It all began some months ago, when I was at the drive in, watching "The Colour Purple". Just as the climax of the movie arrived, I heard a knock. *Tappity tap tap.* It went, * Tappity tappity tap tap tappity too.* Looking out of the green tinted window of my oversized puce Citroen, I recognized the distinct shape of a smartly dressed peacock duo. They wore tailored suits with enormous gold clocks hanging around their necks, the weight of which seemed to be causing them some trouble. Setting aside my fried duck, hoping they had not noticed I had been eating one of their poultry pals, I asked them how I could be of service. They replied by presenting me with a briefcase full of blunt, slightly copper coloured knives, and clucked in my direction. For some time they incessantly clucked at me, looking earnest, occasionally stopping to nodd, or just for dramatic effect.They continued to cluck for a while, until they became so tired and enraged by my constant confusion they had to sit down. After a short tea break, (no tea was offered to me, I might add.) They ushered my to their vehicle, a rather substantial looking black bus, sat me down, and can't really remember much, except for more clucking, and the words: "Frying-pan" and "Business card".
Then I woke up. Three hours ago. In a local ditch. I'm wearing a sombrero, my left foot is on fire and I reek of cheap vodka.
So, in my inebriated state, I stumbled over to a conveniently placed 24 hr internet cafe on the opposite side of the ditch, and here we are...
I am not looking forward to this possibly decade-long hangover.
End captain's log.
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