One Morning:

One morning, not so long ago, B.A woke up. It was 8.15am and he wanted to watch cartoons on breakfast T.V., before he spent another happy day buliding a gigantic robotic elephant with laser death ray eyes from an assortment of household objects and a rusty Ford Cortina someone had abandoned in the field behind the house.

He switched off his alarm clock, opened his curtains, pittied the foo! and put on his socks. As he drowsyly poured his Frosties into his special Ghostbusters bowl, which he sent 6 tokens from the back of Weetabix boxes and a 59 pence postal order for in 1986, he sat in his comfy red velour upholstered chair and leaned forward to press the 'power' button on his T.V., which he had fabricated from two upright cylinder type vaccum cleaners and a pub style metal 'Guinness' ashtray. He leaned back and put his hand down into the pocket on the right hand side of his armchair. As he fumbled about in the pocket, fingers roaming over the remenants of a sticky three month old packet of boiled sweets, he looked perplexed.

He couldnt find the remote control, which he had constructed from a Sinclair ZX Spectrum and the squeezy nozzle off a bottle of Safeway almond milk soap, using bent paperclips as tools. Wondering where it could have went he searched around the chair, but to no avail.
Pouring a glass of milk from a carton he had made from old milk cartons, he resolved to wake up the rest of the team to find out if they knew the whereabouts of his remote control. 

"Hannibal, Hannibal", said B.A. shaking him violently, "are you awake? ARE YOU AWAKE?"

"Unhhhhh, wha, what, what? What the fuck time do you call this? You know fine well I cant be seen without a cigar, and I refuse to smoke before 10.30am. What's wrong? Did somebody play the old 'knock you unconcious and put you on a plane' trick again?"

"What choo talkin about, Willis?" enquired a quizzical B.A.

"That was Different Strokes" corrected Hannibal.

"Oh, sorry. I mean what choo talkin about, foo?"

"Nothing. What seems to be the matter, B.A.?"

B.A. explained that he couldn't find his remote control for the T.V.. Hannibal looked perplexed and thought hard about where he had last seen the remote control. He traced his steps back to two nights ago when he had been watching Masterchef on BBC2, but remembered putting the controller back in its special pocket on the right hand side of the armchair.

"Why not ask Murdoch? I think I saw him watching Ready, Steady, Cook yesterday afternoon" recalled Hannibal.

"Ta muchly, Hannibal" thanked B.A.

"I love it when a plan comes together" sighed Hannibal.

"Whatever" said B.A, walking off to Murdoch's room.

"Wake up foo!" screamed B.A., punching Murdoch squarely in the face, twice.
"Arrrrrrrggghhhh, by dose!" yelped Murdoch, while grimacing.
"Wake up!" repeated B.A, punching a third time for good measure.
"Christ on a bike! What do you want? I was up late last night barking at the toaster, I need to sleep" said a sleepy Murdoch, in an Italian accent.
"You mean the toaster that I built out of a Kawasaki GPZ 305 and a Sony CD Walkman, foo!"
"No, the other one. From Dixons." replied Murdoch, wearing pink fluffy Deely Boppers.
"Oh.." grunted a dismayed B.A.
"So i'm up now, what do you want?" enquired Murdoch, bouncing off the walls on an bright orange space hopper.

Murdoch, while doing the Hustle and the Slosh to the Average White Band's Greatest Hits, then recalled that once he had come back from the discount DIY shop he had continued to watch T.V. and quite clearly recalled using the remote control to flick on to the History channel to watch the Battle of Midway Retrospective. He then continued, briefly pausing to bodypop to the guitar solo of 'Lets go round again', that he remembered that he had switched the T.V. off, and replaced the remote control in its rightfull place in its pocket on the right hand side of the armchair.

"Maybe Face has seen it?" suggested Murdoch, shooting at Squirrels with a Flame Thrower.
"Okay, foo, i'll ask him" agreed B.A.
"Righty dokey, chief" said Murdoch, while sending another rodent to a firey death.

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