Penelope wept for her beloved alter ego's cruel fate from the safety of the pterodactyl whose back she was on. She wasn't entirely sure how she came to be on the back of this pterodactyl rather than in that jet, in fact she suspected that she was just daydreaming and the jet had not in fact exploded. She considered the evidence:

• Jets tend to fly at much higher altitudes than hang gliders.
• Hang gliders don't tend to destroy jets in collisions, in fact the opposite is more likely true.
• Pterodactyls have been extinct for several million years now.
• Goscone died at the end of the last thread.
• Razorback hogs, living or otherwise, do not have opposable limbs, and hence would have great difficulty operating hang gliders.

Just as she came to the conclusion that she was simply being silly and all that probably didn't actually happen, her private jet alighted gently upon the mountaintop, which was noticeably devoid of faeces. It was not, however, devoid of Druggdelers, of which there was one specimen staring straight at her.

Penelope got out her