Amazon exiles discussion

message 8834: by nocheese
Dec 24, 2023 05:56AM

A while back Post Soviet had the great idea of starting a saga based on the mysterious out of order bench. I’ve been waiting for someone to pick up on this, or start off with some other idea, but it looks as if no one is going to. So, by way of setting the scene:

Out Of Order: A Saga.

Blastro Jnr, known to his friends as BJ, sauntered along the path looking and feeling as cool as …anything. The sun glinted on his Aviator shades, the birds were singing in the trees, children were playing on the swings. The park was a haven of tranquilly, all was well in the BJ universe.
Probably too good to last he mused, and he was right. His reverie was rudely interrupted by an unnecessarily heavy blow on the back and a cry of ‘Hey BJ! Did no one tell you Aviators aren’t cool anymore?’ It was Chaz, the neighborhood bully. ‘What a loser’ Chaz snorted, and ran off laughing.
BJ was winded from the blow, and what’s more his feelings were hurt. He needed to sit down. There was a bench just a few yards away, but to his dismay when he got there he found it was secured with hazard tape, the red kind, and bore a sign saying ‘This Bench Is Out Of Order’.
What could it possibly mean, and what could he do now?

Feel free to take this wherever you like!

message 8836: by Bangkok Shocks, Saigon Shakes, Blastronaut Rocks..
Dec 24, 2023 02:50PM

Right back atcha Duke. Merry Christmas folks!!!! And nice one nc for the Genesis.

Still smarting from being caught cold, BJ ripped away the hazard tape in a huff and plonked himself down on the bench with very little grace. "Now who's out of order?" he shouted as he stomped down with both feet. His anger quickly turned to alarm as his steel-toe-capped boots, rather than connect with the concrete in which the bench was set, plunged straight on through until his legs straightened almost toppling him off the bench! As BJ incredulously looked below, he observed that his feet were missing, and the concrete had taken on liquid-like properties as it rippled around his half-submerged shins. If it wasn't for the fact that he was figuring that some workmate had spiked his drink with some powerful hallucinogen, he quite possibly would have gone mad on the spot. There was no pain and his feet didn't seem to be held in place by anything... yet he was somehow reluctant to pull away.

Apols if I've gone straight in the deep end but why not? Really curious to see where this might go cos I have my own idea but it could go a different way altogether. That's the whole point tho innit?
Anyone feel free to go at it and there be no rules as to how much one has to add. Can be owt from a sentence to a paragraph or whatever.

message 8837: by Val
Dec 24, 2023 03:47PM

Only the thought of what he had paid for those boots made him struggle for release. It wasn't easy but he eventually got his feet up and onto the bench. The "concrete" seemed to settle down but no way was he giving it another chance. "Best be making for home before Dad kicks off. One leap'll do it". But the bench seemed to have other ideas.

message 8838: by Isabella
Dec 24, 2023 04:37PM

As soon as he crouched, ready to launch himself to safety, the seat curved up, enclosing him in a gentle but inescapable grasp. Seizing the arms, he tried to stand but he was wedged firmly and to his horrified amazement the bench seemed to start to wade through the concrete, making for the path. As it reached the tarmac, it turned to the left but as he looked ahead, he could see that the path no longer seemed to lead to the gate but …

message 8839: by Bangkok Shocks, Saigon Shakes, Blastronaut Rocks..
Dec 25, 2023 01:35AM

... instead it led to.... another bench!!* This new arrival somehow seemed to be awaiting the bench-thing that had in its grasp this bemused and now pretty frightened fella that just wanted to get home after a hard nightshift. BJ thought he could even hear the second bench softly calling 'his' bench, almost as if serenading it in some kind of bizarre courtship ritual. He prayed that this was just his imagination because the alternative was, at best grotesque, and he really didn't want to be dwelling on the whys and wherefores of this latest development in this insane incident. The bench holding BJ continued its slow trudge toward its potential mate....

