We were all pretty tired after that (all that swinging the iron rod and smashing people and windshields really took it out of me personally), so we all decided to get a little plastered and de-hungryized. I voted for Dan Marino's place 'cause, hey, he was in Ace Ventura - Pet Detective. A way underrated flick.

So we got on the list for a table and relaxed at the bar for a bit, while I answered every question that was aimed at me from Team Greenwood. Things like, "Why are you doing this to us?" and "I think I'm bleeding internally, why won't you let me go to the hospital?" After about twenty minutes I was glad that the alcohol was beginning to dull my hearing. Not because of my friends' prodding and pressing (and sometimes rude) inquiries about personal hygeine, but mostly because the pop muzak they had pumping through the speakers was pretty heinous. Right now I can't even recall one of the songs that they had playing, but I can still feel the hurting they caused in my brain.

After a while we were seated in a nice booth and I made sure that I had a nice view of the manager in the red dress who kept walking right past us while letting me cop a feel whenever the mood hit me. Though maybe "letting" might be too liberal a term. She never did press charges, so I took that as a sign of pure love.

Dinner was spooktacular and dessert was even yummier! The ale that they had on tap wasn't bad either. I can't remember the name of it though, and every time I almost had it on the tip of my tongue during the trip, Stephanopolis kept blurting out obscenities like Pee Wee Herman when that cop snuck up on him in that famous theater. I don't know if she had terrets or she was just trying to keep me from ever ordering that brew ever again. For all I know she may have found out that the beer was contaminated with some kind of mind controlling drug just like in Strange Brew! Now, if Ace Ventura and Bob and Doug MacKenzie ever made a movie together it might just become the most über-licious and quantabulous cinema event that the world has/will ever witness(ed)!!! Just something to think about.

At first I was worried when Rogue approached me and began questioning me and my loyalty to the Doomed one himself, but soon I found that her lovely talents of persuasion were quite delectable. I was immediately lost in her Southern belle accent and her swirling mass of white skunk-striped hair. But what really turned my goat was her mutie powers. When she touched me I felt all weak-kneed and buttery. Just like when I accidentally slam my penis in the bathroom door, but in a good way. I was putty in her hands, but I made the mistake of holding on to her rump for too long and soon I found my essence trapped inside her body like an ant in a farm!... An ant farm, moron. Try as she might to evict me from her physical substance, I fought to stay mainly because I could not pass up the opportunity to go exploring 'round the Cape of Good Hope, if you know what I mean. The first thing that I learned from that educational experience, is that female sensations are much more delicate than males'. Although that might just be because most of my real body is filled with scars and dead nerves due to imitating every stunt I ever saw on Jackass in order to impress Kuni's sister (who despite her quiet and giggly demeanor loves to see masochism in action). Anyway, before I got to re-enact that scene from When Harry Met Sally on Rogue's body, the mystified Dr. Strange wandered by and sensing a mystical anomaly, removed my being from Skunky's. Getting kicked out so soon may have sucked, but a good side effect to the whole situation was the fact that I had a nice set of titties on my Rossmanly chest for at least a half an hour afterwards. Sorry, no pictures of that though. I was too busy for picture taking for those 30 minutes. VERY too busy.

After dinner we got more fucked up at Lulu's Bait Shack (everybody had to get a fish bowl so that we'd each have a rubber alligator to set on fire in order to hex the University of Florida's starting quarterback), and then called it a night. It was the end of a loooong day, and I wanted a fresh mind the following morning in order to think clearly about what to do with the rest of my "marked for death" life.

I got everybody up the next morning with a combination of honking car horns, ice water, roadkill and old peoples' discarded undergarments, and we came up with another cunning plan: We would ignore the most obvious place in town for hiding (i.e. all things Mousey), and instead take over Universal's Islands of Adventure and Promiscuity! "Promiscuity?" questioned Mehve. "Well," retorted I, "It will be known as that after we get done with it."

It was early that morning that I started tripping again... And I don't mean over my shoelaces. I was having flashbacks to Hawai'i and to the Pirates of the Caribbean (not the ride or the upcoming mongoloid movie), and soon began thinking that the very ground that I was walking on was a giant surfboard and that I was the Big Kahuna or Tia Carrere's character from Lilo & Stitch... just with smaller knockers now that Rogue's boobies had worn off me. Once again there was a logical explanation for my alternate reality side-trip. It turns out that Magneto had used his powers over the world's magnetic fields to rip the temporal portal of actuality open so that he could go back in time and witness Charles In Charge when it first debuted on TV in 1984 in order to settle a bet with Charles Xavier over whether Charles (the one in charge) actually took care of another family before the Powells... He did. The Pembrokes. My wave tripping was just a quantum hiccup from the reverberations of the time stream shooting back into the present from past vacations. That or the greasy as fuck bacon I had at Denny's that morning.