To read episodes first three episodes of The Adventures of Grant Peeples go to:
Now for episode 4: The Beatles.
In preparation for his 8pm to 11pm May 2nd Music Land show at Your Big Picture Café, Grant and his time-traveling sidekick Pablo were talking turns practicing their Shodokan fire walking skills on the Alex Gimbly designer charcoal fire walking bed they had recently installed next to their back yard dojo especially designed for them by architect Ichinowa Kotodondo. Pablo had just handed Grant a freshly stirred Fallen Angel and was settling back in his Brian Molano limited addition teak lawn chair to watch Grant’s first pass on the heated coals when the Grant Alarm could be heard beeping through the house’s back office window.
“Keep practicing, boss,” Pablo said telepathically as he put down his Bloody Mary and hustled off into the house to retrieve the incoming message. Making his way into the office, Pablo patiently waited beside the vintage 1867 Edison Gold And Stock Ticker-tape machine as it noisily banged out a secret message from Time Travel Headquarters. Through the open window he could hear Grant practicing his mantra while fire walking outside.
“Sh@t! Oh my f*cking god these dam coals are hot! Ahhhh @&#^$!!!” Grant chanted.
“Keep at it boss,” Pablo patiently encouraged him.
Finally the ticker popped out the final message and Pablo began laughing as he read the incredulous instructions. Trotting back outside, he found Grant sitting in the teak lawn chair.
“Hey,” said Pablo, “I thought you were fire walking. I could hear you chanting.”
“Are you nuts,” said Grant, “I was just practicing the chanting part. I’m not walking on those things. They’re hot!”
“Well, get a load of this,” Pablo said with a smirk as he handed the secret message to Grant.
“This is impossible,” exclaimed Grant as he shot up straight in his chair. “If this happens, then music as we know it will cease to exist and I’ll never get to play my 8pm to 11pm May 2nd Music Land show at Your Big Picture Café.”
“Then we best get going, boss,” stated Pablo as he took one last long draw on his beloved Bloody Mary while Grant finished off his Fallen Angel. Then the two time travelers hustled back into the house, down the hallway and into the broom closet where Grant firmly kicked the mop bucket on the floor causing the small room to descend into their sub-terranian secret time-traveling laboratory.
In the middle of the cavernous space sat the only known working version of H.G. Wells’ 1895 Time Machine, complete with modern accouterments like duel-barrel super-chargers, over-head cam turbo-chargers, and vintage 1950 Marco and Burretti purple fuzzy dice. Sprinting across the room to the wardrobe section, they each picked out their favorite Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band uniform. Grant then went over to his time traveler’s safe, opened it and retrieved a small vial marked “For Emergencies Only.” Then, the daring duo jumped into the time machine.
“Okay, Pablo,” instructed Grant, “set the time-travel dials to noon on August 17th, 1960.”
Pablo immediately completed his instructions and then Grant hit the green “Go” button located on the center console. Suddenly, a cacophony of bangs, groans and sputters filled the room as a swirl of lights and dust enveloped the heaving and lifting time machine, and then – BANG – they were gone!
When the dust settled, Grant and Pablo stepped out onto Jay Mews Lane right outside the back entrance to London’s Royal Albert Hall. Quickly looking across the street, Grant found what he was looking for: three young men in black church novitiate robes walking quietly along the lane with their heads bowed. He and Pablo dashed across the lane to meet them.
“Hello there boys, where are you off to on such a fine summer day?” asked Grant.
“Oh, hello, sir,” replied a nineteen year old John Lennon, “we’re going to take our novitiate rights and join the seminary.”
“I can’t believe he said that,” Pablo telepathed to Grant as he tugged at his blue polyester uniform trying to improve its fit.
“Well, why would you want to do that. I’ve heard you three are very good musicians,” Grant stated.
“Well,” said a young George Harrison, “we got a message from God and it instructed us to become priests.”
“A message?” asked Grant, “what kind of message.”
“In a bottle of Guinness,” explained an excited Paul McCartney. “Well, not exactly in the bottle. Seems I spilled a bit of my beer on the pub floor last night and we all swore it spelled out ‘Go To God.’ So here we go.”
Grant and Pablo looked at each other for a moment dumbfounded. Then Grant had an idea.