*When starting that last piece, I actually asked my lad - the protagonist of this story - where the path should lead. Instantly he said "Another bench!" and I thought that was just too funny to resist!

message 8840: by Val
Dec 25, 2023 03:47AM

....still trailing the hazard tape which now started waving like a demented inflatable tube man. This action seemed to have a negative effect on Bench 2. Gone was the serenading. If BJ was hearing right, it seemed to emit a distinct "Harumph" and raised a foot in what looked like a definite middle finger.

message 8843: by nocheese
6 hours, 18 min ago

BJ’s bench shuddered to a halt, its hazard tape fluttering flaccidly to the ground . If a bench can be disappointed in love, it seemed that this one was.

BJ didn’t know whether to be terrified or annoyed. He was certainly bewildered. ‘You’re both well out of order’ he muttered under his breath,unsure whether benches had ears, but not wanting to make matters worse by antagonising them.
He set about trying to extricate himself from the bench’s wooden clutches - but wait a minute, the bench wasn’t made of wood, and neither did it seem to be metal. What could this strange material be?

message 8845: by Qashqai 68
1 hour, 30 min ago

Cheddar!

It was stretchy, viscous and a bit smelly if truth be told. It was also attracting attention from more than a few flies and an even smellier stray dog. The latter was making BJ's predicament even trickier as it lunged for the closest bits of the bench.

What to do? Why is there never a bone to throw when it’s needed? If he couldn’t escape soon, BJ would be trapped in the sticky mess and lose his big chance. He was already a few minutes late and knew with a sinking feeling in his heart that if he didn’t get on his way quickly then his arch rival would seize the opportunity to take his place. Frantically he struggled to pull his feet from the noisome cheese, to no avail. Suddenly, he heard voices coming from behind him.

"Oh sheet it's Plod' BJ muttered to himself. Having had a couple of previous run-ins with the law, this was an instinctive reaction but it soon gave way to relief. Surely the police will know what's going on and will have him free in no time! These new arrivals had spooked the dog and he took off.... but halted after twenty-five yard or so, turned and sat so as to keep an eye on events. A female cop exited the drivers side of the police car and proudly gave the vehicle the once over before turning her attention BJ's predicament. Out of the passenger side lurched an overweight, young male quickly throwing on his hat to cover his already balding bonce. He'd brought along his half-eaten kebab for good measure it seemed. As the two neared, the male cop mumbled through a kebab filled mouth "Whahh tha fush ish goin on ere then?" while curiosity brought his partner a little closer... but not TOO close; she was sure to maintain what she deemed to be a safe distance. Regarding BJ with an attempt at a 'Right then let's get down to business' look that failed miserably - "What the hell have you done here you bloody vandal? And how.... how have you managed to....... is that a BENCH you're wearing?? No it can't be, it's..... it's all.... ". She was struggling to maintain the kind of composure and professionalism she had always took pride in. To her partner she shouted - "Hey, Mr Stay Puffed. Nevermind that kebab, call for backup! An ambulance too!! Reckon we'll also be needing a fire-engine". As she observed him waddling off back to the car she added "NOW, NOT TOMORROW!!" which had the desired affect in that he dropped the waddle and hurried. He also dropped face-first into a large puddle as he slipped in a mud patch. No... it wasn't a puddle, it was where the original bench had been. With an almighty splash, he was gone! "W-w-what the.. f" now the remaining cop was more than a little frightened....

Any other contributors most welcome. C'mon folks dip yer toe in eh?

Goes without saying.... many MANY thanks to yous that are already making such a brave effort to try getting this thing to fly!
Too damn late now but should we have schemed and pretended it was someone else's idea? Maybe got a couple more takers that way?? Or maybe that's just my Blastronoia sense tingling a bit too much. I mean.. I've made some grand cyber-friends from this (and Amazon's) community over the years but let's be honest for a moment... I've not been to everyone's tastes? That's ok, it's not written in stone like 'THOU SHALL LOVE BLASTRONAUT' or owt like that. Some folk simply don't have time for my shenanigans. Errr... I guess what I'm saying is.... we dropped the ball before even starting! Nevermind..... we shall march forth with the tools we are given. So which Tool is it to go next? : )

