JANUARY 1, 2005 - The year has changed. The world has not.

“What happened?”

Jamie awakes naked in what appeares to be his lounge room. He has no memory of how he’s become so utterly clothesless and is even more wonderous as to why there are chickens hatching in his hair. He scoops the eggs off his head and plops them into a pan as he begins cooking breakfast.

“What did I do last night?”

His thoughts wander through a vague world of haze and myst. A baron landscape that begins at his doorstep on the last night of 2004 and ends in his lounge room on the first morning of 2005. This isn’t the first time Jamie has woken without memory of the night previous. In fact, for a short period early in the new millenium, his memory only ever lasted about five minutes. That short period ended when Guy Pearce stole the part from under him.

“Does this italicized dialogue infer that I’m speaking to myself, or is it merely my thoughts translated onto computer screen?”

Jamie’s roommate Oliver enters the kitchen. He quivers at the sight of Krenshaw, then sits down at the table and watches as Jamie pounds baby chicken beak into a fluid resembling yoke.

OLIVER: You were in good form last night.

BOOM!CRASH!LOUD!KYUSS!

Jamie turns wildly, his eyes burning and feverish.

JAMIE: Don’t speak! God! Your voice is like a thousand cherokee indians attacking my ears with hot axes.

OLIVER: Sorry.

BOOM!CRASH!LOUD!MELVINS!

JAMIE: I said stop! I’m hungover. I think Paris Hilton gave me some GHB last night. If you have anything to say to me, put it in writing.

Oliver eyes Jamie curiously for a moment before pulling a pen and some paper out of the magic pocket in his eyelid. On the paper, Oliver writes:

"You were a drunken embarrassment last night."

Oliver brings the sheet to Jamie, who reads quietly.

"His writing is in italicized dialogue too!"

Jamie scoffs at the very notion of being drunk and embarrassing.

JAMIE: Me? Embarrassing and drunk? I scoff at the very notion. You know I can handle my booze. My liver has the strength of an alcoholic whose liver is yet to fail! It takes loads to even get me tipsy. And as for embarrassing, when have I ever embarrassed you?

Oliver opens his mouth to respond...

JAMIE: Give it to me in writing, Oliver. I don't want to make you eat another broomstick. You were complaining only a few days ago about the splinters still being lodged in your throat.

Oliver writes on the paper again.

"Last night you embarrassed me. I was chatting up Paris Hilton. It was going quite well, she hadn't maced me or anything. Then, just as I was about to slip her some GHB, the ONLY party drug I thought she may not have a tolerance to, you came staggering by and asked whether she wanted to see that thing you do with your nipples. She said no, but you did anyway. Later, after she'd gotten the "milk" off her dress, she had us thrown out of the party. I was so furious, I slipped YOU the GHB!"

Jamie's eyes light up at the last sentence.

JAMIE: It was you who gave me drugs?!?! You monster! You heartless playground of despicable treachery! You know the crazy things I do when I'm on drugs! It's how I got this tattoo!

Jamie points to his naked chest. Tattooed on it is Futurama character Fry, pointing downward to Krenshaw's crotch.

JAMIE: Thank God my memory is erased. I don't even WANT to remember what I got up to last night.

Oliver pens another quick note.

"What you want isn't quite relevant at the moment. You see, you signed a legally binding contract last night in the midst of your stupor. I tried to stop you, but you threw a sick cat at me."

Jamie reads, a feeling of uncertainty staining his insides.

JAMIE: A legally binding contract? ... Oh, crap. What did I do?

Oliver again reaches into his magic eyelid pocket and pulls out the contract in question. The letters "DCW" at the top, the signature "Jamie Krenshaw" at the bottom. Jamie's body sinks.

JAMIE: I joined a wrestling federation?! I haven't wrestled in ages!

Oliver scribbles.

"I know."

Jamie stares at the note, cursing GHB, Paris Hilton and the band Maroon 5.

And Oliver scribbles.

"Sorry."

And it seems Jamie Krenshaw is back. I guess.