As is to be expected, the Neon Lites spent a week and a half working off their hotel bill. (It would have been sooner, had Hamish not discovered the wet bar and had Mollie not washed all the white linens with her red beer sweater to save time.) None the worse for the wear, the Neon Lites (minus Jack and Denara) schlepped aboard their STILL nameless space ship (armed to the hilt with stolen bath towels, little soaps and disposable slippers) and settled back to have what they hoped would be a nice journey far, far from Earth. Slightly embittered over the loss of the limitless credit card, it was a subdued group that flew away that bright spring morning, ever mindless of their mission to rescue the Secrets of the Universe from The Moose.

            "Where are we going?" Mollie sidled up to Sparki, who was solemnly steering the ship.

            "Like totally, somewhere NOT here. I have way un-cool blistery dishpan hands that are severely not aesthetically pleasing." Sparki hit the button (despite many warnings to the contrary) and Whiz! Bam! Boom! The ship (filled with Neon Lites) burst into the cosmos.

            (Note from the Management: At this point, the Neon Lites should have some wonderfully incredible adventure (as always) but due to budgetary restraints (constraints? Restraining orders?) the authors have been forced to write an "On Board the Ship" episode. Too much money was spent on the special FX and scenery in Ancient Troy (and WHO can forget that amazing Trojan Mockroach?) and the word has come down from our superiors that an episode must be written that involves minimal scene changes, no costume changes ("What?" asked Tasha, "I mean WHAT?") and no incredible Special FX.)

            "There's nothing but stars!" Tasha breathed looking out of the port window.

            "Only stars for as far as the eye can see." Mollie agreed.

            "Aye, can ye see them?" Hamish jabbed Craig in the gut with his elbow. Craig flew across the bridge and slid under the Espresso Maker.

            "Oh say can ye see!" Craig warbled from his hiding place.

            "I made tea and crumpets and quiche!" Bruce called out, "Anyone hungry?"

            "Quiche? He made QUICHE?" Mollie stared in amazement at the make-shift stove Bruce had rigged up by hot-wiring the fichus tree into the Cappuccino maker and using an old Neil Diamond LP record as the hot plate. On the original 1969 UNI/MCA produced copy of "Sweet Caroline" sat a gorgeous, bubbly quiche Lorraine with a golden brown crust and a scent that wafted through the bridge and grabbed Snerdly by the…nose then yanked hard.

            "Come and get it. Eat up." Bruce simpered. "I do believe this is my piece de resistance."

            Hamish lunged for the quiche. Craig lunged for a fork. Sparki lunged for her original 1969 UNI/MCA produced copy of "Sweet Caroline". Catastrophe struck. In a gravity-defying moment, the LP snapped in half, flipping the quiche through the air, where it spun like a Frisbee (complete with Foley-edited `whooshing' sounds) and challenging Murphy's Law to a losing bitter end, flipped upside down and landed with a SQUISH (go Foley Dude!) on the genuine Malkovian quasi-yak fur throw rug.

            Bruce stared in horror at the disaster. Then he calmly untied his purple lace apron with "kiss the cook" embroidered in rainbow thread. He gently folded the apron into a neat little wrinkle-less square - then THREW it to the ground. "That's it, " he exclaimed. "I quit. I slaved over a hot LP for hours upon hours to create a lovely masterpiece for dinner and with little thought to Neil Diamond, or me you people have destroyed my work of art. There is only so much a person can take. I'll be in my room. Call me when we land somewhere you can just LEAVE ME with someone who can appreciate me!" With that, Bruce burst into tears and raced out of the room, hands fluttering in fury, sobs echoing down the hallway.

            Craig in the meantime had located the fork and had crawled across the floor to the rug. There he sat, calmly eating the quiche.

            "That is the most disgusting thing I have ever witnessed," Snerdly began spouting.

            "Look in a mirror," Mollie muttered.

            "The floor is probably filled with all types of germs, particularly E coli and salmonella. You are all going to stand there and watch Craig eat and possibly die…"

            Hamish grabbed a handful of the squashed quiche and shoved it in Snerdly's mouth.

            "Germs! Yuck! Quick call 911!" Snerdly ran down the hall in hot pursuit of Listerine and Lysol.

            The others watched him go, then returned to the problem at hand.

            "Somebody really should go talk to Bruce" Mollie fretted, fearing she would never see caffeine again if their Chef went away. "We hurt his feelings."

            "Oooh," Said Tasha picking up the garment Bruce had shed. "What a pretty apron."

            "She who totally wears the apron must like cook," Sparki pointed out, removing some duct tape from her pocket and going to work on the decimated LP.

            "Cook? Cook?" Tasha exclaimed. "Is that like WORKING???"