And a deep gurgling sound did nothing to allay her fears. Suddenly a geyser erupted, spurting some thirty feet into the air. Not quite Old Faithful but pretty spectacular for Milton Keynes. And sitting atop it all was P.C. Plod. As the geyser subsided, the latter gent was dumped most unceremoniously on the ground. His substantial rump softened his landing while a final burp saw the remains of the kebab ejected too. The dog (known to his cronies as Homer) was in like Flynn. Treats like this didn't come along every day! Meanwhile Plod had now started to bawl like an overtired two year old. "For crying out loud Sinjin (his mother had thought St John was an ever so elegant name, right posh! - little did she guess what other less kind children and colleagues would make of it), put a sock in it! We're supposed to be community role models. Don't you remember that three day training course in Huddersfield?" his partner yelled. "I'm ringing the Council. At the very least we need the dog ranger, the Parks and Gardens supervisor and probably the By Laws Officer as well down here." BJ (and his bench) didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Had he wandered into an immersive theatre event??

PC Lydia Loveless paused. There was more to this than a malodorous, contorted bench (with a bewildered occupant) and an unruly puddle. Was there really any point in summoning a bunch of council officials to argue over whose responsibility it all was? She was ambitious, having no intention of spending her days pounding the beat with PC Plod, or any other of his lumbering ilk. She had it in her to be a DC, then a DS, and eventually a Detective Chief Superintendent. But you have to start somewhere, and this could be her big chance. Could she crack this case?

What she needed was information. No point in guessing, this clearly wasn’t your common or garden, everyday park bench, so was the hapless youth a victim? Or a villain? Had he committed some kind of heinous action that had set a series of events in motion which he couldn’t control? She needed to sort out Sinjin first, before he turned into even more of a liability than normal.

She fished in her pocket and drew out a couple of pound coins. ‘You must be starving Sinjin, why don’t you get yourself some chips?’ she cooed. Her partner gulped and nodded, gratefully grasping the coins. ‘Take your time!’ she called after him as he toddled off in the direction of the chippie.
She turned back to the scene of the whatever-it-was, pulled out her notebook and pencil, and approached the bench (not in the sense of a courtroom drama). She peered in at the unfortunate youth who was held in its grasp. ‘Now then, young man, I’m going to have to take down your particulars’. She’d always wanted to say that.

BJ wouldn't have minded taking down her particulars! Quite a toothsome gal in his opinion, reminded him of that Joan Sims in those old Carry On films his dad was addicted to (Lydia would not have been impressed by this analogy - she was going more for a Jane Tennison vibe). However, he gathered his wits about him. Now was not the time for romantic fantasies. That small stash in his inside pocket could prove awkward and he'd already had a stern warning from the local magistrate. How to turn the focus onto the bench?

As if she had read his mind, Lydia said ‘You’re probably carrying, but that’s not my concern right now. I’m only interested in how you came to be in your present, um, predicament’.
BJ told her the whole story, his carefree walk in the park, the ‘out of order’ sign, his feet sinking into the path, his capture by the bench, the lurching progress along the path. ‘We were heading for that other bench’ he said, pointing to - nothing! The other bench had vanished.
‘It was there a minute ago, honestly officer’ he said. ‘I don’t doubt it’ said Lydia, whose credulity had already been stretched to the limit that day.

Apols for the interruption but....

Coulda swore I put in an entry yesterday but no sign of it now. Maybe I forgot to actually fire it off? It was a tad darker that the other posts but nothing too bad I hope.. so hoping it hasn't been taken down. Anybody witness a post by me yesterday? If not, then as we were....

I didn't see anything posted by you yesterday Blastro.

I probably forgot to click on the 'Post' button or something then Val. Might be for the best cos I put in a dark piece focusing on the overweight cop feeling very odd - not to mention ravenously hungry... more than usual - since his dip and being quite nasty inside the chip shop after ordering 10 kebabs, 5 large portions of chips and same amount of Saveloys. He was looking very unhealthy too but strangely agile for a bloke of his size. His attitude scaring off the other customers with employee on other side of counter freezing with fear after being threatened by him and then turning to look upon his gruesome countenance. Didn't consider that rest of yous might not appreciate a little dark stuff thrown in with the lighter tone we've chosen so might be better it didn't see light of day.

