than thou – I’m so on it and together and sober when you don’t know how to drive. You’re a grown man for fuck’s sake. Get a bloody license’ ‘I thought we were all for one and one for all. My eyes have now been opened and the picture ain’t pretty’ chastised Gary in his most betrayed voice. ‘Listen Gary’ piped up Jane. ‘I don’t think you have quite taken on board the sheer wickedness of the acid we’ve all been munching on all night. Contact with the real world – especially in fluorescent supermarket conditions is just out of the question. We’d all be perched on top of the biscuit aisle gibbering for dear life if we even set foot in such deeply disturbing normality at this stage of the game. And you know it’s true. You fucking know it’ ‘Do you think we could call…………’ Frank hesitated. ‘You don’t mean’………….’ gasped Jane – wide eyed and fluctuating violently between raw emotion and shining rays of hope.
‘YES’ yelled Terry. ‘If ever there was a job for any superhero, this is a job for Queueman and Sketchy’ An awed silence descended upon this renegade band of ravers. Legend had it that these two fearless warriors had been raised by a pack of shamanic llamas deep in the Peruvian badlands after falling into a large cauldron of DMT at birth. Queueman and Sketchy had dedicated their lives to saving the sanity of those immersed in altered states when they simply had to brave the trials and tribulations of the consciousness sapping evils of that grim dimension known in the scriptures as the supermarket. Many had tried to endure the terrors of yelling children, 2 for one meal deals, zombie checkout girls and the robotic ‘customers’ who patrolled the linoleum flooring, sucking out every last drop of spirituality with their blank, pasty, hypnotic faces. None were ever the same again. The entire foundations of the wormhole into the realms of rarified consciousness seemed ready to collapse as mental sustenance battled the siren call of