            "Ye ken," Craig began, his mouth stuffed with eggs, cheese and bacon. "A long time ago when I was playin' with the Two Sleepin' Wombats…"

            "Did you wake them up?"  Mollie inquired.

            "They werenae really sleeping lass, that was the band Craig was in before he came to be part o' this fine group." Hamish explained, taking a spoon from his sporrin and joining Craig on the floor. The quiche was a bit furry, but no worse than haggis.

            "What's a wombat?" Tasha shuddered.

            Sparki folded her three middle fingers over so that her pinky and thumb were sticking out. She waved her hand around and smacked it into a wall. "WomBAT!" she cooed triumphantly. Then she sat Indian style on the floor, took a knife from her backpack and dug into the quiche. The slight yak flavor did nothing to detract from the delicious overall ambience of the quiche.

            "I don't think that's what he meant at all," Mollie said, joining the others. Finding herself quite without utensils, Mollie removed a hairpin from her green tresses and speared a piece of the warm pie.

            "As I was sayin', when I was playin' with the Two Sleeping Wombats…"

            "Did they like it that you woke them up to play?" queried Tasha, daintily picking up some crust between thumb and forefinger.

            "They werenae sleepin'!" Craig exclaimed.

            "Because you were playing with them!"

            "Oh never ye mind," Craig grumbled, reluctantly giving up on what was meant to be an exciting dinner story.

            They all ate in silence.

            Suddenly, something occurred to Mollie (as something was wont to do).

            "Er," she said swallowing some quiche and glaring at Sparki. "Who's flying the ship?"

            "Sweet Barry Mother of Middle of the Road Rock!" Sparki blasphemed, jumping to her hi-topped feet. But it was too late (you were expecting maybe a miracle?).

            The ship plummeted out of orbit, spinning out of control, careening through space and time until it crashed ("Most bogusly," interjected Sparki) through a glass ceiling. It slid to a halt on a terrazzo floor beneath what was left of some florescent lights.

            The Neon Lites quickly jumped out of the ship, and looked around in puzzlement at the odd sight before them.

            There were rows and rows of stores, all advertising sales with signs printed in Day-Glo markers. To the right was a strip of fast food restaurants, including a Burger King, Sbarro, Wan Chung's Chinese and Thai Take Out and Sno-Cones, all prominently flanked by a McDonalds proudly announcing "McRib Sandwiches, Bubble Yum Soda and Pepsi Free". To the left were clothing stores and Record Shops.

            The music blasting through staticy speakers was something only Sparki could almost identify, but the words were "Cuz we are living in a material world and I am a material girl!" sang in breathy pop fashion by someone whose career probably faded before any of the Neon Lites were born.

            "Oh look!" Tasha was in heaven. "A MALL!"

            Completely stunned, Mollie grabbed the arm of the nearest alien to her. It was a female alien. She wore a shirt that gave her name, IZOD, and the skin on her lower torso was the color of acid washed denim blue jeans with a sign telling others to "Guess" printed on the rear end ("Probably the name of her city," Snerdly whispered, always all-knowing). From one of her arms dangled bracelets that looked like sparkly gelatin and a Swatch (it said so on the label). The other arm was shackled with a charm bracelet made of some sort of Day-Glo plastic.

            Her legs from the knees down were covers in wrinkly hot pink wool socks and she wore sneakers that flashed red lights as she walked. Her hard, crinkly hair was in a big ponytail high over her head and tied with a sheer ribbon of sorts, with bangs that were poofed out and hairsprayed until they defied gravity. On her face, the alien sported a fake beauty mark and heavy eyeliner coated her inner eyelids. In her one hand was a small square box labeled "Nerds" from which the alien gained sustenance by tilting it on end and chewing on little neon pellets. In the other hand was a can of something called "Tab".

She was not alone. Apparently this species of alien followed a pack mentality, for the rest of the female alien's herd looked exactly the same and were only a step away from her at all times.

            The Neon Lites were fascinated and repulsed.

            "Listen, Miss Izod - can you tell us where we are?" Mollie questioned their captive.

            "Grody!" she cried as the rest of the Pack giggled. "She touched me!"

            "To the max," gushed another, biting into a wax shaped bottle and sucking some pink water out of it.

            "Gag me with a spoon!" cried another, blowing a bubble with purple gum that popped but did not stick to her face.

            "Eeew…they should never like let grown ups in the Mall," the first alien rolled her heavily accented eyes and pulled away from Mollie. They all vanished into a Banana Republic store, giggling the whole way.

            "We're in HELL!" cried Snerdly falling to his knees.

            "No," said Mollie, figuring it out. "We're in a Mall in the 1980s."