You must just have forgotten to press send Blastro. That sounds like an interesting development, why don’t you rewrite it and remember the send button this time!

Well if it's good enough for you NC, it'll do for the rest of us. It doesn't have to develop into a horror tale altogether but thought it'd be cool to have a dark strand or two running through.... while keeping the whole shebang in general in the 'Fun Section'. Why not write something that don't fit any particular genre?
Will see how much I can recall. Shouldn't be too hard as I put the general idea in the post above.

Squelching toward the chip shop, Sinjin (AKA Plod) was oblivious of his saturated clothes and didn't pay mind to his appearance. He was feeling odd.... extremely odd; to say he was not feeling himself would be understating matters. The only thing that was familiar to him was the fact that he was hungry, but more hungry than usual... ravenously hungry! His teeth were causing him much discomfort and his sodden shirt was spotted with blood that he assumed was his own. Despite this... he felt good, finer than ever even! He knew he would feel even better if he could just EAT! None of the queueing customers complained, indeed any previous conversation ceased as he entered the chip shop.. and quietly but surely, they exited the building. Ignoring this, Roland demanded "Give me 12 kebabs, 6 large portions of chips and 12 saveloys". There were two staff up front. One quickly and silently left but the other had her back to him - "And what's the magic word?" to which Sinjin replied "Ghhugg um zffl mi ut gnukk vkle! xfyzrr? Mi ut GNUKKl!!". At the sound of this strange and sinister utterance the remaining employee turned and looked upon a countenance that rooted her to the spot like the old rabbit caught in headlights. This man.. this creature before her appeared at first glance to be very ill but even slight movements that he made contradicted his appearance and he appeared to be unnaturally agile for a man of his size . His once white eyes were now that yellow associated with Hepatitis sufferers and especially heavy drinkers coming to the end of their time when the liver can no longer function. Blood trickled from his nose and patches of his hair (what little he had in the first place) looked to be peeling away. This did little to complement his extremely pale and sweat lathered features. Whether it was sweat or some other unmentionable.... the smell he was giving off was rancid. She also couldn't help notice the unnatural size of his incisors as he constantly ran his tongue along his lips. Trying to keep composed, Hayley - the part time chip shop employee who was looking forward to going on her hols in a couple of days and now was wondering if she'll ever see the outside of this place again - was trying to keep composed but her quivering lips betrayed her - "I-I'm sorry s-sir but I d-don't understand that..... " but the Sinjin-creature cut her off - "Oh dear, please forgive me miss... let me put it another way. I said GIVE ME MY FOOD BEFORE I SNAP YOUR ******* NECK! In fact I might still snap your neck regardless so get on with it. FAST! VKLE!!!

With trembling hands Hayley assembled the order. If this doesn’t earn me my Employee of the Month badge, nothing will, she thought. ‘There we are, sir’ she said with as professional a smile as she could muster, handing the neatly wrapped delicacies over the counter. The ravenous beast grabbed the package and stuffed it, paper and all, into his gaping, slavering maw. In one gulp it was gone.
A benign expression, you couldn’t exactly call it a smile, not with those teeth, spread across his bloated face.
Hayley was just starting to breathe again when she heard an ominous low rumble. An earthquake? In Milton Keynes? Then she realised the sound was emanating from within the monstrous creature on the other side of the counter. She looked cautiously at him. He appeared to be expanding in all directions, but mostly outwards. He smelled, if it was possible, even worse. Had he…..farted?

