There's more than one way to skin a cat. That's how the saying goes, right? But let's be honest; when you really get down to the nitty gritty, when you delve deep into the murky depths and curl the wrinkled tips of your grubby little fingers around what you really, really hope isn't the chicken tikka masala from that dodgy Indian at the end of the street, it all boils down to one thing... Whichever way you look at it, if you're not removing the skin then you're doing it wrong.

Of course, you try telling that to the Cat Skinners of Eck'hi Poot and they'll be like, "yeah whatever, dude," but to be perfectly candid the Cat Skinners of Eck'hi Poot can do one and besides, you'd actually have to find Eck'hi Poot first and given the fact that the world mentioned thrice in a paragraph probably too small to get away with such a thing orbits an incredibly tiny red dwarf star in one of only three inhabited star systems in a two-galaxy Micro-Universe contained within one of the many freckles upon the face of a fair-skinned, red haired bonnie lass who lives on a houseboat just outside Milton Keynes, the chances of anyone actually finding Eck'hi Poot or, indeed, stumbling across the Cat Skinners who reside upon the aforementioned planet are, to be fair, rather slim indeed.

In fact the only reason anyone, ever, in the history of everything, had heard of the planet mentioned several times in the above paragraph is due to the fact that Philip, No Last Name, an intern working towards a degree in Leisure and Tourism at the Eck'hi Poot Tourist Information Centre, sent an incredibly eloquent, well written email to the Department of Obscure Planets, Planetoids and Lost Moons, and that email failed to end up in the spam folder of one Esmerelda Hopkins, a medical student who refused to work as a stripper to pay her way through college and instead worked every hour she could and got paid peanuts for the privilege as a receptionist.

The funny thing is, although Esmerelda Hopkins rarely saw the funny side, is that she had absolutely no intention whatsoever of working in any conceivable medical profession. As far as she was concerned, she was putting herself through seven years of hell for one reason and one reason only. The fact that she was not earning gazillions working as a stripper annoyed both of her mothers beyond belief.

"So getting your clobber off and dancing all sexy like to some dirty filthy tunes is beneath you, is it?"

"It's good enough for me and your other mother. We raised you right, so we did, but what with you refusing to work in the family business, we can hardly show our faces in public."

"Neither of you have issue showing everything else in public though, eh?"

Mother #1 and Mother #2 were interchangeable, as far as Esmerelda was concerned. The only thing she had ever wanted from them was their blessing that she do something else, anything else, with her life. But no, that was too much to ask, apparently. Regardless to say, neither Mother will be mentioned within the confines of this tale again.

Sometimes, the Universe, as in the Universe that governed all other universes, gets it right. This is one of those occasions for the email directly beneath the one from Philip, No Last Name, an intern working towards a degree in Leisure and Tourism at the Eck'hi Poot Tourist Information Centre, was a communique addressed to her personally.

That in itself was odd considering the firewall should block such communications and return to sender complete with a fifteen second warning of self-destruction.

The email in question did not consist of much at all, however, 'Esmerelda, get to the roof,' was plenty enough to whet her whistle and with a shrug followed by a quick glance around the room, a vast cavern of a space filled with identical cubicles occupied by individuals all trawling through the monotony of life as they unenthusiastically sought something more, she clicked her heels together three times and walked the room at a considerable pace.

"Where do you think you're going?" The booming voice stopped Esmerelda in her tracks, however she had been prepared for it. There was only one reason for any individual to leave their cubicle outside of the designated periods and that reason was...

"My Miniature Dachshund called... There's a homeless man using my tumble dryer."

She had no reason why that was the only permissible reason for anyone working at the Department of Obscure Planets, Planetoids and Lost Moons, to get up and leave their cubicle, however it was included in the induction package so who was she to argue?

Esmerelda didn't even have a tumble dryer...

"Of course," the booming voice said. "Go, and don't forget to suggest the use of softening sheets. I prefer Summer Meadow myself."

Moments later, Esmerelda Hopkins was on the roof of the building that the Department of Obscure Planets, Planetoids and Lost Moons, called home. The DoOPPaLM actually shared the building with a number of other companies and organisations, including but by no means limited to the Union of Lost Keys, the Caffeine and Nicotine Appreciation Society, and BUPA.

