posted on Mar, 13 2005 @ 12:05 PM
Eventually the Rolling Hills company realized that it would be in the best interest of its stockholders to accept a hostile takeover by the Bollywood
Babe concern and agree to do their landscape gardening for the movie moguls of the Indian subcondiment, who were in need of this service at their
fabulous mansions up in the Himalayan foothills.
Most of the stockingholders and junk-bond recyclers at the meeting where the matter was discussed were willing to go along with this plan, but after
several hours of heated debating over the details the building started to shake, as though the Big One had finally arrived, and everybody rushed out
into the streets.
It was around 2 A.M., the streets were empty, the night was cold, a fine drizzle was starting to fall, a stray dog that had been sleeping next to the
shopwindow of a tobacco shop suddenly stood up and it started howling at the full moon. The crowd of stockholders turned around to see what was going
on. What had appeared to be a full moon was actually a humming spaceship with a ring of red and green lights around the middle. Mr.
Ugglesbrock-Smithers, the accountant, took out his pocket pepper-gas pistol shaped like a fountain pen and said...