"That still dosn't explain everyone walking around wearing nothing but socks." Celia persued. "Don't people freeze to death?"
"Well, I'm no climatologist, but when then-president Bush gave all of the corporations free reign to regulate their environmental
policies in exchange for their support against the Red Hot Revolution--"
"That sounds like a great name for a porno." Trent snickered.
"Or a cinnamon flavored espresso." Added Matt eagerly writing down this idea.
"Like I was saying." Steven Tyler forced. "Global temperatures began to rise and people began to cavort and run around
naked, and so as both an act of decency and to enforce the loyalty of their subjects, the new rulers created the dress code
partially responsible for getting me in this rat trap." Here he paused, satisfied with the explanation he'd made and thinking
that it covered just about everything one might want to know.
"How do we get out of here?" Trent asked quickly.
"Well if I knew that I wouldn't be down here then would I?" Their cell mate said sarcastically, before adding with a vague
grin. "There is one way though..."
The three travelers looked to him with the utmost curiousity, but were interupted by a noise from the hall as the cell
door opened.
"You three, your hearing will start now. Out!" Cried the voice of a guard.
"That'd be the one way." Said the shadowy rock star with a bitter chuckle.
"Come on come on I havn't got all day, you want to get yelled at by the judge or do you want to stay with this loser?"
The guard jeered.
"Hey, I did the soundtrack for Armageddon, you know." Steven Tyler retorted.
"Yeah well Steve Buscemi was the only good part of that movie anyhow." The guard stated with finality.
Trent and company would have defended their newfound friend, but they really wanted to get back to a reality that made
sense, and so with three apologetic nods and one autograph hastily signed (for Matt's sister, of course), they filed out and
followed the guard to the court room.
They walked into a large open room largely filled by men and women with socks between their legs, and upon a word from
a man with a long black sock on his penis the entire court room rose.
"Court of revolutionary justice now in session, the honorable M. Thesslewart presiding. All stand for the national anthem!"
Cried the bailiff. This said, the trio looked on in horror as all the other occupants of the courtroom, even the most unrepentant
of criminals, put their hands on their hearts and saluted a flag emblazoned with a large red pepper. No sooner had they done
so than, in a solemn and deep voice, the judge led the assemblage as follows:
"I like pleasure spiked with pain and music is my aeroplane, it's my aeroplane..." And so forth. Matt looked for a way
to escape, Trent realized how damned stupid people look when they all get up and chant to some silly patriotic song, and Celia
made note that the fellow beside her, arrested for picking the socks of a few wealthier citizens, had a lovely barritone voice.
The first case up was a hard one, and it nearly put fear into the iron heart of Trent Steele to hear what transpired:
"Mr. Mark Pekov versus the revolutionary government. Mr. Pekov, you've been charged with saying that Our Glorious Leaders'
old albums are the best work they've done. How do you respond?"
The accused stood, his sock, notably shrunken with fear, dangled listlessly as he spoke. "Your honor it's the truth. How
can you argue? I mean, come on, that song they wrote about the city of angels, and the song where they kept saying get on
top? You can't... Hey get off me, no not the death pit. Blargh!"
The judge slammed his gavel and marked something off on a score card. "Chalk another one up for the revolutionary government,
baby! Next up are the three clothes wearers." At this the party was hustled to the front and held an impromptu council.
"They'll kill us for sure unless we can prove that we really really like that band!" Matt said in despair.
"Maybe
we can play dumb, or make them think we're from another country, or something." Trent suggested.
"That might just work, I guess I could attach an "eh" to the end of my sentences and stop pronouncing strong Os." Celia
offered sarcasticly.
"That might be too vague. Hey, I took a year of spanish once and I think I might have absorbed some of it like those tapes
you listen to while you sleep." Matt said with a glowing air. Celia simply groaned but Trent knew it was time for drastic
action.
"Go for it." He said confidently, though slightly shaken as the judge banged his gavel once again.
"How do you plead?" The judge demanded.
"No habla ingles." Matt declared.
"Do you want a blow job?" The judge offered.
"No habla ingles." Matt said once more.
"Damn, they passed the test or that one's a girl. You can never tell with these clothes wearers. Hmmm... Damned Mexicans...
I suppose that's where you're from, eh? Mexico?"
"Si Senor." Matt replied nodding his head.
"You. You goddamn Mexicans come here. You steal our jobs. You make fun of our fat people. You give Taco Bell an excuse
to open up new restaurants everywhere, and as if that wasn't bad enough you have the goddamn nerve to wear pants!" The judge
cried in a rage. "Out! Out! I'll give you three days to walk back to whatever burrito stand you crawled out of!" The judge
screamed.
"Si Senor, muchachos vaminos... Bueno!" Matt declared as Trent led the way out of the court room and they were shown to
the doors.
"How the hell did that work?" Asked Celia.
"I don't know myself, I guess the guy just really disliked immigrants, and like he said all pants wearers look alike."
Trent said with a smile.
"I still say it could be because of my convincing Spanish." Matt said with a laugh, though this idea was quickly shot down
by two glares from his companions.
"So what now?" Asked Celia, ever the practical one.
"Now we head back to the place we embarked from. It's a long shot, but it's possible that the fabric of space and time
might be torn in that exact spot, and that we could somehow get through it again and back home."
They reached what should have been Trent's residence easily enough, and found a young man running down the way nearby in
a full tuxedo suit. An older and more dignified fellow followed wearing a sock on his penis and crying out. "Come back here
Mr. Sommers and take off those clothes! Damn it there's four of you now what is this streaking day or something? This is NOT
funny! Get inside before you scare someone!"
Our heroes hurried to obey, gladly finding the dorm they came from unoccupied.
"You know, after this meddling with space time dosn't sound so bad, let's get out of here." Celia said, offering Trent
her hand as they approached the door to the room which, in another reality, held Trent's machine.
Move zig to Chapter 10
