Episode Six: Segment One -

Iguanas, Vampires and Bubbles, Oh my!

You Can’t Teach an Old Sleuth New Tricks

Glinda rushed to the front of the line, pushing through the crowd of people. She thumped on the window at the desk, shortly after poking the woman behind her in the eye after she complained about Glinda’s pushing-in. The man at the desk gave her his best I’m-sorry-but-I-am-trying-to-be-as-sympathetic-as-I-can look, his eyes weary of all the business that he had to deal with.

"My name is Glinda and I live in a bubble!" Glinda exclaimed.

The man at the window, shook his head with frustration. "Whatever, just get in line!"

Glinda held her head low, sighing deeply. She began to walk away from the man when something occurred to her. She raced back to the window and knocked once again on the glass. The woman whom she had poked in the eye, cowered below her. "Wait! I can give you these ruby slippers!" She held up for the inspection of the man a pair of red, sequinned shoes. He smiled at her sympathetically again. And then breathed out. "Please, they have taken my bubble away."

"Listen, I can’t help you yet. I first have to deal with all these people, they were in line first."

Glinda slowly turned and walked away, slipping the ruby slippers into her pocket. With added sadness she stepped through the door, looking back desperately at the man and slipping outside, her head held low. Outside she continued her slow momentum, standing at a taxi rank, waving her wand around vacuously. Across the road she sighted a group of people who she suspected could help her get her bubble back.

"Hello!" she called out to them. The man at the head of the group seemed rather confused, he turned to her, mouthing the word "me?"

Across the road . . .

Woozlewazza stared at the woman across the road and became certain that she was signalling him. "Who the hell is that?" he asked.

No one seemed to know, but it didn’t matter as she was making an approach across the road, the traffic beeping their horns at her, and many cars swerving to avoid hitting the woman.

"Hello," she said when she reached them at last. "My name is Glinda and I live in a bubble."

"Ahah," Woozlewazza said, but what he was thinking inside his head was "Fuck! Another fruit!"

Iggy eyed the woman suspiciously. "I used to know a Glinda," he mused. "Matter of fact she also lived in a bubble . . . Strange that." The lizard stared at the woman for a moment and then dismissed the idea that he had in his head. "Nah! There must be millions of Glinda’s and surely thousands of them live in bubbles!"

"Maybe in Ireland . . ." Woozlewazza observed, picking at a half-eaten slice of pizza he had found in a bin.

Glinda spied the lizard on the ground. "Yes, I once knew a multi-coloured iguana with the ability of speech . . ." She glared at the reptile who seemed at present indifferent to the woman’s presence. "Yeah the one I knew, name was Iggy . . ."

Iggy’s head lifted up, his eyes locked on those of the woman in the blue dress. "Glinda! Is it you?"

The lizard sprung onto the woman’s head. "Iggy!" she cried.

"This is making me sick!" Woozlewazza cried, discarding the only moderately satisfying pizza hastily. "Let’s get out of here. We have to find Igor, she told me in the dream that she was in yFalminica. We should look her up in the phonebook"

"A dream?" Lesley asked sceptically, feeling dizzy for a moment again.

"Yeah that’s why I wanted to come to yFalminica."

"And I told Woozlewazza that I though it was a good idea that we come here," Katie Ye Olde Tavern Wench said, thinking of Captain Homes de Pants and the life she would have with him.

"Did you get thome drugs off thothe Bolivians or thomething?"

"No! It is perfectly sane!"

The others ignored him and began walking, Iggy still atop Glinda’s head. "Who the hell are you anyway?" Woozlewazza asked.

"I am Glinda and I live . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, got that part. So how do you know the lizard."

"I lived in Ireland for a while, with the leprechauns."

"Ahuh."

"And how is it that you came here?" Iggy asked Glinda.

"I don’t know, I needed a change and I just picked this place off the map."

"Sounds plausible."

Woozlewazza found a phone booth and dashed inside it and skimmed through the phone book. "Igor, Igor, Igor . . ." he searched.

"Do you know her last name?" Jessica Fletcher asked.

"Umh . . ."

"I thought as much," the old sleuth said mockingly.

"Found it!" Woozlewazza screamed. "It is just under ‘Igor’. It says "Contact through Government at Presidential Palace". They all stared at each other.

"She’s a politician?" Katie Ye Olde Tavern Wench asked, looking at Woozlewazza with sudden keenness. He was rather attractive.