Back at the bench, Lydia looked at her watch. Sinjin had been gone a long time, even for him. Probably skiving off somewhere. He could be moody, a bit of a split personality. She shrugged and turned her attention back to BJ in his peculiar prison. ‘Now then, where were we, young man?’ she began, when she was interrupted by a huge bang - like an explosion but somehow squelchier- and looking up she saw falling from the sky…

... wait, was that ... chips? and saveloys? Homer was loving this! I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day was now playing on a loop in his head. Until, that is, he was almost flattened by something huge, and smelly (and he was a connoisseur of smelly!). Sinjin hit the ground for a second time this shift. As the air left his body he shrivelled to a mere shadow of his former self. He was alive but now regretting his decision to join the boys (and girls) in blue. This wasn't funny any more. BJ had witnessed all this and quickly deduced that the concrete must have the ability to change body shape at will. And with that thought, he looked down at his feet which were starting to feel very constricted in his much loved boots.

Excellent stuff ladies! I must apologize... I somehow missed the part where our large friend acquired his name. I wasn't being awkward or owt. Sinjin it is. I shall edit right away. Maybe Roland's his middle name.

Onwards...

BJ's feet ached desperately for freedom... and he could move them a little, where before they were locked tight, as if being biologically part of the bench. Why did he apply the term 'Biological' to his captor? Because this was exactly how it felt, Not wood and concrete... neither did it seem some kind of mechanical contraption. The damn thing felt ALIVE! Deciding that doing something, however fruitless it seemed, was better than hanging here waiting upon this aberration's next move. The odds on him being released had to be extremely long. The female cop (who, he couldn't help thinking would look pretty good sans uniform. While he was thinking 'Keep the hat tho, she'd look cool in just the hat' these pleasant thoughts were interrupted by "HEY! BOY WONDER!!" - she was waving and clicking her fingers "DO you think you could answer a few questions when you've finished undressing me in your head?"... to which he replied "Wow you HAVE got tickets on yourself Missus Plod now haven't you!?" She was saying "Save the bravado for later. Will you step down from there straight away because you're gonna be...... WHAT NOW?" as she turned to see her comrade spinning and looping through the air accompanied by the sound of heavy flatulence... before plummeting unceremoniously to the ground. BJ watched in part-fascination, part-horror as the dog went at the disgusting mess like a bull at a gate... also noticing how weary the pooch was of getting too near the unpleasant heap that was the fallen bobby.

In fact no one wanted to get too near poor old Sinjin, but Lydia knew her duty and proceeded to check him for vital signs. She quickly found a pulse which was a relief - she really hadn’t wanted to administer mouth to mouth resuscitation.

Even as she checked his vital signs, Sinjin began to stir. ‘Wha’ wha’ wha’ happened? Where, where’s me k k kebabs? M’ungry. WANT EAT!’ His voice and his agitation were rising in concert and Loveless hastily took a few steps back. Unfortunately, she failed to notice where she was stepping and before she could dodge aside her feet were gripped by the smelly gloop. Frantically she tried to free her feet from its grip but her efforts were useless. BJ’s thoughts were racing as he witnessed her worsening predicament. He could make his escape while she was trapped and Sinjin was absorbed by his hunger. But BJ had a kind heart under his tough exterior and knew how he had felt when threatened by the erstwhile bench. So he pulled himself up to his full height, thrust out his chin with a look of determination and …

.. spoke fiercely to "his" bench. "I don't know what your issue is mate but you and I are going to rescue this damsel in distress!" It wasn't easy going, the cheddar was still clinging as though its life depended on it. Homer, torn between the cheese and the raining chips, kept getting underfoot, but slowly and surely the trio made their way to the hapless Lydia. It was useless asking her to grab on to the melted cheese so he planted his large number twelves as far apart as he could manage and leant forward to grip her wrists. This was going to end one of two ways .....

