After regaining consciousness, Lewis got to his feet and on finding another pair of glasses in his pocket, put them on and looked about as he wandered down a dimly lit corridor.
          Lewis noticed for the first time there appeared to be other people. The first he noticed looked a lot like Buddy Holly.
          "Hey Buddy," he waved.
          The Buddy Holly’s face fell into an unmistakable scowl.
          "Hey…want a beer?" Lewis continued, holding out his beer.
          The Buddy Holly gave him the finger.
          "Ohhh," Lewis sarced. "Bite me Peggy Sue," he added and turned to look to his other side.
          As he did, The Buddy Holly flung himself at the glass wall and began kicking, screaming and generally trying to kill Lewis.
          Lewis made his way a little further down the corridor and was greeted by a rather strange man. He sported a huge grin and a moose antler through his chest, and appeared to be bleeding maple syrup.
          "Hi, I’m the Canadian," he perked, his grin not faltering.
          " No really…" Lewis snide, eyeing up the antler.
          "Can I help you?" asked the Canadian.
          "You haven’t seen Oswald have you?"
          "Who wants to know?"
          "I do," Lewis replied confused.
          The Canadian stayed standing in front of Lewis, the grin still maniacally on his face.
          "Can I pass?" Lewis asked.
          "Would you like to pass?" asked the Canadian.
          "Yes I would," Lewis replied.
          The Canadian stayed put. Lewis was about to chuck his Buzz Beer at him when a voice piped up.
          "Hahaha…ah Lewis I see you’ve met the Canadian," Chesterfield Snapdragon McFisticuffs perked.
          "Where the hell did you come from?" Lewis scowled.
          "Is that what you want?" The Canadian piped up.
          "The Canadian responds to questions only…It’s the only way he’ll let you pass," Chesterfield beamed.
          Lewis raised an ‘are you for real’ eyebrow and turned back to the Canadian.
          "Who are you?" Lewis asked.
          "Who’s asking?" replied the Canadian.
          "Why should I tell you?"
          "Don’t you think I have a right to know?"
          "Don’t you have something better to do?"
          "Why should I have something better to do?"
          "Are you saying this is fun…day after day?"
          "Would you like to try it?"
          "Would you like my beer inserted up your ass?"
          "Would that make you happy?"
          Lewis was trying hard not to get frustrated, how did you trick a weird guy who bled maple syrup?
          "Hey! What’s that over there?" Lewis asked, pointing down another dark corridor.
          The Canadian turned to look and Lewis bolted down the corridor. In the distance he heard the Canadian curse.
          A few seconds later the Buddy Holly was released. He bounded into the corridor, doing several groovy dance moves and then coming face to face with a rather down trodden looking Randy One.
          "Hey dude what’s wrong?" he asked.
          "If you must know, I nearly got a glimpse of some rather spectacular mammories," the Randy One sighed, straightening his shower cap.
          "Bummer…I’m about to kill some tall freak who insinuated that I look like Buddy Holly."
          "You do look like Buddy Holly," sniped the Randy One and flicked his hair.
          The Buddy Holly fell into a millisecond sulk, "At least I died clothed."
          "Oh so that’s what you call a horrendous blue shirt and cow print waistcoat," remarked the Randy One as he adjusted his towel.
          "Pompous bastard," huffed the Buddy Holly as he began to frolic down the corridor. "Where is that beer drinking bastard…. You’re so dead dude," he mumbled to himself.
          "That’ll be the Day," The Randy One remarked absently as he headed off in the other direction.