"What do you think of my disguise?" Vyvyan asked referring to the corpse
he had crudely dressed as Mr. Schneider.
Rick looked at in in disgust. "Vyvyan that is absolutely . . . brilliant!"
he said, changing gears on the last word.
"You think so?" ask Vyvyan.
"Yes. You could go far with a brain like that."
"I hate to burst your bubble, Rick, but with a brain like that he'd barely
make it to the door," Mike told him.
"What door?" the other Mike asked.
"You know perfectly well what I mean, Woolie," Mike commented before turning
his attention back to Rick and Vyvyan. "You really think this is going
to work?"
"Of course, Mike," Vyvyan said as he and Rick arranged the clothes on the
girl's body.
"And what happens when she starts to decompose? What will the landlord
say? The smell alone should be enough to drive us out of house and home."
"Ooh, I hadn't though of that," said Rick. "I still say we should eat her."
"We could buy air freshener!" Vyvyan suggested.
"True," Rick agreed, "but we would need some money to do that."
"Good point," concurred Vyvyan, "We could shoplift air freshener!"
Rick nodded his assent. "That could work! Yeah! That'd really stick it
to Thatcher and the bourgeois fat-cats!"
"Vyv, you can not possibly think this is going to work," said Mike.
"I can!"
"Why don't we dump her body in the ocean?" Micky suggested.
"Micky!" Davy, Mike and Peter yelled in surprise.
"Well it's obvious they won't let us call the police, so we may as well
pitch in," Micky reasoned.
"That'll make us accomplices," noted Davy.
"You already are," corrected Mike casually.
A pall settled over the room as each man came to the realization that they
might actually have to work together. It was almost too horrible to contemplate.
"Why don't we throw her into the ocean?" Vyvyan asked.
"It would never work," Neil said unhappily.
"Why not?"
"Low tide. Bummer."
"Suicide!" Rick suddenly yelled.
"I don't see how it would help Rick, but by all means go to it," Mike told
him.
"No not me . . ." Rick corrected.
"Damn!" Vyvyan sulked.
". . . I mean her."
"How can she commit suicide? She's already dead," stated Neil.
"No! We'll say that she committed suicide and that's how she died!"
"Suicide?" Mike asked, unconvinced.
"Yes! First she blew herself up," Rick began excitedly complete with hand
gestures, "but when that didn't work she hit herself in the head with the
frying pan . . . uh repeatedly . . ."
"And then kicked herself violently in the stomach several times. It's completely
brilliant," added Vyvyan.
"And then dressed herself up as Mr. Schneider?" asked an equally unconvinced
other Mike.
"Exactly!" shouted Vyvyan.
"It's perfect," Rick added.
"What is wrong with you two? Do you have some kind of mental deficiency?!"
Mike Nesmith yelled. "Surely you can see this will never work. Why don't
you come out of your dreamworld?"
Davy perked up noticeably. "That's a good idea for a song," he said to
Mike and began humming to himself.
"No idiot would believe that," Mike continued.
"It is a good idea for a tune!" Davy insisted.
"No not that. I mean no idiot would believe she killed herself," he Mike.
"Oh," said Davy and went back to humming.
"Even I wouldn't believe that," Peter stated.
"Nor would I," came a hazy female voice.
It sounded like Melissa had spoken. Everyone's eyes were immediately drawn
to the corpse which being a corpse did absolutely nothing except slump
in the chair where Rick and Vyvyan had left it.
"What was that?" Micky asked.
"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" Rick shouted. "She's back and she's pissed! Ahhh!
Ahhh! Ahhh!"
"Shut up!" Vyvyan screamed at Rick.
"Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!" responded Rick.
Vyvyan delivered a punch to Rick's jaw knocking the man several feet back.
"Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!" was all Rick would say.
"Shut up!" said the voice.
"Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!"
Suddenly, the frying pan which had earlier been tossed aside began to hover
seemingly of its own accord. It drifted over to the screaming Rick and
hit him in the head with a loud clang. Rick immediately stopped, but pan
did not. It continued to pound Rick on the head over and over until finally
he lay unconscious on the floor.
The flying pan dropped immediately to the ground and for a moment the room
was deathly still. The seven conscious men stood rooted to the floor paralysed
with fear. Vyvyan was the first to move, not that he had intended to do
so. After a loud crunching sound, he found himself lying next to Rick clutching
his much abused groin in pain. He groaned as the force that levelled Rick
beat him violently about the stomach and the head until mercifully, he
too blacked out.