.... pushed his feet away from his captor. To his surprise, his feet became free.. but as he struggled to pull away with his hands, he had little success. The penny dropped - "It's my FEET!" he said to himself, remembering the dip they took in whatever the bench had secreted. Upon realizing that his feet felt bestowed with strength that'd put a young Arnie Schwarzenegger to shame, BJ wasted no more time. Despite only his feet and part of his shins being in contact with the bench's semi-liquid deposits, it felt like from the waist down, he was a very different fella. The bottom half of BJ was positively burning with energy..... although one side-effect had him sporting something else that was very alive with energy too and despite everything happening around him, he was conscious of female plodd noticing. The bench tightened it's hold on him and felt more than ever that he was being consumed. Summoning every drop of that jet-fuel adrenalin coursing through his veins and yelling out "Here it comes Bozo!" he set his feet and thrust himself forward and was indeed detaching himself from the bench-thing. BJ was a frenzy of punches and kicks as he focused anger he never knew possible upon his captor. Was that an almost inaudible high frequency scream he was hearing as tissue stretched and tore? Concrete crumbled and a muscle-bound wooden beam snapped and splintered, spurting a jet of dull yellow liquid skywards from the damage. Applying the coup de grace, BJ unleashed one more mighty kick into that impossible breach of tattered flesh, wooden splinters, crumbling concrete... hoping to bullseye the splattered area of torn tendons that had held him captive. The kick was off target but the damage dealt by the blow was unmistakable as the sound emitting from the bench this time was plain to hear... and tho it was like nothing anyone had heard before, there was no doubting the agony present in this low gurgling roar. Some show.... even the mutt took a break from what was no doubt the feast of his life to observe this latest development.... curiously cocking its head to one side as the bench/creature stumbled and then fell on its side... looking - of course - much like a bench again. Damaged but a bench nonetheless. BJ didn't think they'd seen the last of that thing.

Nor did Ron, the Parks & Gardens Inspector, who was not impressed to find the troublesome bench a good few yards away from its concrete footing and bearing only the remnants of the Out of Order tape he had so carefully wound round it only a couple of days ago. "Now then, you young whipper-snapper," he addressed BJ, "what have you been up to with this 'ere bench?" BJ was exhausted from his efforts and couldn't be bothered trying to explain the events of the last few hours to this jobsworth. "Bugger off unless you're going to help me get this young lass out of here." Already the concrete was emitting sounds of great contentment as it continued to slurp up Lydia Loveless. She was trying to find her radio but the suction was proving too much.

BJ was surprised to see the Parks fella start off toward Lydia without further reprimand. Sinjin however, was not gonna be of much use; he'd managed to crawl over to his struggling colleague but, rather than coming to her aid, he lowered his head to the engulfing goo and proceeded to slurp and scoff away at it with enthusiasm previously reserved only for kebabs. BJ was wondering how much more of this his mind could take but stuck with his original theory of a spiked drink. As the P&G fella neared Lydia, BJ yelled a caution in regards to coming into contact with the substance that was becoming one hell of a pain in the posterior but the parks guy's looks deceived him and was already stretching out a rake for Lydia to grasp. As she reached out......

…to grab the rake she gasped her thanks. Ron pulled with all his strength, mindful to keep himself clear of the the strange liquid. He remembered seeing a film where someone got swallowed up by quicksand. A horrible death, and this stuff looked even worse, as if it had a mind of its own. It seemed determined to keep its grip on poor Lydia. Ron would have liked to get his phone out to summon help, but he didn’t dare loosen his grip on the rake.
‘Hey mate!’ He shouted over his shoulder at BJ ‘Got a phone?’
BJ reached in his pocket - his phone was there all right, but it looked a bit.,..,.

Nice nc. Very interested to see what someone does with that one.

..like a rectangular disco ball. All flashing pixels and more glitter than a 9 year old's craft box. He guessed where 999 might be on the keypad and waited for an answer. He could hear Donna Summer in the background and then a world weary voice drawled "What's the emergency this time?"

BJ was taken aback but quickly described the situation.
‘So which service do you require?’ sighed the voice with a barely concealed yawn, ‘fire brigade, police, ambulance or worst-nightmare-scenario-busters?’
‘Probably that last one’ said BJ.
Immediately the sky turned from blue to orange, the strains of ‘I Will Survive’ grew much, much louder, and suddenly the giant figure of a beautiful black woman with an Afro stood before them brandishing a….

