‘Huh?’ Paul opened his eyes. ‘What happened?’

‘How nice of you to join the land of the living, Paul,’ said George.

‘Where are we?’ Paul asked, confused.

‘Take a look around, y’ thick-headed idiot,’ John said. ‘Maybe you’ll see something interesting.’ Paul glanced around, and saw four cots (including the one that he was lying on), a small, very grimy sink, a tiny barred window (it was so small that Paul thought it could have been a hole in the wall that had been boarded up), and very dirty walls.

‘How did we get here?’ Paul questioned.

‘Why is the sky blue? Is there a God? What does he/she look like? How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?’ asked John, sarcastically.

‘1,940!’ yelled Ringo, happily. John glared at Ringo with a disgusted look on his face, and then whirled about and faced Paul again.

‘To tell y’ the truth, McCartney, I have no idea how the hell we got here. Your guess is as good as mine. I was going home from the party, but I never got there, an’ that’s all I know,’ stated John, leaning against the wall, casually.

‘Me, too!’ hollered George.

‘Same here!’ exclaimed Paul.

‘Huh?’ came from Ringo.

‘Never mind, Ring,’ said John. ‘Just go back to whatever the hell you were doing before we interrupted you.’

‘Okay!’ said Ringo, like a hyper kindergartner going out to recess.

‘How can anyone be as happy as that at a time like this?’ asked George.

‘I think I know,’ said John. ‘Look!’ The three friends looked over to where Ringo was. Or, at least, had been.

‘Hey, Ring!’ Paul yelled. ‘Where’d you go?’

‘Down here, fellas!’ Ringo shouted. ‘Look down the hole that’s under the bed!’ Paul crawled under the ratty mattress and almost fell down a hole on top of Ringo, but John and George caught his legs.

‘Come on, guys!’ Paul shouted back to them. ‘Ringo’s found a way out!’ John and George began arguing about who would go first, and they accidentally dropped Paul.

‘OOOFF!’ Paul landed on top of Ringo, and the pile was soon added to by John and then George.

‘Gerroff of me!!’ Ringo screeched. Instantly, John, Paul, and George got up off of Ringo and helped him up. But even though Ringo was standing up, George’s hands kept going until he was as straight and stiff as a poker. Brian Epstein’s head popped out behind his back. Brian was their manager.

‘Brian, what are you doing?’ Ringo asked.

‘I think that we should give America a chance to get a good band on the charts. Or, Britain needs some new hit artists.’

‘What?!?’ screeched Paul. Brian stepped out from behind George and waved a revolver in the air.

‘All right now, boys,’ he said. ’This will be quick and painless… if you want it to be.’

‘Brian, calm down!!’ John shouted.

‘Yeah, Brian.’ said Paul. ‘Maybe we can work it out.’

‘Shut up, Paul!’ Brian screamed. ‘Just shut up, all of you! I’m sick of you screaming, bossing, controlling, criticizing, perfecting! All of you! That’s supposed to be my job! Why the hell d’ you think you needed me? So just keep your mouth shut!’ Silence filled the passageway and hung heavy on the air.

‘I’m sorry, Brian.’ Paul said. ‘I…’

‘Just shut up!!’ Brian yelled as he brought the butt of the revolver down on Paul’s head.