Finally, he could be himself. He closed the

Finally, he could be himself. He closed the closet door. The walls were lined with astro-turf and he had a hogshead of port wine, and some cheeto's. He saluted his grande

burrito's altar portrait. Domingo Sifu had taught him much. He got naked and performed antigrav tumbling exercises inside the astroturfed closet. Later, he considered a Cheeto

infused cape and wore it while performing his gravity-defying feats. *Knock, knock* He slid back to the ground and opened the closet door. It was his mother. "Honey, it's time for

Our trip to the time machine. H.G. Wells was waiting for us since yesterday and he needs guinea pigs. So he volunteered, along with his mum. They called a taxi, which arrived at 12

:00 May 12, 1881 as a horse drawn carriage in Portsmouth just up the road from the very Drappery from which young Wells had just escaped. "Oo'eer. What about a ride for the lad?"

"Perhaps another time," Wells told the prostitute. Right now he needed to pay a call on Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Only Mr. Homes could solve The Case of the Portsmouth Drappery. Wells

went to call of Sherlock Holmes, but managed to get himself inexorably wedged in his front door. "It seems you are big-boned, Mr. Wells," said Sherlock, puffing his pipe in the

nostrils of the trapped obese man. "I'll handle this." Holmes got his revolver & aimed. Mr. Wells near fainted, but the doorposts were blown away & he was freed. "Watson, what diet

did you recommend for my cat? " He demanded. "Because clearly it is not working!" Watson could only shrug, stuttering, "I thought it was gluten free."

But now the Animal Rights Coeliac Division were involved and it soon spiralled into a chaos of lawsuits. "I only wanted to help!" screamed Watson as he was dragged away. Too bad.