.... a toilet brush?? and was that a bottle of Duck encased in her Marigolds?? As the strains of "you think I'd crumble? you think I'd lay down and die? oh no, not I..." tailed off, her husky American twang cried out "Dontcha be worried folks, I got this!" And with that she aimed the Duck at the sucking concrete and swirled the pool with her toilet brush. The liquid immediately began to subside. Brave Ron resumed pulling on the rake and Lydia Loveless (now Lydia Lunchless) was relieved to find herself sprawled on the grass beside Ron. "Great job Gloria" said Ron, "I was hoping they'd send you. This job was one for an expert".

"Hang on," said BJ, "you two know each other?"

"Of course, Gloria's the best when it comes to unruly benches. She can put the little buggers in their places quick smart. She ....

…always knows the right product for any emergency. Why only last month she single-handedly quelled an uprising of picnic tables with a bottle of Mr Kleen and a sponge.’
Gloria blushed. ‘Shucks, it was nuthin’ really’ she said.
‘No one else could have handled the situation’ said Ron, you really are a star Gloria’.

BJ coughed politely. ‘Can I just mention that I’m still stuck?’he said plaintively. ‘Do you have a solution for my plight?’

‘Sorry,’ replied Gloria, ‘ a solution won’t be strong enough for this. It calls for a concentrate.’ With that, she pulled out a gallon container of extra thick bleach and adopted the lotus position as close to BJ as was safe. Softly, she began to sing ‘Go now,’ eyes closed and an expression of deep seriousness on her face. Slowly and with difficulty, BJ found himself able to ….

Excellent stuff ladies. Putting me in the shade for sure.

found himself able to dance. No, not just dance - he was becoming one serious mover. Slowly but surely he felt it... like it was being programmed into him by a computer or some higher being until - all he wanted to do was BOOGIE! 'Was I wearing this dodgy white flared suit and huge collars before?' he wondered, even feeling some kind of dimple or hole make itself present in his chin. Some odd ramblings re something called 'Scientology' and strange dudes dressed like sailors fluttered through his mind but was gone in an instant. Convinced he was the coolest cat around, he placed one hand on his hip, which he then thrust to one side, and with the other arm he threw a pointing finger to the sky. He performed this move with such majesty, that it was accompanied by a loud crack that sounded just like a pistol being fired. A glitterball plunged down from above.. but instead of shattering, simply bounced away; and wasn't that a voice calling out "On the 'ed son?". Another image flashed through his mind and he wondered who the hell Kevin Keegan was. Was he to be his opponent in some kind of dance-off? The floor was now mirrored, reflecting those other shiny disco balls and he knew that his mission was to hit that bad boy and put down some smooth moves. He did just that.. with a thick tuft of rug showing out of the top of his shirt and a large shining gold medallion hanging from his neck, BJ was hustling... "YOW!" He had not a clue who the Brothers Gibb were but he knew he must pay homage to them....

A smattering of applause came from the small crowd which had gathered to watch BJ’s fevered performance. Among them, BJ was surprised to see Chaz, who had set off the recent chain of events by causing him to need to sit down, hand in hand with Hayley from the chip shop. BJ felt a stab of jealousy, he had been trying to pluck up the courage to ask her out himself.
‘Sorry I said you were a loser’, called Chaz, ‘that was great, man’. BJ found himself executing a rather complicated bow. (It had nearly been a curtsy, but he rescued it in time).
Meanwhile Lydia was struggling to record what had happened in her notebook. The trouble was, she hadn’t a clue what had happened. Was it over now? Were they safe? And what the hell had it been anyway?

She looked around her at the sorry scene. Homer had taken care of most of the food remnants and was now attached to Hayley. They hadn't met previously but she had the most alluring scent! If only he could rid her of the sleazy Chaz. Ron and Gloria were still reminiscing about other triumphs and the merits of Barkeeper's Friend. Sinjin seemed to have grown a pair and had the remains of both benches under tight control. Even the mysterious concrete seemed inert. The lad in the white suit (a bit mired by mushy peas and vinegar) was rather appealingly bashful. What could she possibly charge him with? Making a public spectacle of himself? Inspiring a disco revival? Hendon hadn't prepared her for this.

