Hanging with the Hawkings.

I have an urge to go out drinking with Stephen Hawkings.

I can just imagine Steve and I partaking of a few... Me with a bottle of Stroh rum in my hand and Steve with a bottle of whatever he wants to drink duck-taped onto the end of his feeding straw. That's the kind of thing to brag about. It's certainly on a higher level than any drunken story that has been wheeled out in the pub.

I'd even go so far as to say it would be a mind altering experience.

Picture the scene...

It's late on a Tuesday night somewhere in Edinburgh. A full moon peeps through milky white clouds. The shadow of a drunk passes over the face of a wall. A strange voice grates onto the, unhearing, ears of the night...

"Show-me-the-way-to-go-home-I'm-tired-and-I-want-to-go... Taxi! Oh-shit-I-missed-it. Never mind Hawkings, my good friend, we'll get the next one... Are you alright there Davros? How are you getting on with that kebab? Do you want me to wipe the drool off you? Ahahaha. An IQ so high it's only detectable to sniffer dogs and you've got kebab all down the front of you. Ahahahaha."

An electric wheelchair comes into view. A guy in a Hawaiian shirt is clinging onto the back. The synthesized voice of Steven Hawkings emits from the wheelchair. "Where-are-we?-And-how-did-I-acquire-this-parking-cone?"
"Never mind that H, we need to get back to my place before the police catch up to us. Maybe trying to ram-raid the Co-op for some more booze wasn't a good idea after all."
"I-will-be-fine-I-have-an-MBE."
"You're not in London any more Hawk, this is Edinburgh, you being an MBE sufferer won't stop them from kicking the shit out of you."
"I-think-I-am-going-to-be-sick."
"I warned you about mixing your drinks H. You should have done what I suggested. For every drink of one spirit you have, have another of the same. Repeat until vision and mobility fails."
"That-is-alright-for-you-Ross. You-have-mobility-to-begin-with."

A Police car swings wildly around a corner in the middle distance. Sirens and flashing lights pierce the quiet streets of Edinburgh.

"It's good that you can joke about it H, but can you make this fucking chair go any faster?"
"We-could-try-the-Einstein-Rosen-Bridge-capability. It-has-never-been-tested-though."
"There's no time like the present Hawkster, hit the button and lets get the fuck out of here."

A small red light flashes on the arm of the wheelchair. Lightning strikes the chair and flames scorch the tarmac. The wheelchair flashes neon blue and vanishes...