None of that mattered in the slightest though and even if it had, Esmerelda would likely have forgotten that it did the moment she laid her eyes upon a man, undoubtedly the most attractive one she had ever seen. True, she could only see the back of his head, and his back, and the slightest hint of arse-crack that showed above the waistline of his low-slung jeans, but sometimes that was all you needed to see.

"Hello," Esmerelda ventured as she set forth across the roof of the building towards the man whom, she assumed, was dangling his legs and feet of the edge rather than the alternative, which although viable was in her mind not preferable, that being that he actually did not possess legs and feet.

That's not to say that Esmerelda had anything against legless individuals but the way she saw it, anyone who summoned her in whatever form said summoning might be really ought to have a full compliment of limbs or, y'know, be able to remain in an upright position without the use of any foreign objects at any rate. That was simply common decency.

Now I'm not going to bore with the details about how Esmerelda and Garth got to know each other. All you need to know, really, is that Garth was an interdimensional traveller making his way around Time and Space in a spaceship that looked very much like a MK II Ford Escort only much, much bigger. There was none of that bigger on the inside time and relative dimensions in space bullshit. It really was simply a bloody big MK II Escort.

Some months later - that's later as in some months after Esmerelda originally joined Garth on his vessel, rather than some months after they got to know each other because that could potentially be anything up to and including a few years. I mean, how well do you really know someone, even if you spend every waking nanosecond of every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year thinking that a certain someone is your best most bestest friend ever and then what do you know? He turns around one day and bites the tip of your knob off... *cough*... Anyways...

Some months later, Esmerelda answered the telephone. You see, their ship - and yes, at this point in time it was most definitely considered 'their ship,' - was equipped with all of the modern amenities that every interdimensional traveller could ever require, including but by no means limited to the following: A never-ending supply of Bourbon Creams, a dehumidifier, a family of ex-laboratory mice, three marbles, a satsuma with all of the insides removed and a photograph of Bill Clinton with his balls resting upon the chin of Monica Lewinsky.

So, where were we?

Oh yes, that's right...

"Hello," said Esmerelda because as I'm sure you'll remember, she was in the process of answering the telephone, because it rang and that's generally what one does when one hears a telephone, especially a telephone that technically belongs to you, ringing.

Of course I'm sure you all remember the rather unfortunate case of Germolina MMMXXXVIII who, whilst walking along a busy high street having been out shopping for shoes for her mother's eight hundredth wedding, took it upon herself to answer a ringing public telephone and found herself transported to a realm rather like Narnia - but not, obviously... Copyright, and all that... I'm not an idiot - whereupon she was repeatedly gang-raped by a group of Forns - yes, Forns, not Fawns... There's a difference, and not in the slightest because I'm making this crap up - until the day she gave birth to a litter of seventeen - see, that's what happens when humans and Forns fornicate - baby Forn/slash/human hybrids who proceeded to eat her entire being for sustenance... Her entire being, that is, apart from her breasts. Forns don't like breasts. Fricken' weirdos...

"There's too much fog!" a slightly gruff, male voice replied in a rather hasty fashion.

What? C'mon, keep up..! It's only going to get worse, I promise!

"Too much fog?" Esmerelda said, for clarification purposes as opposed to any real need to have the statement repeated but, regardless...

"There's too much fog!" the slightly gruff male voice repeated. "I need someone with a bright shiny nose to guide my sleigh!"

"Who is it, Esmerelda?" Garth asked. He wasn't really interested. To be perfectly honest he was far too busy playing a game of table tennis against himself using his genitals as a paddle.

"I think it's Santa Claus," she replied with a shrug.

"Too much fog?"

"Apparently..."

"Yeah you'll want to hang up... Seriously, bastard'll have you talking for hours and before you know it you'll be falling down chimneys and getting caught in little kids bedrooms and it's just not pretty..."

"Sorry, we don't want any..." she said, and hung up the phone. To be fair she did feel more than a little bit guilty for hanging up on Santa Claus but then again, soot really was not her colour...