Homer was also thinking. (Of course they do, ask any dog owner). In all of his 77 dog years he had never seen a day like today, and as for most of it, he never wished to see it again. Except for the bit where the sky rained kebabs, saveloys and chips. How had that happened? It must be something to do with Hayley, who he was nuzzling enthusiastically, she had an aura of all those delightful delicacies.
‘Hello, lovely doggie, you’re a friendly boy, aren’t you?’ Hayley cooed, while Chaz rolled his eyes.
‘Can you do the trick with the kebabs again?’ Homer beseeched, but only with his eyes of course. Dogs might understand every word you say, but they’re limited conversationalists.
‘What do you want, sweetie?’ asked Hayley. Homer reckoned that the cornucopia of fatty food had also had something to do with the policeman who was now busy wrapping quantities of hazard tape round the benches. So he tugged on Hayley’s skirt with his teeth, while indicating with a paw in the direction of Sinjin.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" he roared, One of his pet mutant atrocities jumped with a shriek, swatting his master's viewer in the process, almost unseating it from its cradle. He'd seen enough. These.... humans had managed to improvise in circumstances that should've froze them with fear or sent them packing. He often uses a human body to walk around on that foul planet and didn't think it was capable of such feats. And certainly he had underestimated their intellect. The foul planet would take a few billion light years to reach.... unless one was in possession of a particular bottle of HP Sauce which obviously never got empty, and when daubed on any flat surface, made a portal of sorts thus being able to take it's owner to wherever or whenever they wished. "No new disciples today then" he growled. Babson waved a hand and his viewer darkened. "Do I have to go myself to sort this out?" he asked nobody in particular.
Back on the aforementioned foul planet.....

..Homer seemed the only active participant in this weird tableau who felt a shiver in the space/time continuum. His hackles quivered but he didn't know why. At the same time his nose twitched to an unfamiliar scent. For some unknown reason he felt compelled to race over to the nearest chippie and take a flying leap at the counter. The local customers were still gobsmacked after Sinjin's visit (and wondering what had happened to Hayley) but now they were rendered mute by a rancid mutt exiting the shop with a bottle of HP sauce in his mouth. Had end of days arrived in Milton Keynes?

Babson watched it all on his viewer and gave what in his language
(Kxjion) passed for a chuckle. The hairy four-legged creature had more sense than the humans put together. Of course the bottle of HP in his jaws had no powers beyond disguising the taste of the awful concoctions the humans stuffed into themselves, but still, the beast was on to something, and knew it. ‘Better safe than sorry’ he thought, (or Kxjion equivalent), and turning to a control panel on his left, …..

... Babson The Mighty One waved a hand over a small phone-sized screen which came to life displaying an array of symbols and other figures that slightly resembled numbers. A deft hand tapped several of these which then presented a holograph of several star systems. He allowed himself a chuckle... a horrid high pitched cacophony which seemed to belong to several beings... but he was alone in his chamber.
Again, Homer felt it. Just a twitch but enough to tell him this time he was in danger. That sixth sense dogs seem to possess or perhaps Homer was a special type? Whatever the case, pure instinct took him to the nearest biped in no sluggish fashion, who in this case happened to be Chaz. "Hey mutt, get the f.." he started to complain and then nothing. He was gone. Without a trace! The only thing accompanying this exit was a subtle pop in everyone's ears, as if a change in air pressure. Just Homer was focusing on Chaz at that very moment and as he jumped up to bother him, again by pure instinct the hound turned tail and bolted as milliseconds later, the bully vacated the scene. Hayley (who would later be incredibly thankful for letting loose her fella's hand as curiosity took her toward the item that the dog had dropped) noticed Chaz's removal peripherally and turned fully toward the space formerly occupied by him. In a voice that didn't sound like her own and to nobody in particular, she asked "W-what did Cha... what happened? Chaz.. he... he's not there!"