“Well, boys, if beer speaks to you then you best follow it’s instructions,” Grant concluded, “so, why don’t we have one final drink together before you take your vows. After all, once you start your priestly studies, it’s gonna be a long time before you can have another drink.”
“Well, I guess… I’m not sure… gee, do you think….” the three boys wondered out loud.
“Pablo,” Grant said.
“I’m way ahead of you, boss,” responded Pablo as he dashed off to the nearby beer hall and came back a few moments later with six Guinness’-to-go.
“Fab… I wanna hold a beer… yeah, yeah, yeah…,” the three thirsty boys chanted looking at the cold beers that Grant and Pablo began handing around beneath the hot noon sun.
“Okay,” Grant instructed, “but before our final toast to your new spiritual careers, let’s just add a special touch to our drinks.”
Taking the small vial marked “For Emergencies Only” from his pocket, Grant gently tapped a few drops into each of the five drinks.
“Wait,” said John, “what’s that.”
“Oh, just a little something from a friend of mine to brighten our day,” said Grant. “Now drink up boys.”
Clinking their glasses, the five new friends each chugged their beers down.
“Hey, what’s your friends name?” asked Paul.
“Oh, him,” replied Grant, “his name is Timothy Leary and that was his potion number 9.”
“Number 9?” asked George.
In the meantime, John began staring at a couple walking down the Lane toward them. As he stared, suddenly the couple turned into four people, then eight, then sixteen, then thirty people and so on until a whole army of couples were approaching them.
“Wow, imagine all the people,” John said dazedly.
“Number 9?” repeated George.
While his two dazed companions were speaking, Paul began staring at the grand hall across the lane from them. To his amazement, as he watched the historic walls turned into Swiss cheese.
“Oh,” Paul said pondering, “how many holes are there in Albert Hall?”
“Imagine all the people,” responded George.
“Number 9?” chimed in George.
Okay, Grant thought to himself, now for the final touch. Looking around he saw what he needed. Running out into the lane he waved down a passing taxi. As it pulled up, the young driver rolled down the window and asked, “Where to govnor?”
“My, you look familiar,” said Grant to the driver. “What’s your name?”
“Ringo,” said the mop-haired driver. “Ringo Feinstein, govnor.”
“Well Ringo,” asked Grant, “how’d you like to be a star?”
“Sounds good to me, govnor,” said the skeptical Ringo, “what’d you have in mind.”
“Here,” instructed Grant quickly handing Ringo a large stack of pound notes, “get my friends here to the airport and onto a flight to Hamburg immediately. And you go with them, too!”
“By all means,” agreed Ringo, eying the large pile of notes in his hands.
“But how many holes are there in Albert Hall?” Paul continued to ask.
“Number 9?” repeated George.
“Imagine all the people,” John pondered at the oncoming army.
“Okay boys, into the cab with you,” Grant instructed as he and Pablo helped the trio into the cab.
“By the way, Ringo, are you thirsty?” inquired Grant.
“Why, yes, govnor, how’d you know?” the cabbie said surprised.
“Just a lucky guess,” answered Grant as he picked up the sixth beer, secretly palmed a few drops of potion number nine into it, and then handed the drink to Ringo. “Down the hatch, young man, and then off with you fab four!”
“Right-o,” agreed Ringo as he chugged the beer and then handed the glass back to Grant. “Ta-ta govnor.”
“Cheerio, and good bye boys!” exclaimed Grant.
“Number 9… how many holes… imagine….,” the three passengers replied as Ringo hit the gas, sped down Jay Mews lane, ran the stop sign at the end, turned the corner with tires screeching and flew out of sight.
“Wow,” said Pablo, “do you think they’ll be okay?”
“Well, we drank what they did. Are we okay, Pablo?” Grant asked.
“Boss, I’m great, and so are all fab-four of you!” Pablo giggled as he and Grant walked back across the street to the time machine.
“You know, Pablo, before we go to my 8pm to 11pm May 2nd Music Land show at Your Big Picture Café, I’ve got an hankering for some Tulurian kwakacha. Do you remember that nice little kwakacha bar we once visited in the Andromeda Galaxy?” inquired Grant.
“Sure do, boss,” Palbo responded as he dialed the date October, 31, 2058, into the time machine’s control panel.
“Well then, here we go!” stated Grant as he hit the green “Go” button in the center of the console.