Rick awoke to find himself lying on the floor next to Vyvyan and facing
Melissa. She looked just as she had before her demise only she was now
slightly more transparent. He briefly considered having a jolly good yell,
but decided that that could have rather painful repercussions. Instead,
he rose slowly and was followed almost instantly by Vyvyan who still held
his stomach and groin in pain. Both men backed away from the apparition
bumping into Neil in the process.
Neil wore a crooked grin on his face. "Wow," he said breaking the silence,
"instant karma."
"What do you want from us?" Mike asked his Texan drawl thicker than usual.
"Oh please don't kill me!" Rick exclaimed. "Please, I didn't want to kill
you, honestly. It was all Vyvyan's fault! I thought you were dead, really!"
"Shut up, Rick," she answered, her voice a ghostly whisper. She turned
her attention slowly back to the questioner. When she spoke her lips barely
moved as though she had trouble synchronizing them to her speech, but her
blue eyes betrayed the horror she must have felt. "What do I want? I want
whatever it is that happens to people who die to happen to me! I'm stuck
here and I don't know what to do! Apparently, if movies are to be believed,
I've left something unfinished, but I don't know what. I don't even know
how to go about finding out. I don't even know how to go about going about
finding out."
"I suppose this means naked twister is out?" Mike asked casually.
Melissa paused to examine him. "There is something seriously wrong with
you."
"So you're stuck here until you can figure out what you need to do?" Micky
clarified.
"I think so. I thought this might be it. It felt pretty darn good, but
I'm still here."
"Bitch!" Vyvyan gasped having finally regained his composure.
"Don't call me a bitch you prick!"
"Don't call me a prick you tart!"
"Don't call me a tart you ass!"
"Don't call me an . . ."
"Please!" Mike Nesmith interrupted. "This is getting us nowhere."
"You'd fit right in here, you know," Davy commented to the ghost.
"Maybe," Neil jumped in, "you need to do to us what we did to you."
Melissa mulled the thought over. "You mean you want me to dress you up
like Mr. Schneider?"
"No I mean blow us up!" Neil said excitedly, but then seemed to think better
of it. "Uh, or not," he added lamely.
"No!" Rick exclaimed when Melissa seemed to warm to the idea. "You don't
want to blow us up!"
"Why not?"
"Uh . . . why not? Well . . . because . . ." Rick stammered.
"Because, I may be short in stature, baby, but believe me, I'm hung like
a rhinoceros on the last day of mating season," Mike told her.
Melissa affected a sigh. "And that's supposed to convince me not
to blow you up?"
Mike merely winked seductively.
"Still, it might work," she said to herself.
"I thought you might agree, darling," said Mike.
"No! Not that! If only I had some explosives."
"Well," Vyvyan began smartly, "there certainly isn't a bomb taped under
the kitchen table."
"I see." Melissa walked over to the table and after several unsuccessful
tries--her hand kept passing through the tabletop--she succeeded in knocking
it over. Sure enough there was a very tiny black bomb taped there. The
fact that it was so small made it somehow hugely frightening.
"Good one Vyv," Mike commented.
"Don't worry lads," said Vyvyan sotto voce, "she'll never figure out how
to arm it."
Melissa studied the tiny black bomb intently trying to determine how to
arm it. It took her nearly two seconds to find the tiny red button that
said "Press Here To Arm Bomb." She pressed the button.
"Hello," it responded in a friendly voice. "You have just activated the
'Ultra Rapid Fully Unstoppable Compact Killing Explosive Device' more commonly
known by the abbreviation 'URFUCKED' brought to you by the makers of Furby.
If you are listening to this message you now have 90 seconds left to live.
Have a nice death and thank you for using the URFUCKED. Your patronage
is appreciated." Once it had finished its speech the screen lit up with
the number 90 and slowly its began the countdown.
"Vyvyan, where did you get that bomb!?" Mike demanded, his normally cool
facade having been dropped.
"Found it!" Vyvyan answered somewhat defensively.
"What'll we do?" hollered Rick.
"I don't know about you guys, but I'm getting out of here!" exclaimed the
taller Mike as he, Micky, Davy and Peter dashed for the doorway. They were
surprised the others didn't immediately follow. They were even more surprised
to find a door barring their path.
"The door's locked!" yelled Davy.