"I s’pose, you know I haven’t seen her for over a decade so . . ." He pondered this for a moment. And then with new determination he raised his fist. "Let’s roll!"

The group halted outside the gates of a large complex, they had been directed by the taxi driver to this place, The yFalminican Presidential Palace. They admired the grand building, it was a combination between the Whitehouse and the Colloseum, with a dash of Sphinx (this component was provided by the large stone head of the President General at the front of the palace. His teeth being the doors. This proved to be quite eye-catching.

They looked for a way to open the gate and found it completely unguarded. To their delight and confusion they walked straight through without anything to hinder their progress.

When they reached the doors of the great building they moved easily through the teeth of the president general and into the palace. Where were all the guards?

Twenty Minutes Later in the Office of Guru Al, vice President General . . .

"What!!! Alien Invasion?" Al screamed. "I can’t believe it. I would never have guessed!"

The door to his office was suddenly flung open. At the doorway was the slim figure of Igor, an annoyed grin spread smoothly across her lips.

"For God’s sake Al! You have watched that movie so many times, and the same thing happens every time. It is ALWAYS an alien invasion!"

"What are you talking about Igor!??!"

"That’s f#$king plot of Independence Day!"

"What’s your point?"

Igor slammed the door thoroughly, making a satisfying exit. Al aimed the remote at the VCR and stopped it. He took his feet from off the table and swung around for a few minutes on his chair. Tedium quickly set in so he leapt from his seat and crossed his office to the large bay window. From it he could see the marvellous palace gardens (consisting of a shrub with a gnome next to it), the beautiful, blue lake behind a lush, green pine forest (namely the old christmas tree in front of the swamp) and a gigantic spaceship hovering in the sky just above the horizon.

"Ah, my home . . ." Al sobbed, with delusional pride. He turned from the window, and strode for the door. Upon opening it he spun back around quickly. "Oh my God!" he cried out. "I almost forgot my mobile." He walked slowly to the desk and grabbed the phone. With this in his possession he left the room and started down the hall. At the top of the stairs he said hello to the janitor, David Scalp, the brother of the last janitor who had inadvertently gone mad and plotted the death of the yFalminican rulers through an obscene dance and the tinkering music of a music box he had made himself. David Scalp has been hired two days later.

From the stairs Al ventured to the end of another long hall, turned right at the last door and entered the large kitchen. "Hi, Fred!" Al called to the cook. He approached the cook with hunger in his eyes. "So what do you have for me today?"

"Well, sir today I have some nice spicy dish."

"Spicy hey," Al said.

"That’s-a-right sir."

Something about the cook always struck Al as being odd. For a moment he wondered where the cook was from. He had heard rumours that he had sneaked into the country, craftily avoiding the immigration policies which practically banned all entry of immigrants unless personally approved by the government.

"Where were you born, Fred?"

"Ah," Fred looked around nervously. "Well, I . . ."

Al opened his eyes wide, Fred stepped back in shock. "Oh my God!" Al screamed, before running from the room. He ran as quickly as he could up the long hallway, made it to the bottom of the stairs and felt that it was too much for him.

Al stood at the door to the elevator calmly waiting, he watched the numbers light up. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. The doors slid open and he dived in, pressed the button for the 3^rd floor. The doors closed again and the small elevator was filled with the pleasant sound of soft music. Is that Greensleaves? Al asked himself. He started humming, "hmm hmm hmm hm hm hm m mm m".

While Al amuses himself in the elevator your host would like to heighten the tension and leave him for a moment and return to Fiona . . .

"It’s Captain Simian Ion Combustion Nasal Junction Bond, to you Corporal!" Simian Ion Combustion Nasal Junction Bond spat at the short man in front of her. "And yes I am very well aware of the population of this planet. And how dare you question my authority?"

"I am sorry Captain," the man pulled his head down into his shoulders and disappeared into the crowd of soldiers assembled before Simian Ion Combustion Nasal Junction Bond and other officers of rank.

Simian Ion Combustion Nasal Junction Bond (whom I suppose we should call Simian to make it easier) smiled devilishly, turning from the formation of soldiers. She saw before her the Presidential Palace of yFalminica.

A younger officer approached her. "Remind me ma’am why we are going to attack this country first, I thought it was largely insignificant."

