The theme music to "The Bold and the Beautiful" provided the backdrop to the expository monologue provided by the tall, thin, troubled man. The crazy, jazzy saxaphone giving the proceedings the air of a Benny Hill sketch.
His name was Nedi Thukewhit, which he obliged in spelling when repeatedly questioned by his guests. They were his guests for, as he explained, he was the lord of the place they were in.
"You are existing in the afterlife." He told them. "An ever-growing tower that adds many rooms to itself as the days pass by. As someone passes, their desire, addiction or greatest habit becomes their gilded cage. For better or worse, they spend eternity doing what they loved."
For some poor soul, that meant watching B & B, for eternity McKenzie thought. Certainly closer to hell than heaven. What of his addiction to Venus Fly Traps? Was this what he was destined for?
For some poor soul, that meant watching B & B for eternity Malone thought. For all he knew it could be his Mother or his Sister. From the look on McKenzie's face, it certainly wasn't his father. But what of his thing for rolling around in grass clippings? Could he be satisfied with that for ever more?
Heaven! Thought Malony.
"We're having a bit of a refugee crisis." Nedi continued. "For the first time in all of time, in any universe, the borders have been opened. When you operate a hotel with some five hundred billion rooms, with no numbers, where all the halls and doors look the same, it becomes a bit of a headache. In fact, my boss is panicking. It's only a matter of time before the dead start escaping into the material world, I just hope it's not the work of the big ITS, they have been threatening to instigate PLAN 9 for a while now, and we're not ready for it..."
"Evil Pop" Croaked McKenzie.
"Evil Pop?" Questioned Malone and Malony.
Nedi simply fainted.
It was turning out to be an unusual day for Reale.
No sooner had he settled back to read a few chapters of his book, when famous dead people started crawling out of the cursed water tank.
Napoleon, Nixon, Henry VIII, Stalin, Gengis Khan, Hitler, Himmler, Elvis, Ho Chi Minh, Paul McCartney...one after the other they made their way out, shook themselves, and started wandering around.
Reale was beginning to panic. Who to shoot first? He took aim at Nixon and let off several rounds. He was not surprised to find that his bullets failed to stop him even though every one made it's mark.
A dispatch had just arrived at this moment, mouth agape, with his twine, TV, doughnut, fries and stupid man.
The stupid man, who had been hanging around the station, was none other than Quentin Tarantino.
"Hey Niggers!" He cheerfully intoned, bringing Reale that much closer to his immediate retirement. The moment of distraction this brought gave Nixon enough time to creep up behind Reale and grab him in a bear hug. Thinking quick the policeman flung some of the salty fries into his eyes taking Nixon completely unawares. He grabbed the ex-president, raised him over his head, twirled him around faster and faster, and flung him back into the tank.
It was no foul shot, this was a three pointer, and Reale took great umbrage in the fact that no-one had been watching.
Hermione worked like a sweaty ferret at the Romantic Roomy Restaurant. She had worked here for the past 30 odd years, and not a day went by when she regretted the fact that she left David. He had been her one true love, and had become rich and famous to boot.
Still nothing could lessen the resentment she felt at never once being mentioned in one of his songs. She had every album he ever made, except for "Space Oddity" (David Bowie, Man of Words, Man of Music).
Now she had to survive her toughest test. Her Longest Day. Her Bridge Too Far. Her Sarah Marie's Bum Dance Album.
For tonight was the night that David Bowie came to romance a lucky fan, and even though she had threatened suicide, to blow up the restaurant, put LSD in the water and play Micheal Bolton music all day, her boss had insisted that she be the one to serve his table.
She still hoped to avoid this, keeping herself busy, serving any wierdos who always took up ten times as much time as the regular customers. And who would of guessed, the place was full of them tonight.
There was the nervous character sitting at table 14 with the paper bag on his head, he may have to shift soon for this was the alloted Bowie table. There was the midget in drag, dragging on a cigarette, looking like a cheap prostitute with thick makeup and sleazy dress on. He was leaning against the wall, plotting something evil by the looks of it. There was the tall attractive woman, with a mustache.
No time now to ponder the what, where and when of these misguided souls. She grabbed her notebook, and made with a smile to table 14, where the guy with the paper bag on his head seemed more shaken than ever to see her approach. She didn't worry, she was wearing her steel tipped groin seeking high heel shoes tonight.
TO BE CONTINUED...
"We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside
that holds whatever we want."
Tao Te Ching