"It's been a while since he called, actually," Garth mused, stroking his chin. He had a beard you see, and rather an epic one at that. In fact it was such a full beard that he had always suspected he was part-dwarf. Following aeons - all right so that's a slight exaggeration. For one to have spent aeons doing anything one must have been around for, well... aeons, which Garth had not. He was not an Intergalactic MegaSpace Dragon, you see... Now, they had been around for aeons, and a lot of them. Rumour has it they actually existed before the dawn of the Universe and in fact may be remnants of the Universe that came before... You know what they say about rumours though, right? - of extensive research though, he felt perfectly happy to rest safe in the knowledge that no, there had never been a case of dwarfism of any kind, fantastical or otherwise, in his family.

But more about Intergalactic MegaSpace Dragons... Not only had they possibly been around for longer than forever they were also, as far as Garth was aware, the only other beings capable of traversing interdimensional barriers. They were able to do so without the aid of a big-ass MK. II Ford Escort though, so whichever way one was to look at it they definitely had one up on him, and Esmerelda, too, considering the fact that Garth's ship was her ship, too, ergo, that same capability extended to her and her girl-parts.

"I was actually starting to think he'd decided not to bother anymore, considering the last time I spoke to him I threatened to put on an Easter Bunny costume and kick his rotund derriere."

"I'd probably pay to see that," said Esmerelda with a shrug.

To be fair, there was no 'probably,' about it. No one in their right, or, indeed, their wrong, mind would ever dream of complaining about over-priced tickets and touts wandering the streets offering their wares - as well as a multitude of cheap knock-off T-shirts and brandless cigarettes - would undoubtedly make a killing selling tickets for even the cheapest seats for the ultimate showdown; Santa Claus versus the Easter Bunny.

It'd sell out quicker than a Gary Glitter concert at a pre-school...

Anyways...

"Saying that, his missus is quite the looker."

"Mrs Claus?"

"Aye," Garth replied, a slightly dreamy look in his eyes. "'Course, she went by the name, Katya, before that... A dappy Russian blonde thrice Miss Universe and six-time grand slam champion. Cor, talk about easy on the eyes..."

"You need a moment alone, Garth?"

"I'm all right," he replied, smirking. "How about a change of subject, eh? Where d'yer wanna' go?"

"I don't care," she replied. "I mean, so long as it's somewhere new. I don't wanna' go anywhere we've been before."

"Somewhere new, you say?" Garth had the look about him of a man with nefarious intent. In his defence though, that was nothing new. In fact that had been one of the first things Esmerelda had noticed about him and she had said as much. Garth had not replied, of course, though he did smirk.

You see the thing about travelling interdimensionally, or trans-dimensionally if you will, is that theoretically every single 'new,' place you go is just that; new. Theoretically, because every single 'new,' place that you go is simply an incredibly hazy photocopy of every place you've been before. There are subtle differences, like maybe the grass is more orange on the other side, perhaps there isn't any shrimp or just maybe, though I suspect it's unlikely, you might encounter a dimension where licking your own - or, for that matter, anyone else's - testicles isn't preferable to eating Pot Noodle, but when you get right down to the nitty gritty of it all, a spade will always be something similar to a shovel.

***

You might be wondering at this point, if you're the kinda' person who's inclined to wonder such things, whether a plot is going to show up any time soon or even if there's a point of any kind to this story.

The answer to both those questions, if that is indeed what they are, is no.

Taking that prior revelation into consideration, it really should come as no surprise that what happened next did, indeed, happen next.

You see that's the wonderful thing about telling a story. As God, because as far as you're concerned right now that's exactly who I am, in the context of this work of fiction at any rate, I can make anything happen. I am the all-knowing, all-seeing eye. I'm omnipotent - you are? I'm sorry, man... *cough*... Fuck it, I'm the bloody flaming eye thing in Lord of the Rings.

I'm...

What? No I'm all right...

I beg to differ.

Beg all you like, sonny Jim.

My name isn't Jim.

No but your big booming voice has got my attention so go on, I'll bite. What's your name?

My name is...

It doesn't matter what your name is. Now you'd better Skid Row lest I unleash an unholy can of whoopass...

Whoopass?

Yeah, y'know... Like, kick you in the shins or some such.

I don't have any shins.

What kinda' weirdo doesn't have any shins?