"It is probably the most insignificant country in the world, but it is the most debauched and perverted and therefore must be the first to go!"

"Yes, those bastard yFalminicans!" the younger officer said.

And we could return to Al now but yet something else is occurring at this very moment . . .

Lesley sat outside the office of NTM, the President General, with Jessica Fletcher, Iggy, Glinda and Katie Ye Olde Tavern Wench. Nine Turning Mirrors had only allowed Woozlewazza in to talk to him, as he remembered Igor often speaking of him.

Lesley stared vacantly, her nerves were strangely tingling all over her body, for a moment she thought she could see the expanses of time and accurately pinpoint her exact position. This was followed by the delusion that the fern in the corner was her surrogate mother, who had given birth to her for her biological parents. She heard the colour blue speaking to her, whispering to her the secrets of life. She glanced suspiciously at the bottle of vodka. "How long hath it been since I had a drink," she said to herself. "Obviouthly not too long ago."

She stood, and without the objection, or even the realisation, of the others she walked away down the hall, in search of something she couldn’t identify. Strange things indeed were happening to her mind and body. As she transcended the halls of the palace she murmured a sort of gibberish that she found she understood completely.

After about ten minutes she was on the floor above, passing a door marked with a large, red ‘G’. As she continued to walk she heard a soft, sweet sound from the room, halting her advance. It was a voice. A voice like heaven.

"A rothe by any other name, would thmell ath thweet," the voice lisped.

"Oh my God!" Lesley screamed. "It thounds like me . . ." She pounded on the door.

There were irritated sounds from within and a man opened the door, attired in lavish Shakespearean dress. "Yeth? Can I help you?"

"You thound jutht like me!" Lesley exclaimed.

Gorf froze, his eyes fixed on Lesley. "But I thought that I wath the only one who talked like thith!" He stared into her eyes and the two embraced, sharing a passionate and very much saliva-involving kiss. "I have been looking for you all my life!" Gorf said. "What ith your name?"

"Lethley," Lesley uttered.

"Lethley, it ith a beautiful name." Gorf stared at the woman, totally enchanted. "I am Gorf."

"I mutht warn you, I am a lethbian."

"That’s ok, I am a Thethpian." They kissed once more.

In NTM’s office . . .

"Am I meant to believe this?" NTM asked. "Are you serious?"

"I am . . ." Woozlewazza burped uncontrollably. " . . . as serious as I can possibly be." He studied what he had just said, it wasn’t saying much.

"You are saying that she is turned on by spatulas?"

"That’s right."

"Whoa, that is just freaky. You are a lucky guy to have been involved with Igor like that." NTM paused, remembering the other thing that Woozlewazza had said. "Oh, and you are telling me that aliens are going to invade the world because it has become too perverted?"

"That’s right. I know it sounds really . . . ah, weird and quite . . .ah, implausible, but it is what is happening." He looked at NTM. The man seemed somehow unconvinced. The party hat on his head didn’t help the overall impression that Woozlewazza gathered, nor did the small lute-playing gnome, which stood on the left side of his desk, serenading the president.

"Is he always here?" Woozlewazza asked, indicating the gnome.

"Ah . . ." NTM looked at his watch. "Every Wednesday, yes."

"Fine with me."

"I am not convinced," NTM uttered.

"What? Oh, the alien thing? Well, this woman, Simian Ion Combustion Nasal Junction Bond is one of them. I didn’t know it until we were on another planet, Plagno Beta 9 but I am afraid it is the truth."

"OK, I will get Igor so I can be sure that you are who you say you are." NTM held his finger over the phone, ready to press a button. "Ah, I seem to have forgotten which button I am meant to press." Woozlewazza looked at him with vacant eyes.

"It doesn’t matter," Woozlewazza said curtly. "Just look out the window."

NTM turned his head and looked out of the window. "Ah, what am I looking at again?"

"It’s in the sky."

"Can you give me a clue?"

"It’s big."

"Yeah . . . and?"

"Well it is really quite noticeable."

"I am not seeing it, where is it?"

"Look you idiot, it is right there!" Woozlewazza pointed in fury.

"Oh . . .that, yes I was beginning to wonder what that was."

"You mean you saw it earlier?"

"Well yes, but I didn’t really think about it. Yes I s’pose that could lend weight to your story of Alien invasion and all. Since it is an alien . . . Shit! I feel like a drink!"

