So what's all this about, then?

[ozwinner]

the holes the dog had chewed in the fly wire

[echnidna]

So he thought I'd better get some dog repellent and ...

[ernknot]

and load it into his .357 Magnum to make sure the buggers did not come back ( or leave for that matter).

[Grunt]

It was two weeks and none of the buggers came back. The person put his .357 magnum back into his holster. He then realised that he didn't know who he was or where the hell was this place with dog chewed flywire was. He figured that all of this information was on previous pages but he couldn't be bothered turning the page.

He opened the flywire door and ...

[Driver]

...stepped out into forty fathoms of seawater. He could have avoided this if he had referred back a page or two, of course. However ...

[silentC]

... none of that was important now because his socks were wet and of all the unpleasant feelings he'd ever felt, having wet socks was amongst the worst. It made each step a squidging, squelching torture that he could hardly bear. Carefully closing the screen door so as not to slam any passing fish in it, he slowly and wincingly backed into the front room. It was as he was putting on the kettle that he had pause to wonder how he was able to breath with forty fathoms of seawater sloshing around his house.

[Grunt]

He sat down in his favourite chair, took his soggy socks off, gave them a quick wring and placed them next to the fire to dry off.

He pondered his situation. As far as he could figure he was in a house that was in forty fathoms of water, he couldn't remember who he was, he had wet socks, he could breath underwater and a dog chewed fly screen was keeping out the water that was under 100's of atmospheres of presure.

He decided that google was where he should look, at least it seemed less trouble than turning the page back and reliving the unpleasantness with the sock thing.

The search in google revealed, to his amazement, that he was really a mutant chicken and that they now make fly screens specifically for underwater use.

Suddenly the phone rang and ...

[ernknot]

found it was the department of fathomnable taxes who wanted to collect on the fourty fathoms he sat in. He said " Holy Neptune...40 fathoms worth of fathonable taxes... how do I get the loot to pay for this wet tax......??

[Driver]

... or alternatively, how do I get the ferk outta here so as to avoid paying any tax at all?"

He found himself absent-mindedly scratching at what appeared to be a fault in the wallpaper (wallpaper in a submarine? ). Intrigued, he scratched some more, eventually peeling back a three-cornered tear. To his surprise, what he found beneath the gap was not a wall surface. It wasn't a surface at all! It was, of course, as you, dear reader will already have anticipated, an alternative universe.

Yes! He had stumbled inadvertently on the fabled tear in the fabric thereof! He tentatively put a leg through the tear. Immediately, the leg was snatched in an iron grip.

Fortunately, it wasn't his own leg but a handily positioned joint of meat. He said

"Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this leg of pork!"

And so saying, he clambered through the rip, to be met by ...

[silentC]

... a hideous troll reminiscent of the Morlocks from the film version of The Time Machine. The troll was frantically tearing into the the leg of ham with teeth at roughly 0.75 TPI and no obvious set. Within a few seconds, the ham was gone. "This your leg?" queried the troll in a gravely voice, which sounded like a bag of marbles being crushed under forty tonnes of volcanic rock.

[craigb]

"No, you miserable bastard" replied the man (whose name we appear to have forgotten) "that was me Sunday joint." And with that he whipped out his trusty .357 and blew the troll into the next world.

Looking around at his new surroundings, he noticed in the distance a whisp of smoke rising into the air.

Deciding he may as well investigate as stay with a dead troll, he set off toward the source of the smoke.

He hadn't travelled very far when ....

[ernknot]

when he realised it was not smoke but steam coming off a huge heap of troll dung which was slowly moving under its own ( dare i say it ) steam! " My God" he said " I have never seen so much crap in all my life except for the time.....

[Driver]

... when I saw that bloke pedalling his pushbike down the hill with the tram tracks at the bottom. He skidded on the tracks, flipped and landed in an ornamental pond.

Just then, an African bloke stepped out of the pub across the road, paused and slapped himself on the forehead, obviously having just remembered something he had clearly forgotten.

"Isaac Hunt!" he said, loudly.

The cyclist in the ornamental pond sat up, spat out some pond weed and said: "Yes! I'm Isaac Hunt. Can I ...

[craigb]

possibly top that segeue (sp) ?

Having decided that he couldn't, the only thing left for him was to start humming the the theme from "Shaft", (can you dig it)...

"Who's the cop that won't cop out ...

[Driver]

..the cop in question was named Richard Something:

Head? ... Brain? ... Face? ...

Perhaps it was just Richard Something, a close relative of Sir Somebody Something, the famous British nonentity. Or could it be ....