"What door!?" exclaimed Rick, Mike, Vyvyan and Neil simultaneously.
"This door!" Mike answered back.
"What's that doing there?" Neil asked as he and the others approached.
"Blocking our way," Mike TheCoolPerson said. "Can't you unlock it?"
Davy shook his head. "No, we need a key to unlock the dead bolt."
"Well where's the key?" Mike demanded.
"I don't know!" Davy shouted.
"What's this?" said Micky bending over. He stood back up, an envelope clutched
in his hands. "Someone must have slipped it under the door."
"Well what does it say!?" demanded Rick.
Micky read the note aloud. It said:
Dear Boys,
Heard you were having a
little door trouble and thought we'd fix it up for you. The key should
be outside under the mat. That's $500 you owe us. Don't ever say we never
did anything for you. See you in hell!
Your loving (co) landlords,
Mr. Babbit and Mr. Balowski
Also
included was a business card:
"I knew you were a virgin!" Vyvyan grinned.
Rick ignored Vyvyan's remark. "Just once, that's all I wanted. Just to see what it's like."
"Cheer up Rick, no girl would ever have slept with you anyway," Vyvyan consoled.
Rick sighed. "I suppose your probably ri . . . shut up, you bastard!"
"I hardly think it matters now Rick since we're all gonna die a terrible death," said Neil.
"That's right, Neil. Look on the bright side," Rick chided sarcastically.
"I guess there's nothing more to do now, but sit and wait for the end," Mike added.
"Or," began his taller counterpart, "we could go out the back door."
"What?" came the quadrupled reply.
"The backdoor is still opened or at least it should be."
They all turned toward the patio doors catching site of the bomb timer as they went. It read 07.
"We'll never make it in time!" Neil yelled.
06
"We're doomed," squealed Rick.
05
"Well that's it!" the shorter Mike exclaimed.
04
"Neil, I'm sorry I fed your term paper to SPG."
03
"Really Vyv?"
02
"No, not really."
01
"Good-bye everyone!" Micky shouted as they all cringed in anticipation of the impending explosion.
01
Nothing happened.
01
"What happened?" Davy asked as everyone uncringed themselves.
01
"Nothing," Mike said.
01
"It didn't go off!" Vyvyan yelled testily.
01
"Why not?" queried Rick.
"Because I stopped it," Melissa said. Until now they had all but forgotten her ghostly presence.
"How?" Vyvyan wanted to know.
"What were you a bomb expert?" inquired Micky.
"No, I just pressed this button here," she said pointing to another small red button that said "Press Here To Disarm Bomb."
"That's the last time I nick a bomb from bloody Toys R Us," Vyvyan stated.
Mike sauntered over to the apparition, his casual manner firmly back in place. "I knew it. You couldn't do it, baby. You knew you couldn't enjoy the afterlife without first climbing on board the Mike-express."
"What?"
"That's right, climb aboard. The midnight train leaves from my room in five minutes, just check your knickers in with the railway clerk."
"Are you fucking insane?"
"No, but I'd be willing to shag her too if that's what you're into."
"Will someone shut him up, please!" exclaimed the other Mike.
"How come you stopped the bomb?" Peter tentatively asked.
"I couldn't kill anyone, even if they did kill me. Besides it seemed unfair to blow up everyone just because of two people. Even if some of them are mentally deranged," she explained glancing at Mike.
"Blah, blah, blah! I'm crying my eyes out," interrupted Rick. "Look, I don't mean to rush you, but seeing as you're not going to blow us up or anything, don't you have an afterlife to get on with."
As soon as he said it, a light descended seemingly from the heavens to envelop the girl in an angelic white light. She looked up into the warm glow her eyes unshielded, for though the light seemed extraordinarily bright, it did not hurt her eyes or those of her companions. She looked back at the eight astonished men in front of her. "I think you're right, Rick." Her voice, where before it was a ghostly whisper, seemed now to echo melodiously from every direction of the room. "I guess all that's left is for me to say good-bye." She looked at each in turn as she said their name. "Good-bye Michael Nesmith, David Jones, Micky Dolenz, Peter Tork, Mike TheCoolPerson, Neil Pye, Vyvyan Basterd and Rick . . . what is your last name Rick?"
"Mayall isn't it?" Neil asked.
"No!" hollered Rick.
"I know," Vyvyan told her, "it's ThePrick."