Finally, back to Al . . .

Al finished humming greensleaves, and darted out of the door of the elevator, albeit too early as they had not yet opened. When they had in fact opened he nursed his sore head, running to his door. Once inside his office he sped to the window. "Oh crap!" he yelled. "Where the fuck did that spaceship come from?"

Guru Al, NTM, Gorf (with somewhat ruffled clothes), Gamblor Silk, Woozlewazza and his companions minus Lesley, stood on the large rear balcony of the Palace. "What the hell are we going to do?" Gamblor asked mechanically, with little emotion. He was more concerned with this new woman in a blue dress. Glinda was her name apparently. And she lived in a bubble! Kinky!

"Well I propose a plan of action," NTM proposed. The others looked to him, waiting for a continuation, but there was none forthcoming.

"Yes? And what would this action be Mirrors," Guru AL asked perplexed.

"I don’t know, but action is always good. I don’t want my people to think I am inactive."

"Well I can’t help but notice your inertia," Al commented.

"Good job, Mr. President General. Too bad we are all going to DIE!!!" Gamblor screamed dramatically.

"Keep your pants on Silk!" NTM yelled. Gamblor pulled up his pants in compliance, it hadn’t attracted the attention of Glinda as he had hoped. "Where the hell is our Minister of Defence anyway?!?!"

"Who is your minister of Defence?" Woozlewazza queried.

"Well, Igor is," NTM said, winking at Woozlewazza. "You should see her wield a gun!" NTM drooled for a moment, before Al elbowed him and pointed at the large ship in the sky. "Oh, is that still there?"

"I am afraid tho!" Gorf cried, alarmed. He turned to Katie Ye Olde Tavern Wench. "Tho where ith thith wonderful Lethley?"

"Ha ha ha," Katie Ye Olde Tavern Wench cackled jovially. "I don’t know." She glanced at Woozlewazza and sighed deeply. Something had made her suddenly attracted to him, she couldn’t work out what it was. Now that Igor character was going to get him, she felt a strange yearning to have him.

Gorf frowned. He hadn’t seen Lesley since she had left his room, twenty minutes earlier.

"Well," NTM began. "I think I have a plan." He turned around, unwittingly bumping Gorf with his elbow and knocking him from the balcony. While the cry of "Thave me!" filled the air the people gathered around and NTM related his idea.

Lesley wandered the hallways of the palace, unsure of what her goal was. She felt a yearning for something that she couldn’t identify, but continued to search for it in vain.

While venturing down a lovely, red-carpeted hall, she was passed briefly by two maids in attractive dress. Lesley eyed them with zeal. What was happening to her? Just half an hour earlier she had indulged in heterosexual intercourse! And now she was eyeing the lovely, young maids.

Suddenly she realised what it was she wanted. It wasn’t carnal pleasure or the appeal of lesbianism that she was in pursuit of here with these women, walking unawares up the hall in front of her. She knew she wanted to drink their blood, just as the woman in the forest, aproximately thirteen million, nine hundred and ninety eight thousand, four hundred and four years in the future had done, or would do. It was this urge that ruled her now.

She crept up behind the two women, without a single sound and for a moment listened to their conversation.

"And then I had to go to the President General’s room again!" one of them complained.

"Yeah, have you seen how many women go in and out of his office during the day?"

Lesley could wait no longer, she stepped up behind one of the women, braced herself, lunged, tripped over a ripple in the carpet, somersaulted head-over-heals and tumbled down a long flight of stairs. Not surprisingly, as Lesley jumped back to her feet, she had lost some of the composure that she previously possessed. The whole light-footed, powerful vampire thing was ruined. She would have to try again, and this time she would get what she wanted.

With little effort she sprung to the top of the stairs, giggling madly. "Gee gee gee." And then she dashed after the women who had turned down another hall. In a mere second she grabbed one of the women, opened a door on the side of the hall and dragged her in. Her companion kept walking for a moment, before briefly noticing the absence of her friend. She turned around, confused, but was quickly hauled away by Lesley who smashed through the wall. There was nothing but a large hole in the wall, and a previously neatly-folded sheet left on the floor, when Lesley had done with her prey.

On the roof of the Presidential Palace . . .

