So you'll leave it to me to fill in the details, Clinton? Well, I'll try my best. Let's see now, it was so long ago...

We're both from the Sault, but I first met Clinton Hammond just a few miles outside of it. Well, above it, actually. On the Mother Ship. I had already finished on the treadmill after the same old forcefeeding of broccoli and 3 bean salad for the flatulance tests (I still hold the record, I understand) and the Greys had me on the table and were practicing making their scoop marks on my inner thighs.

That was when they brought Clinton in to the other table across the room. (Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't that only about your 2nd or 3rd time round with the anal probes, Clint?)

Anyway, I think I was the one who spoke first... something like "makes ya thirsty, eh?" I think it was. He answered, "Damn thirsty, yeah!" So I suggested we go for a few beers when they were done with us and Clint agreed.

As per usual, we woke up in the buffalo pen at Bellevue Park. Those bastard Greys heard us talking about going to the pub later and they thought it'd be funny to have us wearing each other's clothes when we woke up. Yeah... REAL friggin' funny!

After we'd exchanged clothes back and walked to the pub and got our beers, I told him how much I'd hated the Greys. But Clinton said he didn't really blame them too much since they were only following orders. The ones he really hated were their leaders: those damn talking rocks that ran the show up there.

"Yeah, well someday I'm gonna settle up with `em all!" I said.

"You do that!" he told me. "Me, I'm gonna fuck off to Windsor some day. Let `em try and find me. They'll never expect that. NObody wants to go there."



That's about how I remember it, anyhow.