"Oh ha ha, Vyvyan! That is the most predictable thing you have ever said. How utterly witty. Talk about Oscar Wilde."
"Okay," said Vyvyan and then proceeded to yell at the top of his lungs. "Oscar Wilde was a 19th century playwright and novelist. Although well-known for his comedic writings and brilliant witticisms, he was persecuted for his blatant homosexuality and his wildly eccentric behavior (excuse the pun). Some of Wilde's most popular works include De Profundis, The Canterville Ghost, and The Importance of Being Earnest."
Rick was taken somewhat aback. "My Vyvyan. What an eloquent ejaculation."
"What? Where!?" Vyvyan exclaimed, his hands and eyes leaping to his groin. When he found nothing amiss he addressed Rick, "I did not!"
"No, I mean what came out of your mouth!"
"Nothing came out of my mouth you pervert!" Vyvyan yelled as he belted Rick across the face.
"No!" Rick screamed. "I just meant that what you said was very nice!"
"Well why didn't you say so in the first place?"
"I did! Christ, it's like living with cave men."
"You mean troglodytes, Rick?" questioned Neil.
"Uh," Rick began nervously. He clearly was unsure what "troglodyte" meant. "Of course Neil. That's exactly what I meant." To Vyvyan he added, "You trolgamyte!"
Vyvyan merely shrugged. "So what is your last name?"
"Uh . . . well . . ." he began unsure of himself but suddenly gained confidence as he said, "I don't have one. Pretty anarchic, eh? That'll send Thatcher and her minions running for the hills! That's right!" he said to the others' vacant stares. "When the revolution comes which side will you be on, fascists? I'm a young one, a wild rowdy red-shoed rebel! I've got hate in my eyes, and I'm not gonna take it anymore. Down with Thatcher, down with the government. I've got a one-way ticket to oblivion and I haven't even brought clean underpants!"
"That's all fine and well," the taller Mike said, "but I think Melissa here is trying to ascend into heaven."
Rick looked disappointed.
Melissa looked confused. "Heaven?" she asked. "But I'm agnostic." And suddenly the light surrounding her vanished. "Oh shit," she said and conveniently popped out of existence.
"That'll teach you not to know whether to believe in anything or not!" Rick yelled at the empty space.
"But I thought you were agnostic, Rick."
"Shut up Neil. Anyway, that's that then," Rick said looking around bleakly.
"Well not entirely, Rick," commented Mike. "There is still the matter of disposing of the body and perhaps even paramount to that the matter of disposing of the bomb."
Rick smirked at Vyvyan. "Perhaps there's a little red button on it that says 'Press Here To Dispose of Bomb'."
"Or perhaps I should give you a crack in the bollocks!" Vyvyan reasoned picking up a cricket bat the happened to be lying nearby on the floor.
"Vyvyan, no!" yelled a horrified Rick.
"Rick, yes!" said Vyvyan and promptly began to beat the living shit out of Rick.
"That'll keep them busy for a few hours," said Mike.
"Ahhh, stop Vyvyan!" Rick shouted.
"Shut it, ya ponce!" retorted Vyvyan.
"What are we gonna do Mike?" Neil asked.
"What we always do when there's trouble."
"You mean run around in a blind panic?"
"No, I . . ."
"I'll tell you what you can do with your bomb," came a different voice. Everyone, Rick and Vyvyan included, turned to find SPG perched atop the bomb one tiny paw poised above the little red button that said "Press Here To Arm Bomb."
"You can burn in hell you wanking bastards!" he shouted and pressed the button. The clock blinked back into life.
01
"Shit," came a chorus of four voices. I won't tell you which four said it, but you can probably guess anyway.
00
"Thank you for using the URFUCKED. We hope you have a nice explosion."
The End . . . well not quite actually.
The midday sun remained hidden by ominous looking storm clouds. Eight men stood amidst the ruins of what once was a comfortable flat, but was now a smouldering pile of rubble. They were dirty. Their clothes and skin were streaked with grit. Around them, sporadic fires burned, but the major fires had already died away. Only one wall remained standing and it was wobbly at best. Strangely enough, the new front door came through the blast almost completely unscathed. It stood there in the crumbling remains of the frame mockingly as though daring one of them to knock it down or even to attempt to scar its fresh undamaged wood.
Vyvyan eyed it contemptuously as though it were the cause of their explosive predicament, and he alone took it up on its dare.
