The seven men "hurried" to the waiting vehicles, Brad fumbled his way back into the driver's seat.
"Right, who's coming with me?" he asked as he revved the engine.
"Not me, I'm going in the cab," Wayne declared.
"But we make a great team," Brad pleaded.
"No, you're insane," Wayne almost shrieked. "And I'm feeling slightly nauseated by your underwear."
"But these are my favorite pair," Brad huffed, looking down at the slightly stained, baggy y-fronts.
"I'll go with you Lieutenant Slappypants sir, the more of us that go over the trenches the better," Ryan enthused as he fell into the passenger seat.
Brad looked at him strangely. "Sure Captain Billy, you ah…Keep watch."
"Already onto it, don't want to be eaten by giant kippers," Ryan smiled.
Brad looked to Colin whose bones made an orchestra as he pulled himself into the back seat. "He hasn't had his pills," Colin breathed.
"No really," Brad grumbled.
"Why do we have to watch for paparazzi?" Chip asked as he clambered in next to Colin.
"No, Cheryl the NAZI," Colin spat.
"What? Why are we discussing Hitler?" Chip said bewildered.
"No you deaf fuck, CHERYL THE NAZI," Greg snapped as he wheezed his way into the back seat.
"Oh, right," Chip smiled. "What a troll."
"Aren’t you taking the taxi?" Brad asked, twisting to look at Greg.
"I have no desire to spend any time with Jeff who lied about his poop pants needing changed," Greg huffed.
"Ew," Brad cringed.
"Come on Lieutenant, the Blue Meanies are gaining on us," Ryan declared as he brandished the steering wheel lock like a rifle.
Brad put his foot down and they burned out of the police station car park.
"Follow that car," Jeff announced as he plonked himself in the passenger seat of the cab. The cab driver looked at him slightly mortified and Jeff looked back confused. "What? Oh that's not what you think, but open a window," he smiled.
"Can we just go back home?" Wayne pleaded.
"Can we just go so we don't get busted by Cheryl the Nazi?" Drew begged.
"Well if you tell me where you want me to go, I'll go," the cab driver huffed.
"I told you, follow the…THE BASTARDS," Jeff yelped.
"What?" Drew gasped.
"I can't believe they did that," Wayne cussed.
"Did what?" Drew pleaded.
"I am not happy, I'm so not happy, I'm the not happiest I've ever been," Jeff grumbled.
"What's happened, guys tell me," Drew whined.
"They are so off my Christmas card list," Wayne sulked.
"They're off my Christmas card list and my Easter, Valentine and St Patrick's Day lists too," Jeff agreed.
"Valentine?" Wayne mumbled.
"Guys," Drew begged.
"I'm going to steal Brad's new grey blanket for this," Jeff snorted.
"FOR WHAT? WILL YOU JUST TELL ME…WHAT DID THEY DO?" Drew yelled.
"They left," the cab driver sighed.
"What? Oh man, now what?" Drew huffed.
"We go home," Wayne shrugged.
"I am so not happy," Drew grumbled.
"Been there," Wayne breathed.
"Over it," Jeff added.
"Bastards," Drew muttered.
"Do you want to get out and walk?" Jeff snapped.
The cab driver rolled his eyes and started the engine, he was pleased the old duffers would be leaving him with a hefty pay packet that night.
"Where are we headed?" Greg asked as he lit a cigarette.
"Home," Colin sighed.
"Look I know all roads lead to there but I don't think we can drive it," Chip cussed.
"What?" Colin gasped.
"What drugs are you on?" Greg jeered.
"Percodan, Valium, Demerol, Butabarbitol, Dilaudid, Valmid, Aventyl, Elavil, Placidyl, Nembutal, Amytal, Pentobarbital, Morphine, Codeine, Dexedrine, Biphetamine, Quaaludes and Viagra," Chip replied blankly.
"Fair enough," Greg shrugged.
"So why are we going to Rome?" Chip asked.
Colin rolled his eyes. "HOME…IT'S LIKE ROME BUT WITH AN H."
"Well why didn't you just say?" Chip grumbled.
"I can hear banshees," Ryan announced and ducked as low was he could.
"That's police sirens, not banshees," Brad said matter-of-factly.
"Shit, Cheryl the Nazi's got the cops out after us," Colin gasped.
"Why would the paparazzi chase us with mops?" Chip chuckled.
"Can you just not talk?" Colin asked.
"I would never do that with a fork," Chip huffed.
Colin let out a low hiss and looked around for some left over gaffer tape.
"Jesus Christ that's Cheryl the Nazi, she's borrowed a police car," Greg gasped.
"What do I do?" Brad asked, turning in his seat to his friends.
"Holding onto the wheel would be a start," Colin shrieked.
"Oh yeah," Brad smiled and turned back.
"I'm gonna get killed by a banshee," Ryan whimpered and swished his steering wheel lock about, almost clubbing Brad in the head.
"Do that again and I break your bony little wrist," Brad huffed.
"You can’t, my bones are made of metal," Ryan sneered.
"If that was true Captain Billy, you'd rust when you went to visit your mer-wife," Colin said smugly.
"My skin is rubber," Ryan rushed and then focused his attention back out of the window.
"So what do we do?" Greg coughed.
"I've got an idea," Brad perked and turned quickly off the highway and onto a quiet road that led toward the hills. Cheryl followed maniacally behind, Brad thinking he was in some bad 70s police film kept looking over his shoulder and grinning to himself.
"She's speeding up," Greg announced.
"Hide me," Ryan yelped and slid further down in his seat.
Brad eased his foot off the accelerator.
"What are you doing?" Colin gasped.
"Trust me, I saw this in a movie once," Brad perked as Cheryl, in the police car, started to pull level. "Hold on," he added and then before anyone had time to slip on a pair of adult diapers, the car swerved sideways.
"Fucking hell," Greg gagged and felt his heart start to race.
"Jesus," Chip gasped and grabbed onto Colin who looked deathly pale as he watched Cheryl's car career off into a ditch.
"Did you get the banshee?" Ryan asked as he looked out the window excitedly.
"Stop the car fuckwit," Greg ordered and Brad slowed the car obediently, did a U-turn and drove back past the police car that had stopped in the ditch.
"Wow I never thought it'd actually work," Brad mused.
"Work? You've killed Cheryl," Colin gasped.
"Oh," Brad mumbled. "Oops."