You'll believe a man can trundle

The Story so Far...

The British Olympic team is struggling to qualify, since the only one of them with his own pair of skis only has one leg, so both skis are for the same leg. Ooooh! Whatever will they do now?

Meanwhile, in Cambridge, Nursie is struggling to grasp the fundamentals of how one-dimensional super-strings could exist in only ten or twenty three dimensional space...

"Doh! This is hurting my little nursie head!" she exclaims.

"Don't worry about it," says Stephen in a dull monotone. "Let's go to bed. I'm feeling really horny." There is suddenly a mystical beeping sound coming from Dr. Hawking's brave vest.

"Is that your pacemaker?" Nursie asks, concerned.

"No! It's the HawkingMobilePhone!" says Stephen in a dull monotone.

"Not the HawkingMobilePhone! It must be trouble!" gasped Nursie.

"Yes! It seems the British Olympic team is having a spot of bother! This is a job for..." says Stephen, pausing for effect in a dull monotone, "StephenHawkingMan!"

"My Hero!" gasps Nursie, pressing the button which puts his costume on.

One quick trip in the StephenHawkingPlane to the Alps later...

"Ok, guys. It's equal scores so far. We have to do better than those Americans with their pesky Christopher Reeve in order to win the tournament. We can't possibly succeed. What we need is a miracle," says the captain of the British Olympic skiing team.

"I know! Let's pray!" says the second in command of the British Olympic Skiing team.

"Alright," replies the captain of the British Olympic Skiing Team. "On second thoughts, I think God is merely a way for people to find hope for the future in a finite existence where death is the absolute end with no chance of everlasting life thereafter."

"Don't worry, British Skiing team, I can save your reputation!" said Stephen in a dull monotone, coming through the door at a respectable two and a half miles per hour.

"But how?" asks the captain of the British Olympic skiing team.

"Why, that's easy!" says Stephen in a dull monotone. "I will ski for you!"

"Wow! We are sure to win now!" exclaims the captain of the British Olympic Skiing Team.

And so the battle is joined. On the one side, Christopher Reeve, whom the Americans had wheeled in especially. On the other, our dashing hero, StephenHawkingMan. Finally the judges sober up and raise the flag which will start the race.

And they're off...

"Wheeeeeeeeee!" says Stephen in a dull monotone.

"Forward, forward and away!" shouts Christopher Reeve.

Down the mountainside they go, swerving around trees and reaching magnificent speeds, their wheels getting ever hotter under the strain. Suddenly, disaster - Christopher Reeve loses control and starts to head inexorably toward a cliff edge.

'That will teach the smug bastard' thought StephenHawkingMan in a dull monotone.

Closer and closer the cliff edge was approaching. Christopher Reeve tried to regain control, but to no avail. Then suddenly, a robotic hand clamps on the side of his chair, and a dull monotone heroically announces "Don't worry, I will save you". He turns his head as many degrees as his condition would allow, and sees StephenHawkingMan putting the anchors on.

But too late - Both figures fly off the edge of the cliff and plummet down into the middle of nowhere before vanishing from sight in the trees below.

In a clearing they lay unconscious for hours. then...

"Ow." said Stephen in a dull monotone.

"Oh, you're alive. We have a problem here," points out Christopher Reeve. "The only way we will be saved is if one of us can go and get help. I nominate me."

"No, either we both go or neither of us do" said Stephen in a dull monotone.

Three days later, in a small chemist near the edge of the forest, Agneta the chemist woman is sitting pondering the mysteries of generic drugs over the name brands. Her thoughts are interrupted by a squeaking, rattling sound as if someone was pulling themselves along the floor using one hand, whist dragging a broken wheelchair and another person with the other.

She looks down at the dishevelled figure who obviously hadn't slept for days. "Can I help you?" she asks.

"Six tubes of Anusol and a puncture repair kit, please" says he in a dull monotone.

© Lunchtime