“My God! I can’t believe it! He’s awakening!” yelled the doctor, “hello Miles. How are you feeling? A bit disorientated I bet.”
“What the fuck...?” responded J.
“You were on flight 7G when it was attacked by CRAP. It was destroyed. You were floating in space for about five minutes, Miles. Only you and the Captain survived. He had a space suit, and well um, er, the extraordinary amount of alcohol in your blood system helped you survive in space for much longer than a sober person. You see, a particularly rancid bottom burp had crept around your body and created something approximating an amniotic sac. You were picked up by The Fuck People Patrol.”
“You have been in a coma for three years. You are famous now. The media will love talking to you through pieces of cardboard.”
“I am never flying economy again,” said J with a hazy slur.
Even after three years he still felt a bit pissed.
“What planet am I on?” he asked.
“Why you’re on Mercury of course,” said the doctor.
J wondered why he was a celebrity. What sort of plotline did God have planned for him? He often wondered if he was a fictional character in some sort of multiple personality-fuelled odyssey. For the moment he just wanted to rest.
“Where’s Germy?” he asked loudly.
“You mean Germy Urine?” asked the doctor, “you mean the President of Psychoville? Oh he’s dead rich and famous now. He created the amazing March of the Pig Inspectors Bill, which allowed totalitarian rule of Psychoville by all Pig Inspectors.”
“In fact, as a result of his demented syphilitic mind caused by an Arabic madman whose head now has a hefty price on it, he created an army of mutant cops by grafting the heads of pigs on the bodies of public servants. They now rule Psychoville, which has become a huge megalopolis now after the merging of Psychis and A-Ville.”
“Thanks for that filler there, Doc.”
“No prob.”
“By the way, what’s my last name?”
“It’s Urine. Miles Urine. Hey, are you related to Germy?”
Irony slithered around in J’s anus like a reptilian beast.
J was wheeled out behind a large desk in the lobby that was covered with hundreds of microphones. He could not see the desk for the microphones, so to speak. In front of him, a sea of manic reporters clamoured for a response from him. He shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair. Flashbulbs went off one after the other, creating a rhythmless strobe light effect. They all screamed out his assumed name, hoping to gain his attention.
“One at a time, one at a time please!” yelled the administrator, trying to mollify the uneasy crowd. “Okay... you first,” he said, pointing to an eager young reporter.
J looked totally dumbfounded by the whole circus and wished he had an upsized long neck of VB.
“Mister Urine,” barked the young reporter, “It’s wonderful to see you conscious again. How does it feel?”
The room fell silent. All eyes were on him. The light bulbs stopped flashing. The seconds ticked by slowly and agonisingly. J cleared his throat, scratched his bearded face and leant in close to the nearest microphone.
“Get fucked,” he said in a laid-back manner.
The phrase boomed over the PA. It was transmitted live, solar system wide.
A look of horror swept over every face in the lobby. The administrator swung around and gave J a glare that was part anger and part shock.
Hesitation now followed the silence.
One game reporter edged his arm up into the air and asked: “Uh... Mr Urine... Are you eagerly awaiting the reunion with your long lost second cousin President Germy Urine?”
“No,” said J, “that can wait. I have some more important things I’m looking to accomplish first of all.”
“Like what?” asked another reporter.
“Well obviously to get pissed and pull a root.”
The reporter sat stunned. How could the “The Sky Walker” as he was named in the papers, be such a blunt, callous, and common man?
J continued: “Look. I’ve been asleep for three years for fuck sakes. I haven’t had a root or a drink or even a wank during that time. Obviously by now I am as nervy and horny as a rabbit. And I think the idea of getting laid by me might be rather interesting to a woman... or for that matter even a freak.”
J looked at a beautiful female in the corner and gave her a wink.
“How about it babe?” J questioned in a rhetorical manner. Then he stood up, waved with a fake broad smile, shook the hand of the shocked administrator and departed for the nearest pub.
Inflict Kafe Gavani On The World
  
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