"Bloody fucking door!" he yelled trodding over to it. He kicked at it viciously, pounding it with his bare fists. He put all his anger and strength into the mighty assault, but the door did not budge. It didn't even give him the satisfaction of cracking. It merely stood there defiantly. He cursed it maliciously but still, it held its stance under the verbal barrage. His anger spent, he back away from it toward his colleagues.
"So that's it, is it?" Rick asked. "That's all. Another house burns down, and we're left homeless again."
"At least we've still got a door," said Neil in a morbid attempt at cheerfulness.
"A door?" asked the shorter Mike. "Can a door provide us with shelter? Bring us food? Can I invite chicks round to my door for a quick shag?"
"No," answered Neil. "I was only trying to brighten things up. You know 'Always look on the bright side of life . . .' " he sang with a grim smile.
"Neil, shut up or I'll crucify you," Mike responded.
"Would you guys the just shut the *whistle* up!?" the taller Mike shouted.
"Mike!" gasped Micky, Peter and Davy simultaneously.
"Well I'm sorry, but I'm fed up with it!" he exclaimed and began addressing Mike and the others. "You barge in on us, smash the place up, insult us, beat us up, kill our neighbour and then blow the place up!"
"Just a normal day for us really," said Neil.
"Yeah, you square!" Rick added.
Mike looked as though he was going to explode with rage. His face was turning a very bright shade of red.
"It could be worse, Mike," intervened Peter hoping to calm his rampaging friend.
Mike tried not to yell at his innocent companion but simply couldn't control his growing temper. "How Peter?! How could it possibly be worse?!"
"Well at least we still have the Monkee Mobile," he said trying desperately to be cheerful.
Mike sighed as his eyes drifted over to his beloved car just in time to see the one wall left standing stop standing. Still partially ablaze, it toppled into the car's open top. The interior caught fire immediately and soon the entire car was enveloped in flame.
"I wish I hadn't said that," Peter said.
"I wish I had put the top back down yesterday," Micky said.
"I wish I were in the Bahamas being served by voluptuous young girls whose religion caused them to reject clothing and demanded they perform oral sex on complete strangers every day, but it's not gonna happen," Mike said causally.
"It could be worse Michael," Vyvyan stated.
"Oh no, not you too Vyv."
"At least we've still got my car." He regarded his car proudly confident of the fact that there were no more walls left to fall on it, just that annoyingly smug door and that was too far away to do his car any harm, unless it suddenly grew legs. Vyvyan disregarded this idea as implausible. He was quite surprised, however, to find a penguin sitting in the driver's seat. It was none other than Petey. Yes Petey Penguin. He was back, and he was one pissed off penguin.
"Oh dear," said a distressed Vyvyan.
Petey, seeing that he had everyone's attention, gave Vyvyan the finger which was very difficult considering penguins don't have any fingers and proceeded to explode on cue without aid of pyrotechnics.
"I wish you hadn't said that," Peter said.
"I wish I had never found that stuffed penguin when I thought it was stuffed," said Micky.
"I wish you would all just shut up!" Rick hollered.
"My car!" Vyvyan exclaimed, uncharacteristically near tears.
"He really could do it," Davy remarked. "I guess that'll set those critics straight."
"You mean they're not straight?" Rick asked. "They're everywhere aren't they? Bloody fairies!"
"Brrring! Brrring!" said a very familiar sounding bell.
"Hey ho, did someone call the fairies?" said another voice from atop a bicycle. Coming down the road toward them was a very strange site indeed. Four men dressed in pale green tutus and even paler green tights sat piled on a bike complete with sidecar. They looked a bit like a very odd circus act. The fifth man, the driver, was wearing a dirty overcoat and ringing the bell.
"Brrring! Brrring!"
The crowded bike came to rest in front of them, and the four oddly dressed men got off.
"That'll be fifteen quid," Billy said.
"Who are you?" Rick questioned.
"You know me! I'm Billy Balowski!" Billy said with a dumb grin.
"No, not you!" Rick yelled viciously. "Them."
"We're the Lentil Fairies," said one of the men as he pulled a green change purse out of his sequinned green top. He gave Billy the cash. "Keep the change, man!"
"Thank you, sir!" Billy said saluting. He climbed back onto his bike and sat down showing no sign of peddling off.
"You're the Lentil Fairies?" Neil asked amazed.
"That's right, you wanna hear our demo?"
