There are many important lessons to be learned about living on the Sun. One of them is to never walk around with bare feet outside. Another is that it is especially difficult to grow ferns there, there is such a thing as too much sunlight. Evil Pop didn't mind, he didn't particularly like ferns. It's one of the many signs that a person is evil if they don't like ferns.
The other day Evil Pop had learned another lesson, when you want to eat an ice-cream on the Sun, eat it quick. His ice-cream had melted in a fraction of a second leaving him with a feeling of loss which he hadn't had since he was a small alien.
This misadventure had made him reflect on his life. His reflections had eventually wound up on his old foe David Bowie.
Most people had thought they were close friends. Including Bowie himself. But there was a secret side to their relationship that was so bizzare that no one would ever have guessed it. Except for Angie, but fortunately for Pop she considered it not bizzare enough to publish and so it went untold.
When David and Pop were young, Pop used to have David's creativity sucked out of his tongue and implanted in him. Yes, he was a Parasite Pop. It is a little known fact that the man with the power to suck, The Great Blaather MbBlenzy, had actually invented a new kind of candy based on his experiences - The Lolly Pop.
Getting the job done had been no easy feat. It usually meant getting himself, David and Blaather into the same dark room together and convincing David that tongue sucking was what all the hip rock stars were doing these days. This came to Mick Jagger's surprise when David tried to do it to him. It came to Angie's surprise when she walked in on David sucking Mick's tongue.
It is a little known David Bowie trivia fact that the original lyric to "Suck baby, suck, give me your head" was "Suck baby, suck, give me your tongue" before Blaather, through Pop, interjected.
Pop cut his reminiscing short. The meaning of life was on fire. While putting it out he wondered if Blaather's assistance had arrived yet, and he wondered how his Iman android was coping.
David was on the way to the airport with Iman and the baby. He was, to tell the truth, a little shaken. He'd just been attacked by a midget that seemed very fond of him indeed.
This was very strange. Midgets in general didn't usually like him at all.
David excused himself and went to the bathroom. He had something he wanted to read in private.
When in there he checked himself in the mirror. His newly growing beard was patchy and sad looking...and now it looked even worse.
He locked himself in a stall, not to relieve himself (for we all know rock stars and famous people just don't do that sort of thing don't we? Especially not David Bowie), but to read the piece of paper Mrs Earlobes had given him before they parted. This is what it said:
beardoalbumnonfishatus - a derivative of the beardo plant of South America, it is an hallucinogenic drug whose main property is to cause amnesia in the user. The amnesia can be controlled by the dosage and time it is taken, it is especially useful in making patients unaware that they have forgotten anything important. Side effects include hallucinations, loss of apetite, thirstiness and loss of beard.
"So that's why I've been so thirsty lately", he said to himself, flushing so as not to appear suspicious or conspicuous.
He returned to his family a troubled man, ignoring the pink monkeys swinging from the handrails above him, just focussing on the psychedelic patterns flowing and moving on the carpet below him.
Bobby Malone had never seen a head explode quite like it before, and he'd seen his fair share. He could swear it almost looked like exploding cardboard, and would have dismissed it as some wierd priest thing had the cutout not fallen out of the window and fallen to the floor.
The falling cutout seemed to mock him as it swung to and fro on it's way down. He preferred the WUMP of a heavy body dropping to the floor, not this cheerful floating playful cutout display. It almost looked as if it was happily waving to him.
This made Malone very mad.
"No more ice-cream today kiddies!", he announced, but the sad, sad faces made him relent and sell a few more choc-chip covered treats before he left to find a phone to call his boss.
People would always be telling him to get a mobile, but he was one of these traditionalist hit-men that was of the opinion that style was the most important part of the job. He pulled out and turned the corner of a street two blocks down just too late to see a priest in the distance, darning his socks while running like crap, all the while carrying what looked to be a fairly hefty knapsack.
His ice-cream truck tune played it's not-so-ominous warning to all those who either feared his wrath, or felt like an ice-cream.
I am not a cockturd