopefully will be the best week of all our lives!"

He dramatically hit the button to his car's radio, prompting Land of a Thousand Dances to roar to life on it. "Absolutely perfect, especially for our destination," he grinned, "OK, North Woods, here we come!"


"Have a great trip, everyone," declared the large rotund man down the block wearing a rumpled fedora and a long shabby coat despite the summery weather. He waved goodbye to the departing Ferraris. No one on board them noticed him-as neither did the two small girls drawing on the sidewalk with chalk not more than three feet to his left. "It's good to see they're going to have a good time, Keema," he bent down to tell his dog at his feet, "Shall we?"

He gently nudged the dog to its feet and started walking up the block in the direction the teens had driven. "Yep, my friend, it's always good to check in again on the people we help every now and then, both directly and indirectly, and it's good to see they've all gotten basically so much better over the last few months, Keema," he continued to his pet, "They all deserve this last hurrah. Speaking of which," he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time, "a bus should be leaving for Wisconsin around the corner in about five minutes, so what do you say we go join them up there?"

Keema came to a stop and looked up at his master with a soft moan and a quizzical expression. "And why not, buddy? I think after everything we've done for people in this city over the last five years, we've earned a break," the man told him, "Besides, lest you forget, in our current state of being, we can be omnipresent. If someone else in the greater Chicago area needs our help while we're gone, we can help them here and relax up there at the same time. There are a few perks with being dead, and this certainly is one of them. So what do you say?"

Keema bowed his head as if acquiescing. "Glad you agree. It's been too long since we've had a vacation," the man said, starting up the street again. He turned the corner and nodded to see a bus loading up at the depot. "And besides, Keema," he told the dog again, "I happen to really like these kids. I know they say we shouldn't get too attached to the people we look in on and try to help, but I've come to feel for each of them when we've followed their travails. So seeing them get the happy ending in person's a big plus. And in case something were to go horribly wrong for them on their trip, we'll be there to help. Well, all aboard," he stepped aboard the bus, "But of course, we shouldn't freeload even if we are dead, so," he produced a five dollar bill from his pocket, tapped it, and stuck it into the bus driver's jacket pocket. He and his dog trudged to the back of the bus and sat down on the floor, unnoticed by anyone else. "Here we go," he exclaimed as the bus pulled out. "We're going to like this, Keema, I promise it," he rubbed the dog behind the ears, "This is going to be one vacation William F. Stanpovalichki's going to enjoy for all eternity."