The atmosphere was cold, bright and clinical in the Oxford Town's coroners autopsy room. On the slab lay David Bowie. Several people crowded around him, prodding and probing in a way the living Bowie would have greatly appreciated.
Deputy coroner and surgeon Dr Buck Durgler suddenly froze, a look of wide-eyed stupification coming across his face.
"Gentlemen, I believe this man is...dead!"
A shocked silence fell over the group. Someone fainted. Head DA Buck Durgler (who had the same name as the Deputy coroner, it being quite a common name) shook his head in disgust. How many times did they have to go through this? They performed 12 autopsies a day here.
"Gross!" assistant surgeon Buck Durgler screamed. "Oooh Yuck! A dead body!"
Buck Durgler, head duty nurse, slowly poked at the body with a stick. Just as he did someone knocked on the door making everyone jump. A handsome lady with a mustache poked her head around the aforementioned door.
"Excuse me guys...ahem...this is rather embarrasing. You see, after checking out of my hotel room I realised I'd forgotton to pack my dead David Bowie. It was gone when I went back and checked."
A sigh of relief swept through the room like a trapped buzzard.
"Here it is." said Dirk Buggler, police chief of Oxford Town. "We found it."
"Thanks." said the lady, who promptly walked over to the body on the slab and started to drag it away.
It was not unusual for Gus to give the Heimlich maneuv....manauv...It was not unusual for Gus to grab someone from behind and squeeze the living bejesus out of him/her. He was in fact the Heimlich champion in this household.
All the more reason why Nyar would be confused at Gus refusing to grab and squeeze him from behind. The huge cookie was stuck in his throat, along with a chicken bone. His highly flammable pyjamas were also on fire.
Instead of rushing to his master's aid, Gus sat in his armchair reading Time magazine. "I don't really feel like doing any Heimlich stuff today." was his only reaction to Nyar's frantic signals.
Nyar realised that he was treading a fine line. Along with choking on various things, and being on fire, he had dropsy.
Gus pretended not to notice the dropsy. He had already gone through the house and hid all the articles laying around warning of the dangers of chicken bones. If only Nyar would just stop convulsing and stinking up the place.
Eventually Nyar did stop convulsing, although he continued to emit an unpleasant odour. Gus picked him up and stuffed him into the bin. And what better way to celebrate this victory over evil than to eat some tasty chicken bones?
Gus checked the articles attached to the fridge, found nothing about the dangers of eating chicken bones, so fixed himself a nice hot plate of chicken bones.
"Mmmm chicken bones." his watering mouth intoned. He lifted a chicken bone to his lips...as the world held it's breath.
"Uncle Arthur! The jig's up!" yelled a megaphone an instant after Reale had yelled exactly the same thing into a megaphone. Reale had knocked the jig over while finding a parking space at the Seven-Eleven, but had now experty and deftly put it back up again.
Only seconds passed before Stalin came stomping out of the convenience store and kicked the jig back over again.
"Fiends!" Reale whispered and yelled at the same time. "We are powerless against their jig-kicking boots!"
Father McKenzie meanwhile was weeping over a pile of burnt bass guitars. It was in fact a pile of all the bass guitars in the world except for his. There are approximately 76,875,949 bass guitars in the world, and sure enough when McKenzie counted the burnt guitars there were 76,875,948 of them.
McKenzie stopped crying. Then started again. Then he sniffled a bit. Then he started bawling. Then he blew his nose. Then he started laughing. Then he stifled a belch. Then he walked over to Reale with a look of sudden understanding on his face.
"There's nothing you can do that can't be done." he softly said to Reale.
"How about eating Mt Everest with a teaspoon in under two hours?" asked Reale.
"Ok, there's nothing you can do that can't be done except eat Mt Everest with a teaspoon in under two hours." answered McKenzie.
"Hang on. That implies that it's possible to eat Mt Everest with a spoon in, say, five hours."
"Exactly!" shouted McKenzie. "And if we eat Mt Everest with a spoon in five hours...that means?"
"My God!" screamed Reale at the top of his lungs. "It was so obvious!"
TO BE CONINUED...
I hate coffee