The President General, Nine Turning Mirrors, stood ahead of his associates. He looked up to the spaceship, and shortly after smiling with self-satisfaction at his friends, opened his mouth wide and began to yell. "F#$k off!! Go home you f#$king alien bastards!! Get the f#$k off our planet!!" He raised a pistol and began to fire madly.

"I can’t believe that I even gave this plan credence by allowing him to carry it out," Guru Al said. "If Igor was here she could send in the tanks or something."

At the mention of her name, Woozlewazza’s interest was piqued. "Is she coming?" he squealed with obvious anxiety.

"I don’t know man," Gamblor said. "I have absolutely no idea where she is. She can’t be far. But she is a wild woman, she is always about sleeping with some guy, heheh . . . oh I mean . . ." Gamblor flustered, seeing the crumpling visage of Woozlewazza taking on a sad appearance. "I . . . ah mean that she is helping men get to sleep. A part time sleep therapist she is . . . yes!" he ended with a positive yell, as if to emphasise the absurdity of the suggestion and then smiled coyly when he saw that Woozlewazza had taken the bait. "Heh heh, Gamblor you cunning bastard!" he said to himself.

NTM raised the pistol, cackling as if delusional that the plan was having any effect at all. With a disturbing resilience he pulled the trigger again and again, the barrel long ago empty. "That should do it!" he announced confidently.

"Somehow I don’t think so," someone said from behind. They all turned around and the eyes of Woozlewazza locked on those of the new arrival, a woman with long, lush, blonde hair, in a tight-fitting, short, black dress, concealing little, least of all a large knife which was secured under her garter. "Woozlewazza!" the woman screamed.

"Igor!" Woozlewazza replied with glee.

The two raced towards each other with increasing speed, embracing as they met a few metres from the crowd.

"This looks familiar," Jessica Fletcher noted, referring to Woozlewazza’s reunion with Doug in the future.

Woozlewazza and Igor began rolling around on the floor, barely concealing their passion. "However, this is somewhat different," Iggy acknowledged.

"Yes," they all agreed and the group turned from the scene, Katie Ye Olde Tavern Wench frowning bitterly.

"So," Guru Al said nervously. "The weather’s nice."

"Yes," several of them said.

"Wouldn’t you agree, Gamblor?" Al asked.

There was no response. "Gamblor?" Nothing. "Gamblor!" Al turned to see him staring at the couple in their fit of passion. "Gees, you know we are trying our best to look the other way and pretend not to notice, but there you are, watching everything that is going on there and . . . ooh." Guru Al became transfixed.

"Perhaps!" Katie Ye Olde Tavern Wench said sternly, obviously disgusted with the scene. "We should all go back downstairs, into the building."

The group agreed, most of them grudgingly and they left the roof of the building.

"So, that plan failed miserably," Gamblor observed, as they walked out onto the third floor balcony. "Got any other brilliant ideas, Mr President?" he asked mockingly.

"Hey! It’s Mr. President General to you! And no I have no other plans. All dry I am afraid." He leant against the balcony, noticing someone’s fingers clinging onto the edge. He quickly trampled them and this was followed by a scream and the sound of Gorf’s body crashing to the ground. "Hah!" NTM cried, satisfied. "You will all be happy to know that I just foiled the attempts of a perpetrator, attempting to gain access into the palace, by cunningly breaking his fingers. The group hummed in vague approval.

"On another note," Jessica Fletcher began, "What do you propose we do to stop the invasion?"

"Well," NTM said, and then paused staring at the woman. "What the hell are you doing here anyway?" he asked accusingly, brilliantly diverting the conversation for a moment.

"Well, I just came back to Earth from Plagno Beta 9 with Woozlewazza, Lesley, Iggy and Katie. I had been living on that planet for the past two years after the axing of my show, and the people there rightly worshipped me as their deity."

"Aha." NTM turned away from the woman. "Show-off!" he muttered.

Glinda suddenly stepped forward, her mouth open, her eyes turned to the side. It seemed as if she might have an idea. Everyone looked at her with hope. She began to speak. "My name is Glinda and I live . . ." Guru Al knocked her out of the way.

"I know! I know!" Everyone turned to him, with expectation in their eyes. "Why don’t we just get Corporal Chicken to help us?"

The crowd paused, puzzled. No one said a thing for a moment and then Nine Turning Mirrors stepped towards Al, placing his hand on his shoulder. "Ah, Al, just one thing." Al nodded. "Ah, who the fuck is Corporal Chicken?!?!?!?"

