Chapter 28

2 months since we last saw our hero, he was trapped in a wine press, forced to make radioactive liqueur so that the Nazi's could. . .kill. . .the. . .French. . .

*Smack! Smack!* 'YOU STUPID TYPIST! CAN'T YOU DO THE CHAPTERS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER?' *Smack! Smack!*

Chapter 4 Matthew had indeed gotten out of the warehouse, but only by bribing the police by giving them everything he had. He was left to wandering the streets, with nothing but some clothes he swiped off of a lawyer (he was a very good pickpocket), and if it wasn't for the squeaky sound that his shoes made when he walked, I don't think he would have survived the sadness.

After a few days of this unhappiness, broken only by the few times that he had convinced people that in his last court case he had criminalized brake fluid, he got a job delivering flyers -'They're not pizzas, but they sure do taste great!'-. But of coarse, this was just a ploy; he was really starting up his restaurant again, and since he didn't have a business licence, he would have to disguise it by using the cover of being a paper boy. This of coarse meant that he would have to use a bicycle- 'they're not pizzas, but they sure do taste great!'-, and after stealing one of those, and setting up an oven in the warehouse, he was back in business.

It was then that he realized that he still had the contest paper from the lamppost in his pocket. He looked over the coloured letters and saw a few other important facts, namely, that if you won, you would get a free illegal passport. Matthew had had a few more run-ins with the law, so he decided to enter. It was there that he was what could only be described as the worst opening act ever.

In the opening act, instead of having, say, river dance-type entertainment, there was a man in a plaid shirt standing by the microphone going 'Dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance end dance'. Matthew shuddered. Next to the stage, he could see a small story printed on an ancient papyrus scroll. It read "Bob went to market. Bob bought a cow. He ate the cow. The cow was yummy. The cow had mad cow disease. Bob got infected. Bob died. Bob cried about being dead. The end". Matthew shuddered again. If this was North American culture, he wanted no part of it. (Well almost, it couldn't very well go without that delicious fried cheese, now could he?

At the theatre, Matthew was feeling kind of queasy. In fact, he was really queasy. And those people in front of him were about to feel, .wet. To console himself, he remembered that they had blocked his view. For the rest of the night, Matthew had all 11 adjacent seats all to himself.

When he got out of the theatre, he tore the contest paper on the dotted line, with the signatures of the cast and the people in front of him, that he had indeed seen the play and drank the medicine. Then of coarse he realized that he had gotten the contest paper in Russian, they probably would think it was strange that it was filled out in America. Having never been to Russia for more than a few months, and not knowing what else to do, he put 'p.s. .Dah' on the back, and put it in the mailbox.

5 weeks later, the fake drivers licence arrived, and Matthews business was in full swing. When he opened the letter, he pulled out a plastic card with his name, date of birth, height, and almost everything exactly the same as it was before. The only thing they did change was a mix-up on his name. A few days later, the new sign on his warehouse went up: 'The honest-to- goodness real newspaper stand - now run by Timmy.'

Well, I guess some things are just destiny.