The kinda' weirdo who actually is the all-knowing, all-seeing eye.

You mean to say...

Yes, I mean to say...

***

-Thank you for your patience. We now return to our regular programming. Sorry for any inconvenience-

***

"Garth?" Nothing. No reply. Not even the most faint of murmurs. "Garth!"

All right... Clearly something happened, something that probably shouldn't have happened or at the very least, something happened that no one was expecting to happen.

I can't work it out though. My head's killing me. It's dark, it's so dark and it's really cold. I think I'd probably have goose-pimples if I wasn't an...

Awh, man..!

And then there was light, and it was good. At least, it would have been good if it had been anything that resembled a normal light. But it wasn't. It was the first light, a light so bright that it shone throughout the Universe, illuminating every hidden nook and secret cranny.

And it shone upon a door, and the armadillo walked through it...

***

Esmerelda shook her head and resisted the urge to scratch at a particularly irritating itch that she was almost certain did not exist.

She glanced at Garth. Her companion had upon his face an expression of complete and total befuddlement.

"Well at least I'm not alone," she muttered.

"That was... odd," said Garth, and he was right.

"It's still, odd..." Esmerelda replied, and she was right, too.

"Were you..?" he asked, an eyebrow cocked. "Y'know..?"

"Yeah," she replied, glancing down at her fully human body to make sure that she was, indeed, fully human. "I mean, I think..."

"What's with all the unfinished, erm..."

"I, erm... I've never..."

"...can't explain..."

"Telly?"

"Yeah."

Well, there's at least two sentences they managed to complete, right?

"Is that..?"

"Dunno'...I've never..."

"We should... Y'know..?"

"But what if it isn't..?"

"But it is, I mean... can't you feel..?"

"I can feel... something."

"It is, Garth... It's..."

"Well, what's he doing, like..?"

"...escape."

***

The long haired bearded chap glanced from Esmerelda to Garth and back again. He repeated the process, over and over, in a very 'lather, rinse, repeat,' type fashion.

"Aoruihygnlja?" he asked, and instantly realised that what he had wanted to say and what he actually did say were two very, very different things, and he tried again. "Skdfjhgjrshkwjen uuusiiisooofmmmamnng."

"Now don't quote me on this, Garth," said Esmerelda, quietly. "But I think he's trying to say something."

"Iiiiishhhfhhhhgjjskkvmmmmmhm yyyakskkkks"

"I think you're right."

"Ffffooooorooorrrrfffffuuuuuuuckkkssaaaakeofcourseshesfuckingright!"

With a wild-eyed expression the man got to his feet and attempted to walk, though he promptly face-planted the floor. When he got back up again he had a bloody nose, because that's what tends to happen when one hits the floor with one's face.

"Nowouldsomeonemindawfullytelling me what the fuck I'm doing here?"

"You're him!" Esmerelda and Garth exclaimed in unison, and then shared a look of mutual shame that they had actually done such a thing.

Esmerelda gestured to Garth that he should carry on talking and he should do so alone, so he did.

"You're the Writer."

"Well I suppose that explains why I know everything about the two of you already, despite the fact you've not been particularly forthcoming with anything by way of information," the Writer replied. "The only thing I don't know is, as I'm pretty sure I've already made clear, what in the actual fuck I'm doing here."

"Pretty sure you pissed off God," said Esmerelda. "Or at the very least you pissed on his chips and took a big steaming crap in his Diet Coke."

"Not entirely sure how I can have pissed off an entity in whom I don't actually believe, but whatever."

"Do you have another explanation for it?"

"I'm sure I'll come up with something," the Writer replied, smirking. "I mean, if I'm the writer..."

"Not the writer," Garth interrupted. "The Writer."

"If I'm the Writer," the Writer continued without missing so much as a single beat. "Then I can write whatever the hell I want, right?"

"But what about God?" Esmerelda asked, and to be fair it was a perfectly feasible and valid question.

"Fuck him," the Writer scoffed. "You don't get it... I built this place. In here I make the rules, in here I make the threats... In here, I'm God."

"No offence intended, but he clearly beat you last time else you wouldn't have ended up wherever you were, and we certainly wouldn't have ended up as, erm..."

