John Sr. first realises that something is wrong when he stops at the child crossing and a herd of Zebras gallops past. “That’s strange,” he thinks. “the rearmost zebra had maroon stripes instead of the normal black ones.”

As he drives through a psychedelic fairlyland of strobing lights, strange cavorting creatures and increasingly disturbing sideshows, he slowly realises that maybe his problem is a bit more serious than maroon stripes on a zebra.

Deep in the grips of an alternate reality, John Sr. slowly parks his car in the belly of the whale, and sails up the tongue towards his office. As he ascends, the fiery tongues of flame furnacing over him make him hot, and he gradually strips off all of his clothing, until he is riding the whale tongue in nothing more than his birthday suit.

Back at home, a quiet pair of youngsters has surfaced from a semi-comatose sleep. As they sit down to a bowl of Froot Loops, Fred says “Dude! The stuff isn’t here! I must have put it in this porridge box, and now its gone!”