"Demo?" Neil said confusion creasing his brow.
"Sure our demo," said the man as he produce a wand. He waved it around ostentatiously and ineffectually while one of the others produced a tape recorder from behind his pale green wings.
"I get it! You're a band!" Davy exclaimed.
"Yeah of course! You didn't think we were really fairies, did you?"
Every one shuffled their feet looking a bit embarrassed.
"Actually," said one of the men raising his hand, "Bob and I are." He produced a wand from his, well I'm not going to say where, and proceed to wave it about "magically."
The front man sighed. "Gary we've been through this before. You are not a fairy. Bob is not a fairy. You are in no way magical, and you cannot conjure up lentils by waving that damn wand."
"Oh yeah," Bob said, "then how come my tights are full of lentils?"
"I really don't want to know Bob. Anyway, yes we are a band."
"So are we," Micky told him.
"Looks like you guys are having some trouble."
"Yeah, uh, our house burned down," Mike said. He decided it would be better not to go into specifics.
"Tough break," the tuttued man went on, the demo tape forgotten. He glanced at his friends who seemed to confer silently. A decision having been made, he turned back to face the others. "Well you can crash at our place for a while if you want. It may be a little cramped, but we've got all the lentils you can eat."
"Yeah!" intoned Gary. "And all the lentils you can shove down your pants!"
"Why would they want to put lentils in their pants?!" the leader shouted.
"Because it feels groovy," said Bob swishing his bottom around. "Oh yeah."
"You'd let us stay at your place?" Peter asked gratefully.
"Sure," said the man holding the demo tape, "anything for the Monkees."
"How'd you know who we are?" Micky asked.
"It's written on your car," he said motioning to the blackening hulk, "or what's left of it."
"Well it looks like our problems our solved, if temporarily," the shorter Mike said.
"You know, the craziest stuff happens to us," Rick stated. "I don't think I'd be surprised at anything that happens around here."
He was wrong. They were just about to follow their strange new allies to their new, if temporary, home when machine gun fire filled the air. Startled, everyone hit the ground except Billy who remained sitting contentedly on his bike, oblivious to the ear-piercing noise. Round after round was fired until finally the sound ceased.
Where twelve men had hit the deck, only eight got up. The Lentil Fairies were no more.
"Dude, I told you so. Those were the guys who stole the lentils we stole," said the man with the gun. Four men stepped out of the shadows decked out in hippie gear: bell bottoms, flowing psychedelic smocks, love beads and long scraggly hair. One of them took a hit on a joint and passed it around to the next.
"Groovy man. I knew we'd get them," said one of them and then fell to the ground unconscious.
"I told you, Jimmy. Never mix LSD with Chlorox," said the man with the machine gun to the man lying on the ground.
"Who are you?" Rick demanded.
"Wait, wait, let me guess. You're the Homicidal Hippies, correct?" Mike said.
"Cool, he knows who we are," the leader said to the others who giggled like, well like stoned hippies. "You wanna hear our demo?"
"Not really," Mike said, but immediately found a machine gun levelled directly at his head. "Then again I think we can make time in our busy schedule."
"Paul, make with the tape."
Paul ignored him opting instead to swat at empty air with a fly swatter. "We can't stop here man, this is bat country!" he exclaimed.
"Joe, get the tape from Paul."
Joe passed the joint to Jimmy who didn't take it since he was unconscious. Approaching Paul was quite difficult as he was swinging wildly an imaginary bats. Every time Joe got near Paul to grab the tape he got swatted in face.
"Damn bats are getting bigger all the time," Paul said as he smacked Joe on the nose.
"Forget it man," Joe said taking the joint back and putting the fire out the had erupted on Jimmy's shirt.
"Now wait a minute," the leader said, "I know we came here for a reason."
Suddenly Billy jumped in. "Someone call for a taxi?"
"Yeah, that was it, wasn't it?"
The others weren't sure either, particularly Jimmy.
"Oh well, it'll work," said the front man as he and his companions piled onto the bike.
"So that's it, we're totally fucked," Vyvyan said.
"Looks that way, doesn't it," replied Mike.
"Look on the bright side guys . . ."
"Shut up Neil!" came the response from all.
Billy was the last to climb on the bicycle. His foot poised on the peddle to go, he looked back at the Monkees and the Young Ones. "I told you, you should have taken the taxi!" he shouted and sped off into the distance.
"Bastard!" Rick called after him.