"What can I say? Dude caught me off guard," the Writer smirked. "Shit like that don't happen twice. He got lucky; ain't gonna' get lucky again."

***

"Bugger," said God, who was listening in whilst engaged in a three-way with a couple of angels, because he's God and the ladies love that shit.

And so, as God got a rimjob from a blonde with double D's and a dapper pair of wings whilst simultaneously shagging a similarly winged redhead up the arse, the Writer took a seat, took out his pen, and wrote.

***

The big-ass MK II Ford Escort rose through the clouds. Luckily the wipers worked else visibility would have been a bitch.

Up and up and up it went until the vessel finally broke through the clouds and there, sure enough, were the Pearly Gates.

To be fair, 'was,' might be a better choice of word, given the fact that the Pearly Gates were not actually gates at all.

"Man, that's a big ship," said Garth who had always been a peace-loving kinda' chap, until he had met the Writer, anyway. Now, his face was pocked with battle scars and he had a bionic eye. "Dreadnought Class, if I'm any judge."

"Gotta' be if'n it's guardin' Heaven," Esme replied with a low whistle. Since meeting the writer, you see, she was no longer Esmerelda because Esmerelda did not exist. She was Esme, an outlaw; a gun for hire, hired by Garth because for the assault on Heaven he required a totally fearless, badass pilot, and Esme was pretty good when it came to flying shit. "Gonna' cost you's extra though... No one said nothin' to me 'bout goin' up 'gainst a damn Dreadnought Class, 'specially not in a big-ass MK II Ford Escort. Ain't the most manoeuvrable of vessels, if'n you catch my drift."

I can probably do something about that.

"Now that's more like it," said Esme, grinning broadly to reveal that several of her teeth were, in fact, gold. "Send a Dreadnought to blow the shit out of a Dreadnought."

"We gotta' do more than just blow the shit outta' that Dreadnought," said Garth. In truth he was scared, shit scared. True enough he'd seen and done things that would make a Millwall FC supporter run home to his momma. On a smuggling run out beyond the eighth quadrant, for example, he had...

No, he could not even think about it... The thought alone was enough to make him crap his pants.

Or was it? Maybe he had simply...

"Man, is that you's?" Esme said, turning up her nose.

"Yeah, sorry," replied a sheepish Garth.

"Whatever," the badass chick replied. "I'll get us in nice 'n close then you hit the 'Heaven Destroyer,' button, an' we'll be back to whorin' an' killin' in two shakes."

With that same gold-toothed grin, Esme drove the Dreadnought forwards. The vessel took heavy fire but shook it off with ease. Realising that she could probably ram the opposing ship and take nothing more than minimal damage that's exactly what she did, sending that Dreadnought into a wild spin, its life support systems failing as it spiralled towards Heaven itself.

"Hit it yer bastard!" she yelled, and Garth did.

***

Garth and Esmerelda awoke simultaneously. Both were feeling decidedly groggy, so much so that they could have been forgiven for thinking they'd had a week out on the lash.

"Something's different," Garth said sometime later when the two of them were sitting in the big-ass MK II Ford Escort's galley, each enjoying a bowl of Coco Pops. "I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Did we..." Esmerelda cut herself off and shook her head.

"Did we what?"

"Did we... destroy Heaven?"

"Awh man," Garth wailed. "I kinda' thought that was a dream, and what's that smell?"

"We did, didn't we?"

"I mean it... What's that bloody stench?"

"I dunno', man, but I reckon it's time for us to move on don't you?"

"Yeah I do."

That was far easier said than done though for having made their way to the bridge, Garth and Esmerelda quickly discovered that 'moving on,' was quite impossible, given the fact that according to the vessel's computer systems, the big-ass MK II Ford Escort was no longer capable of traversing dimensional barriers. Nor, it seemed, had such a thing ever been possible.

"So we can't traverse dimensions, and we've destroyed the Heaven of this dimension?" Esmerelda asked, chuckling, because if she didn't she may well have cried. "Not bad for a day's work."

"Aye," said Garth. "It's you and me, Esme, alone in a Godless universe, and seriously what the hell is that smell? I bet we're out of Shake 'n Vac, too."