"Oh that’s right," AL said, "You weren’t with me when that happened. Well you see, when myself and Igor and Daisy and Cicci conquered Ga, we were sent back in time by a powerful, all-knowing chicken as punishment for eating it. And then we met the same chicken five thousand years is the past, and then we were going to be taken back to the future by his people, or rather chickens, and then I fell on him, causing a timewarp which separated all of us and then you met me in the outback in 1984." Al was blabbing like a ten year old, relating a tall tale. Everyone eyed him with genuine interest, yet a hefty amount of cynicism. "You can ask Igor!" Al reconsidered this. "Well, maybe you shouldn’t at the moment. But Anvil-Falls-On-Coyote was there, you can ask him!"

"Where is old AFOC, these days anyway?" Gamblor asked.

"He is talking to the press," NTM said, "He is the new propaganda minister."

In the news conference room of the Palace . . .

"Ah, Mr Coyote," a middle aged short, female reporter began, adjusting her bright-red glasses frames, "Is it true that the President General raised taxes just so he could boost his salary and that of his party colleagues, namely yourself , Guru Al, Gamblor Silk, the senator and Igor?"

AFOC studied the expression of the woman. "Take bird whistle coin loin-cloth seed."

A bunch of reporters at the back grabbed at their mobile phones, frantically calling their newspaper offices with this most recent news.

AFOC stared, motionless into the crowd. Another reporter raised their hand, but Guru Al rushed onto the stage and whispered in AFOC’s ear. "Panhellenism," AFOC uttered regrettably and the two bounded off the stage and disappeared through the door on the side of the room.

"Look there!" Guru Al screamed, the remote control firmly held in his hand, aimed at the TV. "Corporal Chicken has a sitcom in Mexico now. It’s called I Love Bantam." The group sat down and watched a scene of the show. Igor and Woozlewazza had returned, surprisingly able to suppress their passion for just a few minutes.

"Bantam!" A voice from off the screen yelled. "Uno nacho del seje quatro!" A man came on screen, and Corporal Chicken stuck his head out from behind the lounge at the centre of the scene.

"El diablo meo sorrio!" Bantam said, seemingly frightened. "Meno hitto del sorrio me, u toro CC?" he asked.

"Pepsi o tastio nex ti generatsio!" The man screamed. "Nono Cocacolio!"

"Si si." Bantam stepped tentatively from behind the lounge and approached the man. "Sorrio, uno forgivi super supremi?"

The man suddenly smiled. "Bantam," he said affectionately. "Canto beleevio itso nota buttero." The man picked up bantam and then . . .

"This show is sick!" Gamblor screamed. "Yet, strangely compelling . . ." Guru Al turned the TV off. "Aw . . ."

"So we know he is in Mexico." Al began to pace. "We have to send someone there immediately. Surely he can contact his fellow chickens. And then we can enlist their help!"

"But what if he remembers what we did, nay what you did to him?" Igor asked.

"Well," Al said doubt creeping into his voice. "The way I look at it is that if he doesn’t help then the whole world in screwed and so he should put aside his grievances and help us to rid the Earth of this vile menace. If not we will threaten him with violence!"

"It can’t fail!" NTM cried, suddenly enthused.

In a dark room on the second floor of the palace . . .

Lesley crouched on a table, grinning with perverted glee. In front of her was an assembly of her recruits, all maids who had worked in the palace, now willingly enslaved by Lesley’s strange blood power. She smiled at all seven of them. It hadn’t taken her long to gather her minions, a mere half an hour. While she gathered them she also cultivated a rather impressive head-swell and now had the feeling that she was all-powerful and untouchable.

She giggled. "Gee gee gee." This was followed by a rather appropriate fall from the table. When she collected herself she smiled as if nothing had happened. But her followers had barely noticed, they remained totally transfixed by the lesbian vampire leader. "Gee gee gee." She stared at them. "You know what to do, my followerth," she said. "You mutht go out and recruit more people and bring them over to our way!" They all became lively, laughing and nodding in a mad unison, saying ‘yes, yes’.

"Then go, my prettieth!" The women ran from the room in a frenzy. Lesley cackled with diabolical zeal. Then a thought struck her, an image hammered into her brain, that of a man, a most wonderous man, with a most wonderous name. Gorf.

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Last updated: 31/05/99