The young Judith Schiendlin adjusted her fedora. How did she get stuck in a hellhole like this, with that annoying kid and that useless lounge singer? She was a respected college professor, [darnit]! She had tenure and everything! So why this? Why now? Fortune and glory... they seemed like ridiculously abstract concepts looking back now.
She looked over at Shaquille O'Neal, still wearing the red dress from his act at that nightclub. Somehow that dress was still perfectly clean and intact, while her much pricier leather jacket had long since been irreparably rent. Life just wasn't fair sometimes.
But there was no time for thoughts like that. She was on a mission, whether the others still cared or not. And for now, it would take every bit of determination to not throw up as she saw what the waiters were bringing out for them to eat...
Mole brains.