Requiescant all the zumbis—God Nzambi of the Gubernatorial Chivalry of the Grand Seal has pushed the Excrementitious Bottle through the rays of His Own Grandness. Canty—canty be the zumbis. Let them wiggle—wiggy zumbis.
The Cavaliers are impressed. So much so that none of them hears the phone. Which is a NIMPh—Nuclear Intercontinental Missile Phone—a phone whose nucleus of sound grows if the ringing passes unnoticed. ‘Someone please catch that’ saith Nzambi. ‘Prithee, Lord, doubt not that’ says Flight Lieutenant Bill–Hook Gates of the Shitty as he sloppily gets the hand telephone set, whilst nipping up his pridefully niping glasses. ‘Oho’ he tear-jerkedly ejaculates. ‘The NIMPh voice has just murmured that Elon Mush has been abducted by one of our red dinos from Mars.’
E. Mush’s spathe of vitaminic water had been spiked with a Lycioplesium martianum causing him to err and mendicate by holding out his beloved trilby. After much roving and vacillating, he collapsed in the noughties Buchclub marquee at the All Gods College, redbrick uni since the invention of Mars and the other delusions. Field Marshal Hire Brigade Matriculation Managing Crofter Mark Klutzberg saw that the soggy bloke’s trilby was brimming with Martian chop marked dollars. Thus, in spite of recognisance being seriously impeded by the knackered dermal aspect and bled white face both of which due to the extravagant dosage of L. martianum, M. Klutzberg gladly avoided the ascertainment of the parentage via Dental Nodule Analysis (DNA), and could unequivocally identify the man as being—Elon Mush.